Basil knew, inherently, that he wasn’t likely to escape that remarkable little confession that still felt heavy and peppery against his tongue. He wanted to claw it back, rake his fingers across his mouth and force himself to swallow it up. Atticus’ snap only made him wince like he’d been slapped across the face. Infatuation. Was that all it had been? Could he ever really, truly get Gus Lissington out of his system? (If history had proven anything, the answer was glaringly obvious…)

He felt that lovesick queasiness overtake again, the overwhelmingly conscious thought of Victoire and how Atticus was right. He did have something marvelous in front of him. They just had to strategize about how best to get it. To hell with Lissington, Basil had bigger problems now. Like Anthony and trying to convince the girl he adored that he was worth a second of her time, much less that she ought to marry him!

Swinging back on the pendulum, Basil was startled as Atticus took him by the arm. He didn’t protest. He was getting seasick from this back and forth, this pressure he felt on his nerves for both Victoire and Lissington. Perhaps sleep was the best alternative. Settling on the edge of the bed again, Basil finally accepted the green goo. It was probably a sleeping draught. He took a sip, letting it warm him from the inside out. Chamomile and honeysuckle, sunshine and red hair.

“Atticus,” he finally said breaking the silence after a long pause. His voice was quiet and he turned to lean gently on his brother’s person much as he had when they were younger, tucking his face away from the eldest even as his head came to rest on the shoulder there. The question on the tip of his tongue felt heavy. He wanted to dispose of it, to chuck it into the air and see where it would land. At his brother’s resounding hum, Basil swallowed a thick lump in the back of his throat. “Would you still care for me if… if it wasn’t just an infatuation?” His voice quieted even more, if that was possible. “Will you hate me, terribly, if I prove a disappointment?”

Will you hate me if I wake up tomorrow and don’t want to marry Victoire?

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