Page 129 of Silk and Sirens

“Because of your mum?” I asked, wanting to know more about him for purely selfish reasons. Then I realised how it must have sounded like I was digging for weaknesses, for secrets I could later use against him. His life stories. The things that made him him. “It’s fine,” I added quickly, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“Sometimes, I guess. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I had all this anger I didn’t know how to deal with. At my mum when she left, and then at my dad, because for a long time I blamed him for not being able to make her happy.” Despite the anger he spoke of, his deep voice was strangely calming, a rough, steady rumble that cut through the chaos in my head.

“I turned that anger into violence, because that was something I could control. I’d get into fights, and because I was the biggest kid I always won. Eventually some prats brought knives. After I put someone in hospital, my father wanted to send me to a boarding school.”

I couldn’t really imagine Caden as a kid, his expression sad. Lost. “I assume that went down well?”

Caden let out a puff of air that must have been a laugh. “He would never have suggested it if Mum were still around, but she wasn’t, so I called my aunt. Dad quickly changed his mind when she shouted at him, threatening to come over from France if he dared send me away.”

“Sebastian’s mum?”

He nodded, working conditioner through my hair next, his fingers massaging my scalp in firm, relaxing circles. It felt too good, but too intimate. And yet I leaned into his touch.

“Then when she died,” he continued softly, “and Sebastian came to live with us, I just … calmed down.”

I smiled despite myself. “I find it hard to believe that Sebastian coming to live with you stopped you from getting into fights.”

“Oh, we still got into fights.” This time he did laugh, although it held an edge. “But it was different. This was after the incident where both he and Langdon were badly hurt. Lang became too impulsive, Sebastian too volatile, and I …”

“You became their anchor,” I whispered, and Caden stopped washing my hair to look at me. “You took care of them.”

He hummed in quiet agreement, his fingers returning to my scalp with renewed gentleness. “It calmed the worst of my violence. And while fighting helped pull Sebastian out of his episodes, I realised that staying calm kept them both centred. Someone had to be the one who didn’t break when everything went to shit.”

“That’s why Langdon came to you the other night.”

“Nah.” He grinned, those eyes of ice glistening enough to make my heart squeeze. “He just enjoys being a pain in my arse.”

I smiled. “Do you miss her? Your mum.”

Caden seemed to think for a moment. “I did, when I was younger.”

“But not now?”

“Why miss someone who didn’t want me?” he said gently, and my heart felt like it might shatter. “Dad used to try and tell me it was her illness, that it wasn’t her fault. But I know her illness didn’t define her … It wasn’t the reason she didn’t stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s her loss, not mine. Who wouldn’t want an immeasurably successful drug lord as a son?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “What made you guys choose cocaine?” I asked, aching to learn more about him. To see the real man and not the terrifying enforcer.

“Because there was a gap in the market for a sustainable, high-end drug,” he said, carefully washing the conditioner from my hair. “So I went to night school.”

“Night school? I suppose it is less befitting to learn the art of narcotics in the harsh light of day.” I teased, and Caden gently tugged my hair.

“During the day,” he continued with a touch of humour, “I’d help Bas with the fights, and then in the evenings I’d go to school to learn organic chemistry.”

“Where were Sebastian and Langdon when you were being a good boy and getting your degree?”

“Probably up to no good.”

I laughed, the sound causing Caden to smile. He looked exactly like the prince I mockingly call him, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead and that rare, devastating dimple on full display that sent heat curling low in my stomach.

Reaching up, I cupped his jaw with gentle fingers and leaned forward to brush my lips softly against his.

“Thank you,” I whispered against his mouth, my words barely audible. “For coming for me.”

The air thickened, the tension swarming with something deeper than lust. That was it, a barely-there kiss that felt almost reverent. It felt more intimate than anything I had ever done with anyone. More than our hungry, desperate kisses. More than the raw, consuming sex we’d shared.