Page 54 of Villain

“Insane,” he says.

He said it, not me.

“Not yours. Your parents are amazing, Casper.”

He scoffs. “They’re better now that I’m an adult, but when I was a child, they didn’t have a lot of time. Both are married to their job, and that came before everything. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a neglected child. You’ve seen where I grew up. If there was something I wanted, it would be provided.”

Apart from their attention, and what do children want more than that? You can’t deliver the perfect childhood from Amazon.

“What was it like, then?” I ask.

“I spent a lot of time with the nanny. My parents would be around some weekends. I don’t think they knew how to raise children. My grandparents on both sides are workaholics, too. There was no one to teach my parents how to parent.”

His words make my heart sink. I never thought I could feel sorry for his childhood after seeing where he grew up, but I can’t imagine not having time and attention when I needed it most. I may not have had it from my mum and dad, but I had more than enough love from the people who actually bothered to raise me.

“That sounds lonely.”

“By the time I got to high school they were more interested. I was boarding, always busy during the week with more free time at the weekends. It was something they understood. Plus, I was old enough to debate law by that point. I suddenly became fun in their eyes.”

“My uncle said he had the most fun when I was around the age of six. I can’t see why. I was obsessed with horses, but we could only afford lessons once a month, so the rest of the time he would let me ride on his back in the garden. It must have been awful for him, but he’s adamant he loved it.”

Casper cracks a smile—one that lights up his whole face and takes my breath away. He’s never more beautiful than when he’s wearing a genuine smile. “He sounds like a good man.”

“Oh, he’s literally the best, and I’m not exaggerating. You should meet him sometime.”

Shut up. Shut up.My face ignites, and I try to think of something to fix that. Why would he need to meet my uncle?

He averts his eyes and takes the last bite of his cheese on toast. Yep, I’ve basically invited him to meet my uncle. We’ve had a grand total of two normal conversations in the almost three years we’ve known each other, and I suddenly want him to meet the family.

Smooth.

“Well, you know what I mean. Just that he’s cool and that’s what people say, right? I don’t mean you should actually meet him. That would be weird since we, you know, don’t really get on or anything.”

Stop.Talking. Shit.

I have his attention again. Deep eyes meet mine and try to pull answers from me. If he keeps looking at me like that, I might just confess. And strip.

If I’m blushing, he doesn’t point it out, which leads me to believe there’s no physical evidence of my embarrassment or attraction to him, at least.

“Ainsley, why are you rambling?”

A polite man would pretend I didn’t speak at all. Not Casper.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Let me clean the plates.”

This time, I’m the one who doesn’t wait around for a response. I grab his plate from his hand, almost snatching it, and get up.

The backdoor is boarded up with some wood the police found last night. I put the plates down, my toast still half-eaten, and take a deep breath. When Casper’s not in the same room, it’s easier to think. But I don’t get long because he follows me into the kitchen as if he’s making it his life goal to humiliate me.

“Are you nervous?” he asks. I’ve never heard him sound so excited before, not even when he’s about to take a victim to his room.

I turn around slowly, but there is no gloating on his face, despite how much he appears to enjoy this. Those eyes are glowing. It’s sexy as hell.

“Why would I be nervous?” I ask, mentally expelling the butterflies in my stomach. It doesn’t work.

I don’t want to like his smirk, but he wears it so well. Sometimes he makes it so hard to dislike him. And by sometimes, I mean on a grand total of two occasions. The rest of the time… well, you know. I either want to kill him or fuck him. Perhaps both, only the other way around, of course.

He steps closer, and the kitchen seems to shrink in size, just like my willpower. “Do I make you nervous?”