Page 53 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“And I would prefer not to discuss my father at the moment. It isn’t an appropriate topic for the dinner table.”

“There should always be a place for love.”

“But this is death.”

“Look,” I said. “Clearly, this is a mess. We’re all miserable. Nathaniel’s not right for you, and you’re not right for him. You should be with me.”

Okay, that’s a lie. I didn’t say that. But I reallyreallywanted to. And in my head, when I did, Caspian believed me. And then there was kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.

Also an orchestra. And roll credits.

The Endin big swirly letters.

What actually happened was Nathaniel muttered something about it being time for the lamb, and took our soup bowls into the kitchen, Lillie—who had extricated herself from a shadow in the corner of the room like a squid from seaweed—padding at his heels.

Chapter 17

Probably I should have tried to get the conversation going again but I felt like Cool Hand Luke digging a pit over and over again and couldn’t quite find the strength. So Nathaniel’s lamb with caramelised figs and pine nuts, in saffron sauce with couscous, arrived to deathly silence. Shame, really, because like everything else he’d made, it was really good—even if each portion came in its own little bowl so it was all a bitI heard you like crockery, so I put a crockery in your crockery. I never knew what to do with compartmentalised food—did you cross the barricades with it or respect its hauteur? Personally, I preferred stuff that came in a big pot where everyone got to help themselves. Much less complicated.

“Arden”—Nathaniel, wielding a bottle of wine apparently more appropriate to the meal than Green Fish, yanked me out of my food dilemma—“I’m conscious that since you had to interview us, you must know far more about me than I do about you.”

I frowned, not quite sure what he was getting at, but fairly convinced I wouldn’t like it. “No more than what you told me plus what an average person can find on the Internet.”

“I just think it would be good to restore the balance.”

“It’s not a competition.”

He gave me a smile that was trying very hard not to be exasperated. “What I’m saying is that I’d like to know you better.”

“Uh?” A piece of lamb plopped pathetically off my fork and into my couscous.

“There’s no need to look horrified. Since Caspian rarely allows people to grow close to him, I’m interested in anyone he calls a friend.” Nathaniel turned his luminous, earnest gaze on me. “Tell me about yourself.”

What? Oh no. I hope there’s a special place in hell reserved for people who say “Tell me about yourself.” Maybe not right in Satan’s arsehole with the betrayers, but pretty damn near it. Satan’s taint? Just behind his balls, where it’d be all sweaty with hellfire. “There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s no need to be modest,” said Caspian. “You’re a very special and accomplished young man.”

When we’d been dating, Caspian’s commitment to believing I was awesome had been at once overwhelming and a little bit magical. It had helped me find my way back to myself when I was so lost I hadn’t even realised how fucking lost I was. But now? It was a knife cutting me open. Streams ofthen why did you dump mepouring from my veins.

“I’m not being modest.” I took a probably inadvisable gulp of wine—and, okay, fine, it did go well with the lamb, the touch of bitterness in the fruit drawing out the sweetness of the meat. “Tell me about yourselfis a crappy thing to throw at someone because it makes them do all the conversational work while you get to act like you’re taking an interest without actually having to be interested.”

Nathaniel looked genuinely hurt, thus making me look genuinely like a monster. “I’m sorry you feel that way. It wasn’t my intent.”

Get on your unicycle, Arden. Start backpedalling. “It’s okay. I mean, I overreacted. I’m sorry. I guess I readJane Eyreat an impressionable age.”

Another of thoseyou’re a nonsensical weirdohead tilts from Nathaniel. “I don’t follow.”

“There’s a bit early on when Rochester is being all autocratic lord of the manor and he’s, like,entertain meto Jane, and she’s, like,fuck you, I’m a person. But it’s this totally amazing moment because she’s this disempowered nobody and he’s supposed to be her better in every conceivable way.”

“I see.”

It really didn’t seem that he did see, so I pressed on. “Because, like, for Jane, the things we ascribe power to don’t matter. Just the inherent equality of hearts and souls and minds.”

“You seem very passionate about her.”

“Well”—I attempted a smile—“she was very passionate too. Don’t get me wrong, the book is batshit crazy and kinda racist, but I guess she’s a hero of mine.”

“Is that so?”

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