Holy shit.” Cole ran his massive hands up and down Nikki’s arms, finally stopping at her hands as he twirled her around and then pulled her against his chest. “You look amazing.”
“Don’t I always look amazing?” she teased, nervous that she had no idea what she looked like and had to rely on everyone else to tell her she was passable. But judging by the heat emanating from Cole, she was more than passable. Really, all she wanted was to look pretty. Anxiety washed over her whenever she thought about what she looked like.
Because sometimes it was hard to remember. Not the full picture.
She knew what color her hair was—a jet-black that was often shiny and bouncy. Her eyes were more golden than brown. And her Hispanic grandmother had passed down her amazing golden skin. Full lips, a petite curvy body. But it stopped there.
It was the little details that killed her, like what her teeth looked like when she was laughing. Did her eyes crinkle at the sides like they used to? Was her expression blank like most people’s were when they were struck with blindness?
And why was it, when she thought of herself, that the image was blurry at best?
But when she thought about Brant, it was clear as day. As if she could actually see him.
She closed her eyes for a few minutes and gave herself permission to imagine the man she’d married—not the one who’d stomped out of her life yet again only to yell at the first employee he’d seen, and continue on his tirade.
Apparently Cole had pushed him into the pool. She wasn’t sure if she should be concerned for Cole’s job or give him a high five for knocking Brant down a few pegs.
This was for herself. The dress. The night.
And now, more than ever, the date. She was suddenly so thankful that Cole had basically demanded a date tonight that she could have cried. The last thing she wanted was to show up stag to a company party and have to constantly look over her shoulder and wonder if he was there, if he was staring, if he thought she looked pretty.
She bit down on her bottom lip, catching it between her teeth, piercing it until blessed pain took over. She had to remind herself that was what Brant represented. Pain. Loss. Bitterness.
Brant didn’t just run when things got hard—he’d hurt her in the process and she pushed him away in order to protect them—or at least what she thought was left of them.
“Normally when I give girls compliments they reward me with a kiss.” Cole’s rough voice jolted her from her thoughts, then his lips grazed her ear. “Maybe you’re just fishing for more compliments, so in case you didn’t hear, you look absolutely stunning.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re my best friend.” Why did her voice sound so pathetic?
“No. I shouldn’t say that because I’m your best friend,” he grumbled, jerking away from her, only to grip her hand and start the slow walk across the street and into the hotel.
Warm, dry air hit her in the face as they made their way down the sidewalk. “So what are you wearing?”
“Nothing,” Cole said quickly. “I’m completely naked—hope you don’t mind.”
“Rats. If only I could see! Quick, explain said nakedness.” She could always count on Cole to distract her. Smiling, she waited for his answer.
“Pretty much just golden skin and muscles…everywhere. Not to mention a huge cock. Wait, is that too much? Have I gone too far for your innocent ears?”
Nikki burst out laughing. “Not at all, I have a very vivid imagination. Do continue.”
“Huge cock.”
“You said that.”
“It bore mentioning again, just in case you didn’t hear me the first time.”
“My hearing’s amazing. You know, blindness does that.”
“Ah, and here I thought you just liked staring at me.”
“Well, that too. You’re a really nice, colorful blur.” She shrugged while he stopped them, probably to press the Walk signal button, then grabbed her arm again as the beeping sounded. “It’s a nice blur. I promise.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a blur.”
With a giggle, she swatted him in the chest. Soon the scent of lemons and sugar filled the air.
They were at the hotel. It always smelled fresh without giving off that bleach- or Lysol-sanitized feel. It smelled clean, like a new leaf. Fresh starts.
Classical music assaulted her ears. She made a face.
“You hate sushi and classical music. Are you even human?”
“Stop. I have a very good reason for hating classical music.”
“I’m waiting.” They moved toward the music.
She swallowed the tightness in her throat. Classical music had been playing that day on the way to the hospital. Brant was humming along—he’d been so excited.
So excited that they were going to have a baby.
Her heart slammed against her chest violently. It hurt. It still hurt so much.
“Whoa, whoa.” Cole held her by the shoulders. “Why does it look like you’re about to cry?”
“I really”—she sucked in a breath—“really hate classical music.”
“I’ll fix it.” He kissed her hand and released it. “Why don’t you make your way over to the bar? Oh, and before I forget.” He placed a mask over her face. “A mask made for a princess. You’re welcome.”
Nikki touched the mask as he finished tying it behind her head. “It covers my entire face.”
“It’s a masquerade party,” he said simply, like it was a valid reason. They walked hand in hand toward a noisy blur of people and movement.
“Right, usually people just put masks over their eyes.”
“Not you.” He gave her a soft shove. “Order a drink while I go beg for some Jay Z.”
“Twenty One Pilots works too!” she called out before fumbling around for a bar stool, only to have a warm hand graze her knuckles. Shivering, she jolted back.
“Your boyfriend pushed me in the pool today,” a sexy-as-hell voice said from her right.
Heat rushed to her face. That voice had a way of wrapping around her, making her want. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Maybe tell him that—or better yet, tattoo it on his forehead, since he keeps forgetting.”
Suddenly nervous, she didn’t know what to do with her hands or her body or really anything. So she stood there. Like a loser. Totally out of her element. Gulping, she tugged at her white strapless dress. All she knew was that the silk felt amazing against her legs and that it had a train that danced around her ankles.
“I’m disappointed,” Brant said in that raspy, familiar voice of his.
Hurt, she sucked in a breath, only to have him take a step closer and grab her hand.
“Disappointed I can’t see your face.”
“I could have boils under this mask and you’d never know.”
“With a body like that, would any man in his right mind really care?” he stunned her by saying. Wait, didn’t he know it was her? He had to, right? Unless he was already drunk?
“I can’t decide if that’s insulting or really sweet,” she said with a shaky laugh, looking away at all the rest of the colorful blurs moving around her.
“I’ve been accused of both on multiple occasions.” He chuckled, which added to her discomfort. “Now, what can I get you to drink?”
“White wine.” Idiot. She tolerated wine. She loved fruity drinks, but she’d said the first thing that popped into her head.
“George,” Brant called, “white wine for the lady and the usual for me.”
“Lime, Mr. Wellington?” George asked.
“You know it.”
Wellington.
Her entire body seized. Just hearing someone else saying his name did bad things to her.
She shivered. The years had made him into a very angry man, that she knew; what she hadn’t counted on was the years molding his body into the perfect male specimen just begging to be licked from head to toe.
Great, now she was thinking about licking him?
Stupid massages. Stupid, stupid, kisses.
Time slowed as her fuzzy brain put together pieces that didn’t fit, that shouldn’t have fit. She should have known yesterday, when Cole was acting weird, when her body responded so erotically to Brant’s.
“Excuse me.” She barely managed to get the words out before Brant tugged her hand and pulled her flush against him.
“Are you all right?” He steadied her, grabbing her by the waist.
That damn touch. So familiar. It had been everything. Her anchor. Her life.
And suddenly she was transported to a time when his hands were always on her, when he couldn’t get enough of her, when she thought she might die if he didn’t kiss her.
So many things had changed.
“Yes, I’m…” Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t think straight. Was it selfish? That the last thing she wanted to do was tell him who she really was, that the girl beneath the mask was in fact the girl he’d both kissed and yelled at earlier. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized her and said something.
Emotions warred against one another. Hatred that he was hitting on her. How many women had he been with since they were married? Maybe it was more jealousy than hatred, but they both stemmed from anger that he’d been with others when, for her, it had always been him.
And Cole.
Great, now she felt guilty about Cole. Damn it!
Why did Brant have to be the only man to ever make her feel anything? Why did he have to be her soul mate? Brant Wellington, no matter how arrogant and angry, was clearly not someone you just got over.
It burned that the only man who made her feel alive wanted nothing to do with her—would shove her away if she peeled back her mask.
“Maybe you should have water instead?” he joked, releasing her a bit and placing a glass in her hand.
“Dance with me!” Cole announced, jerking her away from Brant’s attention. She wasn’t sure if she was thankful or annoyed, as he pulled her toward the floor and whispered in her ear.
“Wasn’t sure if I was playing the white knight that saves you from the evil king or the white knight that falls on his own sword so he can actually have a chance at you.”
She smirked beneath her mask and then tears welled in her eyes.
“Shit.” Cole sighed. “I was supposed to fall on my own sword, then? Is that how this date is going to end?”
“No.” She brought a shaky hand to his shoulder as he twirled her around. “It’s just…my body has a hard time reminding my brain that he’s the evil king, that’s all.”
Get yourself together, Nik!
“You looked like you’d seen a ghost,” Cole whispered.
She snorted and looked down. “It feels that way. Whenever Brant and I talk, it’s like the past is exploding in front of my face.”
The music shifted from classical to “Close” by Nick Jonas. Great, Cole, good choice.
She was dizzy, overwhelmed, hot.
“He’s watching you,” Cole whispered. “He’s angry.”
She snorted. “He’s always angry. It’s kind of his thing.”
“Not the type of angry where he wants to fire me. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he’s jealous.”
“Impossible.” She ignored the little spring of hope that threatened to burst through her chest.
“Very possible.” Cole sighed and spun her around. The heat from his chest pressed against her breasts, and it felt all wrong. Because it was Cole, and she was lying to herself when she thought it would be possible—especially after Brant’s kisses—to feel anything for anyone but him, even if his horrible personality came right along with that body.
So did his past.
So did the memories.
And her treacherous brain kept trying to remind her why they’d been so perfect before, why they’d laughed so much, why it had been everything.
Until they lost all of it.
“I should go…” She pulled out of Cole’s embrace.
Cole grabbed her by the arm. “Wait.”
And then he left her.