“Me.” He smiles, seeming lost in his own thoughts. “I think I’m the only person she liked.”
“How about your father?”
“Maybe at some point, but I never witnessed it. She dissociated from Jonathan as much as he dissociated from her. His work came first. His brother, Lev and I came second. She was always last.”
My heart aches at an image of a young Aiden and his mum being ignored by his father for work. But at that time, he at least had his mother. Maybe his transformation started after he lost her. Which means that I’m right to assume Alicia King’s death played a significant role in shaping his deviant personality.
“I understand what it means
to have workaholic parents,” I say sympathetically.
“Your real parents were workaholics?”
“I don’t know.” A slash of pain grips me whenever they’re mentioned. Maybe this is also how Aiden feels when he talks about his mother.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I told you, I don’t remember my life prior to the fire. The only parents I remember are Aunt Blair and Uncle Jaxon.”
A contemplative look looms over his features. It disappears so fast that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I weren’t watching him so intently. “I see.”
“It sucks to have workaholic parents.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Not really. Jonathan can be workaholic all he likes. I’m leaving for college anyway.”
I chew on the salad before speaking. “Are you going to pursue football professionally?”
He laughs and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. “You truly think Jonathan King will allow his only son to be a football player?”
“But he let your cousin.”
“On the condition that he simultaneously studies at a university.”
“Oh.”
“I like football, but it was never my endgame. It’s a short career and is insignificant in the great scheme of things. Jonathan and I agree on that.”
I go back to picking at my food. “Then what are your plans for college?”
“Oxford.” He appears bored.
My fork stills against the plate. Invisible hands grip my chest. Why does knowing that we’ll be on different sides of the country hurt so much?
I force a smile. “Wow. You really need to work hard for that.”
“Why do you think I stay in the top five per cent?” He winks.
Sometimes, I forget that he’s one of the top students in RES. “Does your father throw a word with the teachers?”
“My father doesn’t need to throw any word. They’d do it on their own.” He sips from his cola. “I don’t need the push, though. I can get the grades.”
“Really?” I sound as suspicious as I feel. “I don’t see you study even during the finals.”
He chuckles, eyes glinting with mischief. “You are stalking me.”
“I’m just saying that those in the top ten per cent care more about their grades than you do.”
“That’s because you guys work hard instead of working smart. What will slaving for grades give you?”