Chapter Fifteen
Emma slung one leg over the other and scooted out of bed. She didn’t want to—a tingle still hummed between her legs. The smell of sex and male cologne filled the air. She glanced at him—he lay on the bed, hands behind his head and eyes on the ceiling.
She scavenger-hunted for her clothes on the floor, picking them up and getting dressed. She didn’t need to bolt out of bed, but she wanted to talk to him, and with clothes on it was easier. Even though it’d physically hurt to screw him again should he want to, just the thought of it puckered her nipples and added a layer of moisture between her folds.
Maybe later, after they talked it out. First, she needed to know if he was still the same guy from before—if those glimpses he’d shown her were human glitches, or if he’d be willing to change their dynamics. To be more open-minded about a possible future together.
She rubbed her hands in a soundless clap then threaded her fingers. Her stomach knotted, apprehension causing a nauseating sensation to float up her throat. Still, she needed to talk to him. She swallowed the lump of fear and blurted, “Nico, I want to ask you something.”
He uncrossed his hands from behind his head and propped himself to a sitting position on the bed. She glanced at his naked body, and he pulled up the sheet to his waist, maybe thinking the same thing she did—no clothes equaled no real conversation.
She licked her lips. “As you know, Zaine’s wedding is coming up, and I know you’ll be his best man. I was wondering, if—”
The muscle in his jaw flicked. “You should go with Simon.”
She clapped her hand to her heart, confused. Acid leaked into her stomach, unsettling her. “Did you hear the conversation?”
He rubbed his forehead and peered at her with dark eyes. The hesitation she expected to see in them—the one she’d seen before—was nowhere to be found. “I know he wants to take you. Wasn’t that what you wanted? To go back to him?”
“Yes, but…” She pressed her palm into her chest to will those crazy beats away. Sweat slicked her palms, and a veneer of fear cloaked her. This isn’t going well. “Things change. I mean, do you want me to go with him? After all we’ve done together, you don’t want to be my date?”
“So we can have a hard time explaining to your brother, then when he finally gets it, guess what? We’ll be over. And we’ll both hear I-told-you-sos. Is that what you want?”
Moisture evaporated from her throat. What kind of bullshit excuse was that? Who cared about what Zaine thought? “Is that how you see it happening? I mean, there isn’t any other possibility for us?”
He thrust his fingers into his hair. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
Tears fell from her eyes, and she hated herself for crying. She wished she were like one of his more sophisticated, sex-club-going partners. But now…she was plain Emma, the girl with silly old-fashioned dreams like marriage and kids. The girl who’d never be enough for someone like him.
“I’m sorry too.” Her voice wavered.
He scrambled out of bed, still naked, and walked up to her. His facial features softened a bit, and she recognized some of the agony she’d witnessed when Desmorais had told him the truth.
She remained still, even if the room seemed to spin around her, the overwhelming thoughts in her head giving her an instant migraine. She took a good look at the man standing a few feet from her, with arms awkwardly falling to his sides, so different than his usual cocky, perfect posture. “Tell me,” she said, her voice above a whisper.
Tell me I haven’t been a complete idiot by falling for you.
Tell me there’s a chance for us.
She fought the urge to make an even bigger idiot of herself and declare her love for him. Giving him that responsibility to answer back wasn’t fair, especially since a strange energy oozed from him.
She swallowed hard. The area behind her knee seared, her feet stinging, the silent demand of her body to take a couple of steps to erase the distance between them and go to him.
No. If she moved toward him, she’d launch herself into his arms and forget everything. Now she needed to remember. More tears streamed down her face, and she didn’t bother to wipe them off.
“Goodbye, Emma.”
She sobbed. “You can’t mean that. Isn’t anything we lived in the past weeks different than what you usually do?”
“Yes. It was very different. It’s just, I’m not different. Sorry.”
Raw pain clawed its way down her throat and squeezed her heart until it skipped a beat. She clapped her hand to her mouth to keep from saying anything she’d regret later. After all, they’d done it. He’d done it.
Finally, she wiped the tears with the back of her hand and sniffed. Pull yourself together, Emma. He could give himself to someone if he wanted to, her gut told her so. It’s just not me. “I’ve spent this entire month trying to change into someone else to win Simon back. I can’t change again for another man.” He was right…they were different. She took a long breath, gave him a glance that lingered into a gaze, before gathering her strength to say, “Goodbye, Nico.”
…
A week later…
Nico grabbed a bottle of water, then shut the refrigerator door a bit more harshly than necessary. He’d taken the day off to go to Zaine’s wedding, and staying home had driven him nuts. Which had been why he’d gone for a run, and now he needed a quick shower and shave. As best man, he couldn’t be late.
He took off his tennis shoes and socks. The previous night, he’d thrown Zaine a bachelor party. His brother Marco had flown in for the wedding. He’d had a hard time pretending to have fun in front of the most important people in his life. Well, all but one.
An invisible knife pierced through his heart. He’d let her go.
What else could he have done? Pretended he deserved her and then strung her along until they both realized it’d been a mistake? He’d break her heart. Her sweet, generous heart.
Sighing, he began shaving. Each time the blade cut the hair from his chin and cheeks, his fingers trembled. Nico took a deep breath and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He’d been through hell the past week. He’d worked, exercised, and barely slept. For two nights he’d gone to a hotel room, telling himself it’d been because it was closer to work for early meetings. Deep down, the idea of spending time in his house scared him.
After she’d been there, his place wasn’t the same. He looked at the bathroom and remembered her bathing in it, or to his bed and how she’d taken charge that last time they’d screwed. Made love.
I’m pathetic.
The doorbell rang, and he wiped the shaving cream off his face then jetted out of his bedroom. Who could it be? He’d talked to Marco earlier on the phone. In fact, he and his brother were closer than ever. He told him about Desmorais and his findings, and Marco had hugged him, assuring him he couldn’t care less about them not sharing the same father.
He opened the door to find Angele Desmorais at his doorstep. Wearing a beige linen outfit of sleeved shirt and pants, he couldn’t be more out of place. What was he doing there?
Desmorais leaned forward. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “Come in.”
Desmorais entered his place, in a quiet appraisal of his foyer, then his spacious living area. “Nice house.”
“I doubt you came over to talk about interior design,” Nico said, gesturing for him to sit. Desmorais did not, and neither did Nico.
A strange emotion engulfed him, and he stood in the middle of his living area, staring at the man who’d changed his life, in a sense. After all, he no longer wanted to play the game to persuade him to buy the house.
“You.” Desmorais glanced at the hardwood floor, then continued. “The last time we met was a bit hectic, and I’ve been thinking… I didn’t know your father, Calogero, had been a jerk to you. I mean, I was too busy staying away, but if I had known he’d been such a bastard, I’d have searched for you.”
Nico popped his knuckles. He’d come all the way from Mauritius just to have this talk? His gut clenched. What did Desmorais want from him? “It’s a little late.”
Desmorais gave him a slow nod, his eyes flickering with hope. “Perhaps too late for a perfect relationship, one where we, father and son, have known each other since birth. You’re right.”
Nico crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I’d like to have an imperfect relationship with you. Where I screwed up, and you give me a chance for a new beginning. I’ll come to this side of the world more often. We go out to eat, play golf, whatever you want to do. I’d like for you to meet your half-sister one day…when you’re ready. She doesn’t know about you, but I’m sure Eloise will welcome you into our little family.”
Nico’s heart raced, but a part of him clung to the skepticism he’d known for so long. “Why would you go to all this trouble?”
“Because you’re my son, and I’ve wasted too much time already.” Desmorais reached for his pocket and produced a crystal. Not just any crystal—the blue one he’d given to his mother as a gift.
He offered it to Nico, who took it in his hand. The crystal sparkled, and gratitude welled up inside him. Maybe the goal to sell the house in Mauritius had a purpose much different than he’d intended. It hadn’t brought his mother back, or his childhood, but his father—and a new chance at their relationship. “How did you get this?”
“I broke my word and visited your mother once in Italy. She showed me a picture of you and gave me that crystal—said you’d picked it out for her, and wanted me to have something from you.”
Nico caressed the quartz. Emma’s words about how he hid from meaningful relationships to keep from getting hurt rang in his ears, and his heart tattooed against his rib cage. “I guess we can give an imperfect relationship a go.”
Desmorais walked up to him and gave him a hug. Nico tensed at first, but then allowed himself to relax, and tapped Desmorais’s back. If Desmorais wanted a real, heartfelt hug, he needed to give Nico more time. This, though, was a step in the right direction.
Desmorais smiled. “Thank you. I won’t take you for granted. Where’s Emma?” he asked, looking around as if she’d pop out of a room.
Nico coughed. Where to start? He’d let her be with the guy she initially wanted, and she hadn’t proved him wrong. When he’d seen Simon at the bachelor party, he almost throat punched him. It’d been his doing, but her silence proved he’d made the right decision. “It’s complicated.”
Desmorais frowned. “You know, she told me she couldn’t work on the sanctuary project anymore. Didn’t feel right for her to be part of it when she knew how much you wanted the house.”
A shivering awareness bolted through Nico’s body. “What? When did she say that?”
Desmorais lifted his hands, indicating that he probably didn’t know the exact date. “Weeks ago.”
“She never told me,” he said, his voice losing energy at the end. His pulse skittered, his heart clenching. Dio…she gave up working for a cause she loved, a project he knew would also pay her ridiculously well, simply for principle. For him.
“I hope you didn’t break her heart. That’d be really stupid.”
Nico waved him off. “I agreed to let you into my life less than a minute ago, and you’re already giving me unrequested relationship advice?” The weight on his heart heaved, but he didn’t know what else to do. Going out and seeing other people had never even crossed his mind. No woman held a candle to Emma Cavanaugh, and he knew it now more than ever.
A smile formed on Desmorais’s face. “We have to make up for lost time, non? What about Emma?”
Emma. He rubbed his chest, eager to rid the burning assailing him every time he thought about her. He sat on his sofa, shoulders dropping a notch, and a defeated sigh fled from his lips. Desmorais lifted an eyebrow, regarding him with interest. “She deserves better. She…wants the whole picket fence thing and I don’t want to fail her.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “But there’s this other guy,” he said, frustration lumping his throat. He’d always considered Simon a loser, but now the tables had turned. He’d been the one who’d won Emma. And he, Nico, became the biggest loser of them all.
Desmorais sat next to him and squeezed his shoulder. “I let your mother go and marry someone who was the safe choice for her. I didn’t fight for her, for us, and I regret it every day. She tried her damndest, but I made the wrong choice in not choosing her.”
Nico gave him a sideways glance. “Do you think if you two had gotten married you’d still be together?”
The lines in Desmorais’s face softened. “I like to believe I would have had more time with your mother, yes. Before she got really sick. I’ve always been rebellious, even in matters of the heart. Never too honest, because it was more convenient to lie. Don’t be like me.”
A cold sensation traveled down Nico’s body, settling in his gut. He surged to his feet, restless. Did he want to become Desmorais and wonder for the rest of his life what could have been? He didn’t want more time with Emma, he wanted…forever. The word clogged his throat. The image of Emma’s sweet face popped into his mind, and his heart did a backflip. A silent but powerful reminder that during the entire time, he’d wanted to buy back a house to recuperate a sense of self. Happiness. When the woman who made him happy had supported him all along. Even when I didn’t deserve it. “What if it’s too late?”
“I came across the world to talk to you. Why can’t you go across town to find out?”