"Life is a crock of shit," Carter replied.
It was impossible to disagree. No one should tell them how they could live or who they could love.
"Are you staying here through Christmas?" Tristan asked.
With a slow exhale, Carter nodded. "Father is needed here, and I should stay to help when I can. My absence has put a strain on him."
Carter's confession stirred sympathy in Tristan. Ever since Carter's mother had passed away four years ago, Carter's father, John, hadn't been the same. Mr. Martin was in many ways more the lifeblood of this house and its land than Tristan's father was. Edward respected John, but they didn't have the same bond that Carter and Tristan would have when they took over the estate.
He and Carter would be a team, equals in all but title, and if that had been something he could have shared, Tristan would have happily split it down the middle and handed half to his best friend.
"I suppose I'll be here, as well. Maybe I can convince Celia to pay a visit." He grinned, trying to get his friend to laugh.
"Bastard," Carter muttered, but he smiled as he balled up a piece of scrap paper and chucked it at Tristan.
Ducking from the projectile, Tristan couldn't resist another playful jab at his friend. "She could throw another party, and you two can play manor house."
"I'm going to throttle you in your sleep tonight," Carter warned, his eyes bright with amusement.
As Tristan headed for the door, he got one last parting shot in. "Not if you're dreaming about Celia." He was chuckling all the way down the hall until he reached his father's study. The door was closed so he rapped on the solid oak door.
"Enter." That cold voice cut through the wood as if it were butter. He grasped the knob and turned it, opening the door to a room that had always filled him with dread.
His father was seated at his desk, analyzing a spreadsheet. His dark hair was streaked with silver and gave him a debonair look. But the hard eyes and thin lips, which were twisted down, ruined the features which must have made him handsome years ago. Now his father was better suited to the role of a James Bond villain rather than a hero.
"You're late."
Tristan curled his lip. "You didn't tell me to be here at any particular time."
One dark brow slowly cocked over his father's cold blue eyes. "I know how long it takes to drive from your mother's town house to the estate. You took your time in coming here, boy."
Against his better judgment, Tristan slammed the study door shut and almost snarled, "I'm twenty-five years old. I have my own life. If I wanted to wait an entire day before coming that would have been my choice."
"Age does not equal good behavior, Tristan. I expect you to come immediately when summoned."
"Summoned?" That was it. He spun on his heel and flung the study door open again, ready to storm out and shatter the door in its frame. But his father spoke first.
"Your Master's program will be ending this spring. It's time we talked about what's expected of you. I've met with Lord Wolverton, and he agrees we're ready to announce your engagement to his daughter. You can be married to Brianna as early as next fall."
Brianna?
His father was playing that hand so soon?
Tristan halfway turned to face his father. "I will make no such announcement. Brianna won't agree, either."
His father laughed. "It's almost charming how you think you have a choice." The harsh laugh died, and his father scowled. "You don't."
Talking to his father was like interacting with a wall. Tristan weighed his options and decided it wasn't worth debating about Brianna right now.
"How long do you wish for me to remain here?" That was what mattered.
"That remains to be seen." Edward leaned back in his chair. "We have matters to handle and arrangements to make for when you leave Cambridge."
Of course. His father never wanted to simply spend time with him. Tristan shouldn't feel bitter, not after years of this treatment, but it still felt like a hit to the stomach sometimes.
"You're excused. For now." Edward waved a hand at the door in clear dismissal.
Clenching his jaw, Tristan left his father's study, slamming the door behind him. It released a little of the tension and rage that coiled inside him, but not enough.
Carter emerged from the morning room as Tristan stalked past. "Where are you off to now?" he asked.
Tristan didn't even look his way. "I'm going to get drunk. You're welcome to join me."
Pulling back the sleeve of his sweater, Carter glanced at his watch. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to take a break from my studies."
Tristan laughed. "You do know the semester is over?"
"Best to get a head start for next term."
"You're over-enthusiastic as usual," Tristan teased, but again guilt gathered at the back of his mind. He should be studying, earning the education his father was paying for and proving to the old earl that not everything in his life was given to him; that some things were earned.
Yet he was more focused on Kat than his studies. He should be like Carter, worrying over how to maximize profits on the Pembroke estate's investments.
"You'll catch up. You always do," Carter added softly, sensing the direction of Tristan's thoughts. "Come on, let's go find your father's best Scotch."
Tristan could forget about Kat for one night, couldn't he? He'd drink himself under a table to forget how much he wanted her back in his bed and in his life. She was off-limits, his sweet little Kat.
Forbidden.
Chapter 11
Six days.
Six days since Tristan had left her standing at the door of Lizzy's town house as he drove away to his father's estate.
How had she lasted that long without him?
Kat lay in bed, cell phone clasped tightly in her hand as she stared at the photo she'd received from the photographer. Jillian had e-mailed a set of photos that displayed the full story, as she'd called it. Tristan walking up to the glass coffin, kneeling, kissing her, and awakening her.
The last image, the awakening, held Kat in thrall and made her heart rip apart at the seams. The tips of their noses were brushing, and their lips were only a breath apart. Their eyes were locked on each other, and the expression on her face … Well, she knew what that look meant.
She wasn't falling anymore.
She'd fallen.
Kat loved Tristan Kingsley. It was a new, fresh, frightening love, but it was love.
While she dared not question what was in Tristan's heart, she had to admit the same expression was on his face, too. She thumbed through the photos again, seeing how fairy-tale-like they truly were. A fairy tale that would never come true.
She'd stopped them from having any real happiness because she was afraid of her father's reaction, how it could hurt him. But she was also afraid for herself, of how loving Tristan and someday losing him would hurt. Badly.
I'm not the sort of girl that someone like him ends up marrying. I wouldn't know the first thing about being a countess and running an estate. He needs a woman who understands how to live that sort of life. And that's not me.
Kat rested the phone on her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. It was supposed to get easier. Every day without him should've hurt less. But the opposite had happened.
Every breath she took hurt because she missed him. Missed the way he smiled at her, the way he touched her, how he made her feel like she was the only person in the world that mattered. She felt the same about him.
Most people would think it was a wild crush, that she was too young to know what she was feeling. But Kat knew that what she felt for him was real. What she was feeling wasn't going to go away, no matter the time or distance put between them. Denying herself what she wanted wasn't possible. And she wanted Tristan back. It has to be better to have him now, even if I lose him later, when our lives diverge.
As awful as she felt right now, it couldn't be any worse to lose him someday in the future. So she might as well give it her all and take the leap of faith.
At least I'll know what it was to love him, if I can convince him to come back.
As she'd come to this decision over the last few days she'd finally summoned the courage to do what he'd said. Even if the heartache killed her in the end, it was worth it to try. It was the biggest risk she would ever take, loving Tristan, but she was, for the first time in her life, brave enough to go for what she wanted.
She lifted her phone back up and texted Tristan one little word that held so much hope and promise.