Neither of them spoke as Nico poured her drink and then handed her the glass, his fingers brushing hers. He gestured to one of the sofas by the window, its cushions warmed by a spill of light from a building across the way.
‘Maybe we should sit,’ he suggested quietly. ‘You look a little shocked.’
‘I feel…’ She didn’t even know how she felt. It was as though she’d fallen down a flight of stairs, mentally speaking. She still didn’t know where she was, or how badly she hurt. Ashley slowly walked over to one corner of the sofa and curled up in it, drawing her dress—the one that had started it all!—around her ankles. She still hadn’t told him why she’d kept it, and she didn’t even know if she could. She took a cautious sip of whisky, wincing at the taste, which drew a wry chuckle from Nico, who had sat on the opposite sofa.
‘Not your usual drink?’ he surmised.
‘No.’ She lowered her glass as she gazed at him, determined get to the truth of that evening. ‘So, we spoke that night. Significantly, it seems.’
‘Yes.’ He stared back steadily, but his expression was still impossible to read. It looked even, but she felt as if he was still holding himself in check.
‘What else did we talk about?’
‘Lots of things.’ He gave a little shrug. ‘Our favourite books, what we thought of the city, how we both felt like outsiders at the ball.’
Fascinated, Ashley shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I don’t remember all that.’ She felt as if she would surely remember a man like Nico entering her life even for a moment, especially at the impressionable age of eighteen.
‘That’s not actually the part I’d have expected you to remember,’ he replied, and she leaned forward, intrigued as well as apprehensive.
What had he still not told her? ‘What, then?’ she asked.
He hesitated, rotating his tumbler of whisky between his long, lean fingers. His head was slightly bent, his face cast in shadow, so Ashley could only see the blade of his cheekbone, the straight line of his nose and the fullness of his lips. He was as beautiful as a Greek statue, and in that moment, he felt just as remote.
‘While we were still talking,’ he finally said, his voice low and toneless, ‘I was arrested. Right in front of you. Handcuffed and dragged away.’
A soft gasp escaped her as her mind formed the seemingly impossible image. ‘In the middle of theball?’
He glanced up at her, and the bleakness in his eyes made her gasp again. ‘Yes.’
Ashley shook her head instinctively. Surely she would have rememberedthat? And yet…already jagged pieces of a puzzle flashed through her mind: a scream, a sob, her own choking fear… Her fingers tightened on her glass.
Nico leaned forward. ‘Do you remember now?’ he asked in a low voice that thrummed with intensity.
‘Not…not really.’ Her voice was thick. ‘Just… I don’t know. Just…flashes of feeling.’
‘What kind of feeling?’
‘Fear, mainly,’ she admitted numbly, the sensations still swirling through her. ‘My own overwhelming fear.’ She had to swallow hard. ‘But I don’t know if it’s from that night. Who can say…?’
‘Why,’ Nico asked, leaning back, ‘Wouldyoube afraid?’ He almost sounded scornful, and Ashley couldn’t blame him.
She needed to be more honest. ‘Because I was terrified of my father,’ she admitted. ‘Back then.’
Nico frowned, his dark brows drawing together. ‘Terrified…?’ he repeated, still sounding sceptical.
Ashley looked down at her glass, and then took another sip of whisky, this time managing not to wince at the taste. She needed the fire that stole through her, giving her the courage to say more. ‘Yes, terrified,’ she stated baldly, meeting Nico’s gaze once more. ‘He wasn’t just unkind, like I said before. He was…abusive, for many years.’ Admitting as much made her feel as if she’d exposed her raw nerves to touch and light, everything in her twanging with the anticipation of pain. Nico said nothing but simply stared at her, waiting for more.
‘Mainly emotionally,’ she continued stiltedly, ‘But also sometimes physically. And if I was talking to you and he didn’t like it for some reason…’ The knowledge trickled through her, coldly and surely. ‘I would have been utterly terrified that night,’ she finished flatly, ‘Of what he might do to me after.’
Which might have something to do with why she’d forgotten it so completely…and disastrously.
Nico stared at Ashley, noting the strained pallor of her face. Her eyes were huge and dark, her lips pressed together. Her fingers clenched her glass, so her knuckles were sharp and white. Whatever else she was hiding, he realised he believed her about this. He just didn’t know how much it changed things.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. He took a sip of his own drink as he tried to organise his swirling thoughts. ‘I’m sorry about your father and how he treated you,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘It was a well-kept secret. My father was known to be incredibly charming. No one doubted it, at least until he was arrested.’ She smiled thinly, but Nico found he couldn’t smile back.
‘Yes, I can believe that,’ he replied tightly as his stomach clenched with memories. He knew just how charming and convincing Chase Woodward could be. ‘But…’ He paused. ‘You didn’t seem terrified to me,’ he told her honestly. ‘I’m not saying you weren’t,’ he added, ‘Just that…it felt different.’ When they’d been talking, it had felt warm and sweet. As for afterwards…it had been all cold indifference, her face a blank mask.
