I cannot forget the relief on her tear-soaked face when I met her in the lobby. Every time she runs toward me, I want to steal her away.
But where? A life full of darkness, despair, and demons.
“How long, Nathan?” Nova sighs quietly, seeing right through my bullshit.
My shoulders slumping, I drop the ruse. “Four months.”
“Jesus!”
“It was supposed to be for one night,” I argue fruitlessly, scrubbing a hand across my jaw. “We didn’t see each other for two months until the day I met her at her PR firm. I had no intention of a repeat, but she’s… We decided to keep it casual. Now, I’m fucked.”
She wasn’t supposed to sink her claws in me and creep past my walls.
“That’s even worse.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I angrily hiss.
“Are you looking for a relationship?”
“No.” I’m a man with no future.
“You sure?” he quips. “You seemed determined to move heaven and earth for her kitten. I saw the way you gazed at her as she walked away. I also saw how she looked back at you. That girl is in too deep.”
I say nothing, knowing it already. It also cements my belief that I’m right in keeping my distance. Tonight was an exception.
Both of us go silent until he mutters under his breath, “You’re never getting off Rose’s red list.”
“Arya isn’t her sister.”
“Who do you think Bianca’s going to send to kill you?”
“I figured it would be Dash,” I reply dryly.
“He and I are going to be burying your body and covering up your murder.”
“So, you won’t bring your best friend justice?” I retort aghast.
He shoots me a glare of pure disbelief. “My wife isn’t going to prison because you were foolish enough to touch Arya.”
“Your morals are screwed.”
“You’re one to talk.”
I stare at my feet, shoulders bunched tight as I wish to turn back time. I’ll rewrite every bad decision I’ve made since I was fourteen.
“Look, man,” Nova murmurs seriously. “You have two options. Either end it if you can’t be what she needs. Or if you want to keep her as yours, be prepared for a battle to earn Bianca’s forgiveness. And don’t keep secrets from Arya.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Arya
There’s something off about Nathan when I carry Pihu out of the ER one and a half hours later. He’s standing stiffly beside Nova, who’s also wearing a grim expression.
Standing side by side, they make an intimidating duo. Equally tall but where Nathan is lean and cut, Nova is muscular like a boxer and is rough around the edges. If they weren’t wearing bespoke suits, no one would guess they’re savvy businessmen.
“Do you have my number, Arya?” asks Rosalie, jerking my attention away from our men.
“No, I don’t think so,” I answer lamely.
