Page 52 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

Caspian touched a finger to his laugh-damp lashes. “Of course. Nathaniel, thank you so much for cooking for us.”

“It was nothing. That is”—he seemed to remember he’d just drawn attention to his efforts—“it was my pleasure.”

I scraped the last swirl of honey off the plate. “It was my pleasure, for sure. This was so good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Nathaniel did not sound even the slightest bit glad.

Silence settled as cheese was eaten—eaten, I should stress, by people who weren’t me because I’d already impetuously de-haloumied myself. And then Nathaniel brought out the next course, which was pea soup with harissa. I wasn’t entirely sure what harissa was, but I got the answer a spoonful later: What it was, was hot as fuck. A rich, deep, flavoursome hot, but Jesus Christ on a moose. Thank God for the artful spiral of sour cream or I might have spontaneously combusted. Although if I had, it would probably only have improved Nathaniel’s evening.

“Soooo.” I couldn’t tell if I was socially uncomfortable or just sweaty, but either way, saying something was becoming necessary. “How’s the…um…the giving up smoking going, Caspian?”

The fingers of his left hand curled self-consciously on the tabletop. “Well, I think? At least, I assume it is.”

“We can assume that,” agreed Nathaniel mildly, “unless you’re cheating.”

“I’m not.”

Nathaniel’s lips curled upwards, and while there was definitely warmth in his smile, there was also a bunch of other things I couldn’t even begin to interpret. “Would you even tell me if you were?”

“Would you want to know?”

“Yes, I would want to know.”

“Then I would tell you.”

I made a weird bleating sound, which was meant to be a lightaren’t we all having a lovely timelaugh. “But isn’t it kind of up to Caspian?”

“Honesty?” asked Nathaniel, with a tilt of his head.

“Smoking.”

“I’m not sure to what degree choice is a factor when it comes to addiction.”

So, I’d lost this conversation. It had more layers than a goddamn cheesecake—one of the fancy ones from Maison Bertaux—and there was no way Nathaniel’s smoking talk wasn’t a backhanded dig at all of Caspian’s other “harmful habits.” And while from my point of view there was clear blue water between consensual kinky sex and something that literally gave you lung cancer, Nathaniel clearly had different opinions. And had framed his way better than I’d framed mine.

“As it happens”—Caspian had conquered his soup without any sign of struggle—“giving up smoking is very much my choice. I prefer not to be controlled by my weaknesses.”

“Obviously smoking is bad for you,” I began.

At which point Nathaniel murmured, “We agree on that at least.”

“But,” I pushed on, “weakness is a deeply subjective concept.”

“I’m sure you know more about that than I do.”

Snide!Nathaniel was probably my least favourite Nathaniel. And believe me, there was a lot of competition. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Only that I was raised to value strength. It is, despite our very different backgrounds, something Caspian and I share.”

That…did not add up. Well, it made sense for Nathaniel. For Caspian, though, given what I knew of his family? Not so much. I turned to him. “Is it?”

“The world is a cold place, Arden.” Despite my name on his lips, Caspian didn’t seem to be speaking to me at all. His attention was fixed on his wineglass, and the refracted light caught in the dregs. “We master it or we are mastered by it.”

“From everything you’ve told me about your dad,” I said, as gently as I could, “that doesn’t sound like any sort of lesson he’d want you to learn.”

At that, Caspian’s gaze snapped to mine. “I didn’t say he taught it to me.”

“Oh, Caspian.” I blinked against the prickle of tears. “Please—”

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