One of his hands wraps around my bicep, effectively silencing me. Not hard, just in grounding way. Familiar. “Come upstairs with us.”
I blink up at him, trying my damnedest not to get lost in those piercing green eyes. “I’m sorry,what?”
“We have a room. It’s quiet, and most importantly,private.”
I hesitate, and I meanreallyhesitate. Rationality screams. Logic waves its arms about like red flags. My resolution beats its tiny fists against the door.
“Just to talk,” Nick adds, voice low and warm enough to short-circuit my brain as he sidles up to my other side. “You owe us that.”
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that they both know he’s right.
I hate that I’m caving.
I let out a long, suffering sigh, my eyes going for a defeated spin. “Fine, but only to talk.”
Klaus’s smirk sayssure, Janwithout a single word.
Nick’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting one of his own.
And I, the world’s biggest idiot, let them lead me toward the elevators, dignity and self-respect nowhere to be found.
FIVE
Their hotel room is warm,dimly lit, and far too intimate for my emotional stability. A king-sized bed dominates the space, and I absolutely refuse to acknowledge it.
Nick removes his mask first, setting it neatly on the dresser. He looks as handsome as I remember—sharp jawline, dreamy eyes, the kind of man who could command a room with a single glance. Klaus drops his beside Nick’s as well, promptly removing his tux jacket and rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off a year’s worth of tension.
“Alright…” I follow suit and slip off my mask, too, toying with the string anxiously. “Let’s continue, shall we? Why are you here?”
“We already answered that,” Nick states, folding his jacket over the back of a chair.
“You ghosted us and we want answers,” Klaus adds as he moves to the minibar, grabs a bottle of champagne, and pops it open with a soft crack. The sound echoes through the room like a starting gun at a horse race. Pouring three glasses, he hands one to me first. “Drink. You look like you’re about to combust.”
I roll my eyes, but take the proffered glass nonetheless. “I’m not combusting.”
Klaus makes this sound in the back of his throat, just as the low hum of festive music rings out in the room. When I glance to my right, Nick’s settled himself on the edge of the bed, remote control in hand. “The ball drop coverage started already. Thought we’d put it on.”
“Because nothing says ‘let’s resolve romantic problems’ like watching a giant glowing orb descend,” Klaus mutters under his breath.
Nick doesn’t full-on smile, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Tradition is tradition, son.”
Son.
That does something to me,so much that I have to take a hefty sip of my champagne as a memory that feels like it happened both yesterday and ages ago floods me…
“And who are they?” I ask—like a dumbass.
Because why am I suddenly not…scared anymore?
They start toward me then, the skull masks covering the lower half of their faces coming into view. Oh, fuck… Basic instinct begs me to move, to dash out the door and get to safety, but they effectively corner me in seconds flat and render me immobile. Nick shoves aside the coffee table and all, removing any possible blockade between us.
I gasp as he embeds himself in my personal space, caging me against the cushions.
“These are my sons,” he finally answers, the mask moving only slightly above his lips.
As the vision fades and reality sets back in, I find Klaus leaned up against the wall, watching me over the rim of his glass. My stomach flip-flops, knees threatening to buckle at the intensity of the look in his eyes. I take another sip to steady myself, but my head swims with the motion, my coordination officially on strike. The champagne sloshes over the glass, then spills right down the front of my dress.
