Cas was always distractingly lovely to look at, but especially so in the summer. It was how he’d been when I’d first seen him, first loved him, and in my memories, he was always this way: sun-kissed and glowing with the heat of the warmest season. In Jersey, he’d looked like a delicate and fragile summer bloom. In London, he took on a different aura: expensive and cosmopolitan. The insouciant way he held his water, the glint of his Cartier watch, the gleam even of his fingernails. He was grace and extravagance, oozing good breeding in a way that made me feel self-conscious.
