Nick moved beside me, sliding his arm around my waist like it was second nature. Somehow, it helped.
“It’s part of why I asked Colt to get everyone together,” he said. “We were going to tell you guys at dinner.”
Bianca placed the tray down, her voice thick with emotion. “Nessun mio figlio si sposerà senza Dio…”
Colt cracked a joke. Everyone laughed. The room shifted—but I didn’t. I was still stuck in the middle of it, too exposed, too fragile.
“Is that why Brittany saw you leaving the lake house last night?” Abigail asked, her voice sharper now. I stammered. Nick saved me again.
“Let’s sit and eat,” he said, pulling out my chair. I sank into it, grateful. He kissed my forehead.
It was fake. But it didn’t feel fake.
Bianca smiled at him like he hung the moon. And I watched him with the same hunger.
A sniffle broke through the room.
“You don’t love me anymore,” the little girl said before running off.
Geeze, even five-year-olds are in love with Nick in this town. Anytime he comes out to greet a table of girls at the restaurant, they swoon over him. Some practically eye fuck him on the spot, and I know some girls would if that meant he gave them the time of day.
Nick chased after her without hesitation and knelt in front of her, whispering in her ear.
And I just stood there, aching. Aching because a child got something I never had: his protection, his comfort, his arms around her. And I wanted that more than I wanted the ring.
I wanted him.
And it hits me, I’m jealous of a five-year-old. Not because he’s looking at her with adoration, but because he is making her feel safe in his arms. I never got that as a child. I never had a dad around until later in life, and instead of protecting my innocence, he damaged every piece of it down to my core.
16
NICK
“Come on, let’s eat. My mom said she made you your favorite apple pie,” I said, my voice low as I leaned in.
“She did?” Faye’s whole face lit up, her excitement making her eyes shine like stars.
“Yup. But we’ve gotta survive real food before we get to dessert,” I said, and tapped her nose with the tip of my finger. She giggled, and for a second, my heart ached—she reminded me so much of my sister at that age. Pure. Untouched by all the shit the world throws at you.
“Okay!” she chirped and skipped off toward the table. When I straightened, I saw Melanie across the room, watching me. Her eyes were unreadable, but her lips were parted ever so slightly, like she’d forgotten to finish a thought.
I moved toward her like I couldn’t stay away.
I slid into the seat beside her, resting my hand on her thigh beneath the table. Her body went rigid under my touch, but her smile stayed perfectly in place, like it had been glued on. I pressed my palm into her just a bit more. Possessive. Anchoring.
Colt’s voice broke through. “Okay, so how did this all happen? Because when you two first met, I swear I thought you were ready to throw punches, not wedding vows.”
Abigail didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not surprised. You could feel it. They were fire from the beginning.”
“Oh, totally,” my sister chimed in with a mouth full of stuffing. “They were always fighting at the restaurant. I’m relieved he married someone with style, because his wardrobe is tragic.”
“I have style,” I said, shooting her a look.
She rolled her eyes. “Jeans and a T-shirt don’t count, caveman.”
Since flipping her off wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, I stuck my tongue out at her. She snorted and stabbed her turkey through the mashed potatoes.
“Real mature,” she muttered, amused.
