Nicholas

 

 

It's do-or-die for me at this moment. I have one chance to convince Sophia that I'm the man for her. I've watched her all night. She confidently moved through the crowd, talking to countless people. Her gaze never wandered from the face of the individual she was engaged in a conversation with. She took her time, smiled, laughed and then at the end of the night, gave an eloquent, off-the-cuff speech about what fashion has meant to her life.

If there was any doubt that I was in love with her before tonight, it's been erased.

This is the woman I want in my life. She's everything I need and more.

Now, all I have to do is get her to understand that I'm not the man who stood in front of her in one of the private rooms of this restaurant a few weeks ago. I'm not the guy who spat out hate-fueled words.

"Your thirty minutes starts now, Nicholas." She glances down at her watch.

"It'll start after we order a drink." I push open the door of the restaurant to allow her to step through and onto the sidewalk. Most of the partygoers have already left, but there are still a few people hanging back to enjoy the free drinks and food supplied by Foster Enterprises.

"I set the rules." She tosses me a look over her shoulder. "I say your time starts now."

I won't argue. I saw the hesitation on her face when I caught her eye at five minutes to midnight. I thought she might bail although if she had, I would have argued my case.

"Now it is." I rest my hand on the small of her back to guide her down the street. "We're going to that bar over there. A friend of mine owns it."

That's not meant to impress her. It's not a warning either. The owner is a woman, twice my age who is close friends with my mother. I don't want Sophia to question the embrace I'll receive when I walk through the door.

It happens as if on cue. Shirley Bartlett rushes toward me the moment Sophia and I step through the nondescript glass door of the small establishment. It's been a neighborhood staple for years. It's also where I took my first swallow of a cheap whiskey that burned my throat. I was fifteen at the time and the memory of that day, sitting next to my father at the bar, is as vivid now as it was then.

"Nicky." She yanks me toward her. "Look at you. You're a big deal now."

Sophia eyes me up before her gaze moves to Shirley. The long dark braid down her back is a signature look for her. That and the dark rimmed glasses she's always wearing.

"Shirley Bartlett, I want you to meet Sophia Reese."

Sophia smiles shyly. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Bartlett."

"Shirley. You'll call me Shirley like the rest of the world does."

Sophia nods before her gaze drops to her watch.

My time with her is rapidly running out, so I scan the space for an open table. "We'll take that back table, Shirl. I'll have my regular and Sophia will have a glass of red wine."

"White wine," Sophia corrects me. "Tonight I'm drinking white wine."

I smile. "White wine it is. A glass from your best bottle, Shirley."

"House white is fine." Sophia smirks.

"This is her, isn't it?" Shirley turns to face me directly. "This is the girl your mama told me about. This is the fashion designer."

Sophia shuffles on her feet.

"Yes," I answer clearly. "This is her. Sophia is the woman my mom told you about. She's the most incredible woman I've ever known."

 

***

 

"What I said to Shirley is true. You are the most incredible woman I've ever known."

She traces her index finger around the rim of her wine glass. "I guess I should thank you for the compliment."

She hasn't said a word to me since we sat down. We waited in silence for Shirley to bring our drinks and then as she went on about a conversation she had earlier today with my mom, I listened fully aware that every second was eating into my time with Sophia. I finally asked Shirley to give us a minute and she did without question.

"I'm sorry, Sophia."

Her gaze trails over my face. I see the sadness in her eyes. It's been there since that night at Hibiscus when I accused her of the unimaginable. "I know that you are."

My heart buoys with her words even though I know she's the forgiving type. She's more compassionate than most people. I saw that tonight when she gave a piece of herself to everyone at her party. "I should have taken some time to decompress after I found out the book was made public. I was angry and when I lashed out, that was completely wrong. There's no excuse for the way I treated you."

She nods. "I get that you were upset about your book showing up online, Nicholas. What I don't get is how you jumped to the conclusion that I was responsible for that."

It's a fair question. I know she's not referring to the fact that at the time I believed that the only two people who had access to that file were the two of us. She wants to know how I thought she was capable of something so underhanded. "I wasn't thinking straight. I was panicked. I didn't take a minute to think about the woman I had spent all that time with."
"You only considered the cold, hard facts?"

"It's all I could see in front of me at the time," I say truthfully before I take a swallow of whiskey to fuel my next words. "I was enraged. It took months to write that book and in an instant, I lost all that effort."

"And money," she adds. "I know you must have lost a lot."

"Money is money." I sigh. "Whatever I do get from the book is going directly to charity."

She rubs the back of her neck, the motion shifting the front of her dress, exposing a sliver of the side of her right breast. "That's generous of you."

"It feels right to me. It's a shitty situation but if something positive comes of it, I'll be happy."

"You're a good person."

I can't tell if that's surprise that laces her voice or not, so I take her words at face value. "I am a good person. I fucked up. I've regretted it since that night."

"It showed that you don't trust me." She takes a sip of wine; her lips leave a faint imprint of red lipstick on the glass. My cock stirs at the sight. I want that lipstick on me. On my lips, my jaw, my chest, and rimmed around my dick.

"I trust you, Sophia."

"No." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry but I don't believe you."

"I trust you more than anyone I've ever known."

She chuckles softly. "Words are just words, Nicholas. Your actions that night say otherwise."

"Let me prove it to you."

"How would you do that?" The tip of her index finger traces the outline of her earlobe. "You can't prove to me that you trust me."

"I'll bare my soul to you." I pat the center of my chest. "I know you have questions about me, about my life. Ask and I'll answer every single one with honesty."

Her eyes run over my face as she considers my offer. I know it's late. The thirty minutes she granted me ended ten minutes ago. This is when she'll flee and any chance I had of getting her back will disappear with her.

Her tongue slicks her bottom lip. "I do have a question. I want to know why that letter Briella wrote to you is covered in red specks of something that looks like…"

"Blood," I interrupt her. "That note Briella wrote me is covered in her blood. She wrote it just before her father walked into her bedroom and killed her and our unborn child."