QUINTON
Imoved the cameras to her new room the first day she moved in. I haven’t seen her face to face in a week, but I spend most of my time in my room watching her in her room. A lot of the time, she isn’t even doing anything besides reading a book, and yet this is the most entertaining thing I can think of.
There is definitely something wrong with me. My obsession with her is both concerning and annoying. I know it, Ren knows it, my father probably knows it too, but none of that is stopping me.
No matter how insane my little fixation with Aspen is, it does do one thing, it distracts me from the grief and anger that’s constantly brewing right below the surface. Anything is better than that.
Though I enjoy simply watching her, the tape Ren let me listen to still weighs on my mind heavily. Anyone could have recorded that one tape, and part of me believes Aspen. Like she pointed out in the shower, she is a shitty liar, and I don’t think she is lying about this. Plus, if the wire was on her, why is there no tape of the incident with Matteo? My father wouldn’t have kept that from me. Would he? He seemed shocked when I told him about it, but, of course, unlike Aspen, he is an excellent liar.
I guess there is only one way to find out.
Using the trackpad on my laptop, I exit out of the video feed from her room and open Skype instead. I haven’t called my father in so long, I have to scroll down to even find his number. The moment I click his name, an uneasy feeling spreads in my gut. I hate I feel this way about my father, but I can’t help resenting him for the things he’s done, and I honestly don’t think this will change.
The line rings only for a short while before my father picks up. He rarely shows emotions, but he can’t hide the surprise in his gaze as he answers the video chat. He is in his office at home; the familiar shelves filled with books and framed pictures fill the background of the screen.
“Quinton, is everything okay?” Slight concern lingers in his tone, something else I’m not used to.
“Yeah, I’m fine, but I need something.”
My father leans closer to the camera. “What do you need? I’ll send it to you, whatever it is, you know that.”
“Ren let me listen to the tape you sent him. I want to listen to the rest.”
Within a split second, my father’s usual stoic mask slips into place, not giving a sliver of emotion away when he speaks next. “I can’t let you listen to those. There is a lot of stuff on there you do not need to know about. Information that will put you in danger simply by knowing them.”
“Bullshit. You just don’t want me to listen because it doesn’t fit your narrative. Aspen wasn’t the one recording, and you know it. You just wanted me to hate her.”
“You should hate her. She is not your friend. I’m trying to protect you, Quinton, from her and from yourself. I know you are hurting, son. Your head is not in the right space. You are grieving, and grief clouds your mind.”
“Maybe your mind is clouded too then, or are you not grieving?”
“Quinton, you know I am.”
“No, I don’t. You won’t even acknowledge publicly that she is gone—”
“Enough!” My father slams his fist on his desk hard enough to make the laptop quake. A moment of silence stretches between us as we both try to simmer down our temper enough to continue a somewhat civilized conversation.
“If Aspen really was wearing a wire, then you would have known about Matteo,” I point out once I’m calm enough. “Did you know?”
“I didn’t know. There was no tape of that, but from the rest of the tapes, it could have only been her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Sighing heavily, my father leans back in his leather chair. “I know you don’t, but I can’t give you the rest of the tapes. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”
“Great… I guess I’ll talk to you soon then—”
“Before you hang up, there is something I need to tell you. I was actually going to call you today. A new student is coming to Corium in the next few days.”
“Who is it?” My father knows everyone attending here in one way or another, which makes it so surprising to hear what he says next.
“I’m actually not sure. Apparently, he is Alessio Bianchi’s son.”
“Bianchi?” I recognize the name. I’ve never met them, but I know they are one of the most powerful families in Europe, and Alessio is the most powerful man in Italy. I remember him having siblings. “I don’t recall him having a son.”
“Exactly.” My father taps his fingers against the smooth surface of his desk. “He says he kept him a secret to protect him, but he is ready to let him be part of our world now, and Corium is the perfect place to integrate him.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say with disinterest.