The Anderson Family Home
Portland, Maine
From his spot in the kitchen, Caspian watched his father step out through the back door and onto the deck—where his beloved grill was already warming—with a glass of Upper Terrace pinot noir from Ribbon Ridge, Oregon, in his hand. Caspian was surprised to see his father drink such an elegant, stately wine since Richard Anderson had long dismissed wine as “overpriced grape juice.” Clearly, he had found something redeeming in this one, because it was obvious to Caspian that his dad wasn’t drinking the wine to be polite; he was drinking it because he truly enjoyed it. And so did Caspian. In his opinion, the Upper Terrace from the Beaux Frères Vineyard was the best pinot noir in Oregon. Caspian smiled as he saw his dad distractedly swirl his wine as he studied the arrangement of the six rib eye steaks he had lined up on the wooden butcher block.
Caspian leaned on the counter, one hand resting beside a bowl of sliced lemons, the other around the stem of his wineglass. The kitchen smelled of rosemary, cracked pepper, and the faint citrus of his mother’s vinaigrette. It had been too long since they’d all been here under one roof, and never, as far as he could remember, had both he and Nelson brought someone with them at the same time. That fact alone made the evening feel strange, not in a bad way, but in a way that emphasizedjust how far his life had drifted from anything resembling what most people would call normalcy.
Clara had slipped into the tempo of the Anderson household with grace, but Caspian wasn’t surprised in the least. One of Elizabeth’s many gifts was the ease with which she made people feel not only welcome but wanted, as if every visitor had been expected all along. She had the kind of warmth that made even strangers want to stay a little longer, though Caspian knew her cooking helped too. Tonight’s salad for example, with its toasted hazelnuts, blood oranges, and goat cheese, looked like it had been lifted from a food and wine magazine’s feature spread.
Through the open door that led to the deck, Caspian could hear his father and Nelson, who had now joined him outside, debating the sacred art of letting rib eye steaks rest after grilling, as if slicing the meat too soon was a crime against humanity.
Caspian turned slightly, glancing across the room to where Liesel stood with Clara. She was laughing at something Clara had just said, her shoulders loose and her smile unguarded. God, he’d forgotten how good it sounded. For months now—since Bordeaux, really—that part of her had gone quiet. Port de Sóller had helped for a while, then things had once again spiraled out of control, and he’d watched her retreat into herself.
Seeing her laugh like this again unlocked something inside him, something that made him want to freeze the room exactly as it was ... forever.
Caspian exhaled, not in a dramatic way, but apparently loudly enough that his father, who had just stepped into the kitchen to refill his wineglass, looked at him and asked, “You all right, son?”
Caspian forced a smile and said, “I see you like the wine.”
He expected a comeback, something dry or teasing, but his father surprised him.
“I think it’s glorious,” he said. “It’s full bodied, for sure, but somehow light on its feet, if you know what I mean? And whatabout those cherry and raspberry flavors? I don’t know, but to me, they kind of open to notes of baking spices. What do you think?”
Caspian stared at his father. “I ... I didn’t expect a tasting note from you, Dad.”
His father shrugged. “Well, I didn’t expect to enjoy it that much,” he said, pouring himself another glass before returning outside to Nelson and the steaks.
Caspian felt Liesel’s eyes on him, and he turned toward her. While he was relieved to see warmth in her gaze, there was something else too. Her lips didn’t move, but it seemed like her eyes were asking him a question he wasn’t sure how to answer. Caspian looked away, having a hard time holding her eyes.
Liesel had told him she knew what she wanted in life. And the way she’d looked at him when she’d said it had made it clear he wasn’t necessarily part of the plan. And how could he blame her? She had been shot, and stabbed, because of him. Yes, Liesel was an intelligence officer, but she’d been dragged into his world, a world she hadn’t chosen. One she was trying to escape.
And then there was Sofie.
Liesel had watched her sister die. Not from a distance, but up close. Inches away. And even though Caspian knew what kind of trauma this could do to a person, he hadn’t let himself really think about it until just now, when he saw Liesel laugh like she hadn’t in months.
I’ve taken so much from her.
Was he doing the same with Nelson? Caspian had convinced himself that his brother would be fine, that it was a calculated risk, that the reward justified it. But Nelson wasn’t a piece on a game board. He was a good man, someone who truly helped people.
He’s nothing like me. And now I’ve put him in Westcott’s crosshairs.
I should have never agreed to bring him into this operation.
Caspian hated himself for agreeing to Ranger’s plan.
What have I done?
He thought about what Liesel had told him earlier.
Be honest with yourself. I’ve had time to do that. You didn’t. I figured out what I want. You need to do the same.
Caspian once again took in his surroundings, his eyes moving from person to person. Theyare what I want. Theyare who I want to be with. Theymake me happy.
He shook his head at the realization.I’m done.
As the thought solidified, something inside him shifted. He didn’t want this life anymore. He was done with the lies, with the killing. His family deserved better.
Liesel deserves better.
