Page 48 of Tragic Empire
They’re nice, though. They treat Agnes with respect and thank her every time that she cooks for not only me, but them as well. She even cooks for them when I’m not eating, and asks them if they have requests for meals. I think it’s her way of showing me that she’s here for me, since I haven’t been up for much conversation with her.
Agnes has always been a great addition to my life. She’s an excellent cook, a meticulous cleaner, and a dedicated listening ear. But Agnes also doted on Cole as much as she did on me. So when I’m looking at her, it unfortunately only makes me think of him more.
It’s a strange sort of ache when he crosses my mind. I feel his loss as thickly as I did the night that it happened, but my heart doesn’t long for him. I’m not brokenhearted in the way that a woman typically would be after losing a spouse. I miss him as a dear friend, as someone I cared for. And mourn him as a man who died well before his time. I don’t understand it, or, I don’t want to admit that I understand it.
Sometimes I think I don’t have a right to grieve him at all, since I clearly didn’t care for him as much as he cared for me. I couldn’t even return his declaration of love before he was murdered.What kind of person does that make me?
I try not to dwell on it.
I want to get better. I’m sick and tired of crying induced headaches, feeling my stomach protest every time I go too long without food, having dry skin from not showering enough, and I’m exhausted from feeling so endlessly miserable. I need to focus on the good rather than the bad.
Killian is still in a coma, but according to the doctors, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. His body needs time to properly recover, and he would have died if they hadn’t gotten to him sooner. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll remain unconscious, but they’ve assured Cassio that he still shows brain activity.
He’s had multiple surgeries on his heart, and blood transfusions as well. Though he’s not technically allowed visitors, Cassio has said that he would take me to see him if I wanted. I can’t bear the thought of seeing my rock of a stepbrother in that condition though. Killian has always been the strongest of The Knights, and I don’t want to have any more disastrous memories of him.
And Killian doing well isn’t the only good thing in my life. Cassio has been a consistent light at the end of my dark and despairing days. He’s quickly become a friend like I’ve never had before. He’s stable and caring, always checking on me and spending any free time he has in my company. He’s a rock to crash against, and a soft pillow for me to lay my head at night, all at the same time.
Currently he’s in a meeting with The King’s Court, but he should be home in just a couple of hours. In the meantime, I’m bundled up on the sofa, half paying attention to the horror movie on screen and half focused on petting Sirius. He just got back from a run with Colton and Armani, so he’s gotten all of his energy out and is content to just laze about with me.
The Knight Family penthouse is quite cozy despite its dark aesthetic. Perhaps it’s simply because I’ve lived here for long enough for it to feel welcoming, but the rich leather furniture and black wood floors don’t project the coldness one might expect. It’s warm and inviting, possibly due to the faux fur blankets I have scattered around at all times. To a room, texture is able to add just as much as color can.
Finished freshening up, Armani and Colton join me in the living room with damp hair and clean clothes. Showering is always required when they return from running with Sirius. They make sure that they get as good of a work out as the dog does, apparently.
Armani drops down on the cushion closest to me. “Hey, have you heard of a Glen Tilton?”
My brows scrunch.What the hell does that arsehole want?
“Why?”
“Johnathan at the front desk said he was down there throwing a fit today, demanding to speak with you.”
“Did he tell him to get fucked?”
Chuckling, Armani arches a brow. “Not in so many words, but he’s gone, yes. Who is he, exactly? Should Colton and I pay him a little visit?”
“He’s an art collector, and a first class tosser,” I grumble. “He’s obsessed with my mum’s work and has been trying to buy her personal collection for years.”
Her personal paintings are mostly locked away in her art room here, while some live at the London apartment. They’re pieces that meant too much to my mother to possibly sell, and ones Bron bought for her to keep.
A darkness pools in Armani’s eyes. “So now that she’s gone, he’s trying to get to them through you? Not even a month after?” The edge in his voice is vicious, the kind of tone that would make a lesser man piss himself.
“I can’t see why else he would be here,” I huff, trying not to frown. I won’t allow this tactless git to make me sad. My anger is all he will get. “I hope Johnathan flagged his name to security. I don’t want him anywhere near this place. He probably gets a hard-on just knowing he’s in the same building asVivian May Knight’sunpublished works.”
I’m no stranger to people fawning over my mother’s art. She’s extremely well-known in England and in the States. Her unique, flowery takes on Renaissance-style art have been talked about for decades now. She painted breathtaking scenery, detailed humanistic characters, and commanded color in such a distinct way. After all, her art is what drew Bron to her originally, and how they bonded before becoming involved.
But fans like Glen Tilton are why people dislike fame. He’s needy and borderline stalker-ish. He takes fixation to an ugly level. There wasn’t a gallery show he didn’t attend. And of course, simply viewing the paintings was never enough for him. He needed to speak with the artist, to try and get inside her mind and feed his fascination.
My mother was often too polite to chastise the man for crossing boundaries, but I’ve made my ire for him quite clear. He’s had to keep his distance since Bron came into our lives, likely because he was confronted by The Kings at some point—though I don’t know for certain.
“He’ll be dealt with,” Armani vows.
I open my mouth to ask what exactly he means by the declaration, but Colton shouts before I can get the words out.
“Holy fuck!”
Armani and I both whip our gazes to the man, finding him covering half of his face with a pillow.
“Are you guys watching this shit?” He pants, gesturing to the TV wildly. “Dude just got his fucking arm ripped off by a demon!”
