Prologue
He leaned back in his mahogany chair, the plush leather shaping itself to his form. The head of sales was going on and on about quarterly metrics and how this was one of the biggest years for Vale Industries. He heard parts of it.
His hand was lazily sketching. A face. The face he saw every night in his dreams, almost haunting. Wild curls. Big eyes. A smile that broke his heart in the best of ways.
"So what do you think about raising the profit margin by adding the new product line? R&D department has really been doing good things—Cassian, Cassian!"
Rodrick's voice broke through his reverie.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you think is best. Whatever you think is necessary," Cassian said.
Rodrick sighed and shook his head. He could tell the boss wasn't in it tonight.
"You know what, we'll call it a night. We'll see you next week when you come down to the office."
Cassian nodded and ended the call.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He hoped it wouldn't be one of those nights. Not another night like this. He just couldn't take it anymore and he didn't know what to do. All he asked for was one night's worth of sleep where she didn't come to him, where she didn't come to his dreams, taunting, teasing, breaking and mending his heart all at once.
He pushed away from his chair and pulled his shirt over his head. Might as well get whatever sleep was left to be had.
He went to stand at the ceiling-to-floor glass window and stared out over Vale estate. Dark and quiet and entirely his. The restorer was coming tomorrow.
His heart skipped a beat.
He'd seen her photograph the moment he began his search. She was highly praised, but he knew—not in any way he could explain, not in any logical way—he knew he had to have her. Not have her, but have her come to the house.
He couldn't think straight. He had to have her come to restore the painting that had hung in the ballroom since he was a child.
The one that haunted his dreams every night.
The one that had caused him to falter in every relationship he'd ever had. The one that felt like half of him was missing.
He went into the shower, trying to scrub the remnants of the face from his mind. With the very water, with the very heat of it.
He came out. Got dressed. Laid down in his bed, silk sheets and eiderdown pillows claiming him as their own. But nothing could make him feel relaxed, and he stared up into the canopy, waiting for the fitful sleep that had haunted his years to finally claim him.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow.
