He ignored the second part of her sentence. “That’s all I want to hear.”
She grimaced, hating to ask, but unable to let it fester. “Have you heard from your father yet?”
Nicholas’s eyes darkened. “No.”
Unease slithered through her. Brendan didn’t want his son and heir marrying her, and she didn’t trust the man to not follow through on making his displeasure widely known. “Great.”
“It’ll be okay. We’ll handle him if we need to.” He stroked her cheek. “You got annoyed with me earlier today. Was that stress or about Eve, or do we have anything else we need to talk about?”
She cuddled closer. It wasn’t easy for Nicholas to talk anything that might smack of emotions, but he did it anyway, for her. Because she badly needed it. “I don’t want help after we get married.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I don’t want to hire other people to do the things we can do for ourselves.”
“Livvy...” he said slowly. “You grew up with maids and a chef and a housekeeper, like I did.”
“Yeah. I haven’t hired anyone for a long time.”
He considered her thoughtfully. “This isn’t about the help. It’s about relying on anyone, isn’t it?”
“What happens if the money dries up tomorrow, Nico?” She realized she was clenching her teeth, and she made a conscious effort to relax the muscles of her face. “I know how hard it is to go from having everything to having nothing, and I don’t want us to have to go through that.”
“Youdon’t want to go through that, you mean.”
“Can you blame me?” She picked at the comforter. “For the last six months we’ve been out in the real world, but we haven’t, not really. We stick to your condo. We don’t go to events. We don’t go out to eat, really. We’ve managed to avoid reminders of who you are, who we are. Driving up here was like a nasty slap of reality. This house, the lake, the help, the horses... You’re richer than we were when I was young, and it scares me.”
He mulled all this over, his hand not stopping its stroking motion. “You know what a therapist would call this, right? Self-sabotage. You’re looking for reasons to find things wrong with our life and the future.”
She reared back in annoyance, but he tightened his arm around her. “You were the one who wanted to have this week up here, Livvy. Renting this place was an easy way to do it. As far as the help goes, did you think we could cook and clean for a dozen people? And have the place ready for a wedding at the end of the week?”
She winced. “No. But—”
“I hear you,” he said mildly. “I never really thought about how losing your family fortune affected you because you always seem so blasé about it.”
“I am blasé about it.” Until she thought about those early lean years before she’d hit her stride as a tattoo artist. It had been hard to go from never thinking about money to budgeting every little penny. She’d managed to keep her head above water, but it hadn’t been easy.
He was right, though. She’d survived losing a fortune once, she could do it again. This worry might be a little bit of self-sabotage. Because a lot of things were changing, and she was scared.
“How’s this for a proposal. In the future, we confer on any help that’s hired. We only do it if it’s somebody who will ease our life, or do a job we cannot.” He grimaced. “Because I’m not my grandfather, Livvy. I do not want to spend my days weeding a garden.”
Her lips curved up. A lot of things were changing, but this man was her constant. He always would be. Just knowing he was willing to listen to her and calm her and compromise with her put her at ease. “Okay.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “See? It’s not so hard to make decisions when you can talk it out.” He kissed her lips. His fingers stroked her back, finding the compass tattoo there. A few weeks ago, after he’d proposed, she’d modified her ink. The day after their wedding, in lieu of an immediate honeymoon, they’d start work on the back piece he wanted.
He drew a square around her compass, boxing it in. “We’re good?”
“Oh yes,” she whispered as he slid over her. “We’re very good.”
Chapter 22
Jackson came up behind Eve and glanced over her shoulder. “Very good. Make the carrots slightly smaller.” With the ease of someone who had spent a long time training subordinates in the kitchen, Jackson readjusted her cutting hand.
Eve concentrated harder, focusing on the vegetables. She had no doubt Jackson didn’t need her assistance in making the wedding eve dinner, but he hadn’t turned down her help.
She’d accompanied him to town this morning. They’d had an almost silent car ride there and back, with only minimal conversation in town while they were picking up food. It had been glorious.
When they’d returned to the house, he’d strapped an apron around his waist. She’d watched, fascinated, as he methodically set about inspecting the entire kitchen, as if someone might have fiddled with his setup overnight. When he was satisfied everything was in its place, he started to cook.
