He laughs.
“Mom just wants me to be happy,” I add. “I guess that’s what all mothers want for their kids.”
An inexplicable sadness flashes across Caspian’s face.
“I’m sure she has your best interests at heart,” he says.
“Do your parents ever try to set you up?” I ask, then immediately regret it. I don’t want to know. I’ll get jealous.
Caspian goes quiet. “With women.”
The practiced ease in his tone cracks something open in my chest.
“That is just wrong!” I say fiercely. “I’m sorry your parents are a pair of jerks—I mean, idiots. No, I do mean jerks, actually.”
He looks at me, surprised. Maybe a little touched. Hopefully touched andnot offended. We’ve been in the car less than ten minutes and I’ve already insulted the Stone dynasty.
“It’s alright,” he says, though it obviously isn’t. “I’ve stopped waiting for them to change.”
“I’m sorry.” It feels inadequate, but what else could I say. “I can’t imagine what that feels like.”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, shrugging. “We’ve never been a close-knit family anyway.”
I wonder how many times he’s had to convince himself it doesn’t matter to be able to sound so matter-of-fact about it. How many excuses has he made on their behalf?
“What about your sister? Are you close with her?”
“Not really. She moved away when I was nine.”
“My sister’s friend is doing her residency with her. She’s her biggest fan.”
“Oh.” His mouth tightens briefly, then he smooths it away. “She’s in good hands then. Penelope’s an excellent surgeon.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
I hesitate, then poke where I shouldn’t. “Were you allowed to bring boys home?”
“I never wanted to.”
A brief relief—until jealousy sparks. So he didn’t want to bring anyone home back then, but what about his lake house? I swear he sees right through me, because the next thing he says is, “I’ve actually never brought anyone home.”
“You—what?”
“I’m not saying there haven’t been hook-ups,” he continues calmly.
I try to swallow the snarl climbing up my throat.
“But there was no one I wanted to bring home. Or ask out.”
I’m holding my breath, my toes curling when his words sink in.
“Until a few weeks ago.” His tone makes my stomach flip. “When I stepped into a small trattoria and saw a waiter who glared at me like I’d personally offended him.”
“Uh.” My eloquence once again fails me.
“That used to be my line,” he teases.
“Oddio, shut up,” I groan, but I’m smiling.
