“He’s a good kid,” he said, and I smiled in agreement.
“He’s only five years younger than you, but he seems tired, like he’s old and weary.”
Arthur sat beside me. “He’s had a rough life. Was always at war with himself. But hopefully he’s getting better. Eric seems to think this time he might make it without relapsing.”
I wondered about Gene and how he seemed to light up around Charlie, at the mere mention of Arthur’s cousin. Then I thought back to Charlie today, how he’d watched Gene under the tree, his dark eyes unreadable. I kept those thoughts to myself. It was none of my business.
Arthur took my hand and kissed the back of my palm. “I never got chance to give you your birthday present the other night.”
I smiled, and Arthur pulled out a box from his trouser pocket. He opened the lid, and inside was a large set of diamond earrings. “My mum’s,” he said, and my head snapped up.
“Arthur, I can’t—”
“I want you to have them.” He squeezed my hand. For a second, he seemed nervous. I had never seen Arthur nervous. I hadn’t been sure he could even get nervous. “Cheska,” he said, voice husky. “Fucking take them, princess.” He put them in my palm. “I need you to take them.”
“Okay.” I ran my finger over the vintage diamonds. “They’re beautiful,” I whispered. Arthur got up and went to the jacket he’d slung over the chair. He pulled out a bigger square box that looked like it housed a bracelet or something similar.
“Arthur,” I said as he crouched in front of me and placed it on my lap. “I can’t accept this too. It’s all too much.” Arthur opened the box, and a band of silver stared back at me, thicker in width than most bracelets but no less stunning. “It’s gorgeous,” I said. But when I looked up, Arthur’s expression was guarded. My stomach turned. “What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I had this made for you.”
“Okay …” I said carefully. The air between us had risen in temperature, thickened with tension—one I didn’t understand the genesis of. I placed the box beside me on the bed and put my hands on Arthur’s face.
He reached for the bracelet and took it from the box. He was silent, shoulders tensed as he placed it on my wrist, clicking the ends together. Once it was fixed together, the joint disappeared, and I realised that it was the type of bracelet that had to be cut off. It was incredibly pretty, but when Arthur exhaled a long, relieved breath, his shoulders sagging, I knew this being on my wrist meant more than mere decoration.
“Arth—”
“I need you to wear this,” he said, voice tight. His eyes were wide, almost possessed. “You can’t take it off unless it’s cut off.”
“Okay.” I tried to study the bracelet, to see what was so special about it. But it just looked like any other. Gorgeous. But nothing out of the ordinary.
“I had it made for you. By a jeweller I know.” He swallowed, then his face grew stern as he met my eyes. “It has a tracker built into it.”
The world stopped. Everything stopped. But my heart beat faster and faster, and suddenly the lightweight bracelet around my wrist felt like an anvil.
“What?” I said, my voice shaking in anger, real anger. I turned my wrist over, taking in every curve of the bracelet. I couldn’t see evidence of a tracker, but then I had no idea what one even looked like.
I held out my wrist. “Take it off me.”
Arthur clenched his jaw, and his cheeks turned red. His eyes narrowed, and the Arthur of old surfaced. “Take it off me!” I said louder, my voice carrying authority around the large room. “Now, Arthur. And if you can’t, get me someone who can. I don’t want a tracker on me.”
Arthur got to his feet, positively vibrating. “No,” he said stubbornly, and my anger levels rose to match his. “No!” he bit out again, seeing me about to stand and challenge him.
Arthur’s hands slid through his hair and he became … undone. He unravelled before me, the cool exterior he always wore cracking down the centre, and a manic and haunted man was revealed underneath. He paced back and forth in front of me, neck corded and veins protruding from his muscles.
“You have to wear it,” he said curtly, but I heard the slight trembling of his voice. The betrayal of his unease. I was mute. I didn’t know what to say, seeing him this way. He was always so calm and collected. I didn’t understand why he was like this over a tracker. Over a bracelet.
“Arth—”
“You have to fucking wear it!” he snapped, cutting me off again. I watched him pace like a wolf, hands in his hair, then dragging down his face. “Just in case.”