Impulsively, Nikolett rose, walking around the table. He’d come to her twice. It was time for her to go to him.
Gus was staring down at his plate, his hands gripping the edge of the table hard, his fingers were white.
Nikolett cupped his cheek. Slowly, he looked up. Rage glittered in his gaze, and it was fierce, so dark she stopped breathing for a moment. Almost took a step back. Then he blinked and there was only sadness in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know what it’s like to have a mother you love but also you’re angry with her.”
Gus’ eyes closed, his head tipping just a little, until she felt the weight of it against her palm.
“I didn’t expect it to be like this with us,” he said softly, almost to himself.
“I didn’t expect you either…” The moment felt too heavy, so she added, “cookie guy.”
Gus chuckled as he pushed back his chair. And when he patted his lap in invitation, Nikolett ignored that sense of disquiet, that small voice that said,No, no, not this man. He’s not the one we needand perched on his thigh.
Gus wrapped an arm around her, pulling her across his lap, butt on one of his legs, thighs on the other. She made a little surprised noise but didn’t resist or push back. He settled his arms around her hips as he leaned back in the chair. She was sitting upright rather than leaning against him, so they were able to look at one another.
He looked at her with a calm control that made her want to melt into him, to give in. The closeness and additional physical contact made the shared gaze feel too heavy.
You told him things about yourself that you never told Eric.
It was true, and she had no idea what to do with that.
“I assume you didn’t marry him.”
“No. I told my father I wouldn’t do it and the resulting beating was…bad.”
His arms tightened around her hips, inching her closer to him.
“He told me that I would, that I was his, and that I would do what I was told. Marry who I was told.” Remembering his stance on arranged marriage, she added, “Not an arranged marriage because that would have meant him finding the right people for me, choosing people that could make me happy and I could build a life with.”
“People?”
She hid a wince when she realized she’d used the plural. “I meant, there was no list of good options. Just the artist.”
“It was an exchange of goods. You for an incense holder.”
“Yes.”
“How did you get out of it?”
“I looked up the law. I was only twelve. Too young to marry, even with my father’s permission.”
“Twelve?” Gus’ face twisted with disgust.
“Yes.”
“Lass…have you, uh…”
“Considered that my age wasn’t incidental to the arrangement, instead, I was only worth it to the artistbecauseI was young? That my father may have been willing to marry me to a pedophile?” She raised a brow, trying to smile, but the attempted wry expression wobbled and she gave up. “I have to believe that my father didn’t know. Foolish of me.”
“We do what we have to, to survive.” They shared a moment of silence before Gus’ lips curved. “The law. You used the law to protect yourself. A law passed by politicians.”
She returned the smile. “Exactly.”
“You decided to go into politics so you could make the kind of laws that had protected you.”
“The police didn’t want to get involved when I first went to them, but I pushed. And pushed. I wrote letters to everyone Icould think of. Eventually the authorities told my father I was too young to marry. Then they lectured me about how I was rude and abrasive and disrespectful. Thepresbyterlectured me about obedience to my father.”
