Page 43 of The Cost of Silence

Something breaks open in my chest.

A soft, aching place I’ve kept locked up since my dad died.

I step back first, because if I don’t, I might lean forward instead. I can handle angry and gruff Nico, and even dirty and sexy Nico. But sweet Nico could ball my heart in his hand and do with it whatever he pleases, and I’m not sure I could stop him or if I’d want to.

“I… I should call my mom,” I say, stepping back.

He nods, stepping aside. “Do that. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

I call my mother first.

She bursts into tears before I even finish saying hello, and I spend twenty minutes reassuring her I’m alive, safe, unburned, un-dead, and well-fed, but neglect to tell her I’m with Nico Mancini. That would only make her worry more, so I tell her I’m staying with a friend and leave it at that.

Then I call my editor, who swears, threatens litigation, then tells me to take the week off but “for the love of everything holy, do NOT stop taking notes.”

My group chat explodes the moment I text the girls, Casey, Iris, and Brianna. My college friends are the ones I’d normally trust with my every secret. Yet, I find myself not wanting to share what’s going on right now, especially where I’m currently staying. Three FaceTime requests. Eight thousand emojis. Two threats of storming the city with baseball bats and lots of love. I promise to call them tomorrow and, God, I miss them. Casey is a nanny for a family in London, and Brianna and Iris run anevents planning business in L.A., so we’re spread thin, but our bond is unbreakable.

I’m exhausted by the time I wander back to the kitchen.

Nico is still there.

Coffee in front of him and his laptop closed.

Just… waiting.

He looks up immediately. “How’d it go?”

I slide back onto the stool. “Mom cried. My editor swore. My friends want to murder whoever touched me.”

“And you?”

The question lands softly but deeply and I answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

He nods. “That’s allowed.”

Silence settles. Not awkward, warm. Rested. A blanket instead of a wall.

I toy with the edge of a napkin. “Nico?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For… all of this. The clothes. The food. The room. The note.”

A slow, controlled exhale leaves his chest. “Don’t thank me,” he says. “Just… stay alive.”

His gaze meets mine.

And for a heartbeat too long, neither of us looks away.

Heat flickers between us, subtle but unmistakable.

An almost-moment.

Dangerous.

Beautiful.

Before anything can happen, before I do something stupid, my stomach growls loudly. I slap a hand over it, mortified.