Cassandra
It had to be the dress. There’s no other explanation for it. Buttercups are commonly yellow. They’re such a flimsy flower that the more I think about why he would call me it, the more annoyed I feel.
Flimsy is not a word I would describe myself with, and yes, he might have seen me cry, but the music…the atmosphere. Crying doesn’t make me weak or breakable. And anyway, he was the one that sauntered off like…like… Like he couldn’t give two shits.
Over the past week I’ve scoured every possible magazine and newspaper that covered the event, but he’s in none of the photos. It doesn’t make sense, it was an invite only event, which means he has to be someone. Especially if he was in a box, I know we only got ours because of my late grandad’s title—Lord Maxwell Emsworth—something he inherited from his father and passed it down to his son, who’ll pass it down to my cousin, Freddie.
Poking my arm, he asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Looking around the dining room of our country home, I try to shelve my thoughts of the concert and green eyes that felt like they could eat me alive.
“Whatever you’re thinking about looks like trouble, Princess.”
“That’s rich coming from you!” Scowling up at him, I find him grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“I’m not the one that’s all sweetness and innocence.”
Looking away from me, I watch as he glances between Christopher and his girlfriend with a furrowed brow. Freddie has all the sharp angles of a serial killer and the airs of a true farm boy. The blonde of his hair has a slight red tinge to it, and his eyes are so blue, they’re like ice straight out of the freezer.
“What’s wrong, Hells Bells?”
“Start on me, Freddo, and I’ll take you to town!” Glaring at him, Arabella pushes her sad looking salad and steak away. The twisted look on her face enough to show she’s still not feeling well.
“So sorry, Bella Boo.” He coos at her, earning him a slap to the back of the head from my brother.
“Leave her alone.” Warning Freddie with a pointed look, Christopher strokes Arabella’s shoulder before asking, “Do you want something else?”
When they arrived at Heavers Hall earlier today, she looked ready to vomit, and although she’s fixed her make-up and her hair, she doesn’t look much better.
“Is there anymore sorbet?”
“Fuck me, are you even going to be able to go tonight?” Scraping his chair on the polished soft wood floor, Freddie gets up from the table and pours himself a drink from the wet bar along the wall behind me.
“Go where?”
“Party.” Christopher answers me with a blasé shrug.
“Seriously? I need details!”
He looks at me with the same pinched expression he puts on when he doesn’t want to be interrogated by Mum.
Like that’s going to stop me.
“What party are you going to?”
“Mine!” Throwing back his neat gin, Freddie crouches beside me with mischief all over his face. “Want to come, Princess?”
“No.” Christopher bites out, barely allowing Freddie to finish.
“Oooo. Shall I start calling you Daddy?” Laughing, Freddie winks at me before shuffling back onto his seat, slouching as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers. “Daddy Christopher doesn’t want you to have fun, Cass.”
“Why do you have to be such a fucking cunt all the time?”
“Lord Cunt to you!”
“You’re both twats and I can’t deal with your shit today.” Arabella yawns as she rests her head on Christopher’s shoulder. “To answer your question, yes, I’m going.”
“Do you need something to perk you up?”