Page 45 of The Art of Ruin

“You have marker on your face.”

Her eyes widen in horror before she sprints into the house without another word.

Silence settles comfortably in her absence for a moment.

Casey reaches up then, her fingers brushing the tiara as though she’s only just remembered it exists. A faint flush touches her cheeks as she removes it carefully and sets it beside her on the rug.

“I lost a battle of wills,” she says.

She makes no move to get up, and I like that she trusts me enough not to feel the need.

“You were wearing a tiara.”

“I’m painfully aware. And a plastic one at that. I should complain to management about the lack of diamonds.”

Her dry humor edges beneath the embarrassment, and it suits her far better than the distance she usually keeps wrapped around herself. I like the idea of her dripping in diamonds.

I hold the receipt out toward her.

Her expression changes the second she sees it. Not dramatically, but enough that I notice the way her shoulders straighten slightly, the softness leaving her mouth almost immediately.

“You used your own money.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“That’s not the point, she’s my child, I’ll pay for her things.”

Her fingers curl loosely around the plastic tiara resting in her lap. “I submitted the receipt.”

“I saw that.”

“I can expense it formally if you’d prefer.”

Like she expects criticism rather than concern.

I don’t entirely understand why that irritates me. “You shouldn’t be spending your money on Letty.”

The words come out flatter than intended, but softness has never improved clarity.

Casey glances away briefly toward the pool before meeting my eyes again. “She needed things. I was already there.”

“And I employ you. There’s a difference.”

Something flickers across her expression then, quick enough that I almost miss it. Not offense exactly. Something sharper.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters.”

The evening breeze catches a loose strand of her hair and blows it across her mouth before she tucks it back absently. Everything about her lately feels restrained, as though she’s constantly measuring how much of herself she allows into a room before deciding it’s safer to offer less.

I pull my wallet from my pocket and remove the black Amex.

Her reaction is immediate. “No.”

The answer comes too quickly to be casual.

I set the card on the patio table between us. “Use this for anything Letty needs.”