My heart wrenches.
“I’m sorry. If you want to stay someplace else, we have an apartment at the Fox & Falcon building that would be safe. Or if you don’t want to be alone, I’m sure Knight wouldn’t mind if you stayed with him.”
Sofia goes quiet again. She stares at our hands.
Selfishly, I don’t want her to go.
I want her to stay so I can try to fix things.
I want her here because… Shit. Even when I was irritated with her, things just felt more rightwith her here.
And I want her here because I missed her.
Sofia blows out a slow breath. Then she looks up at me. “It hurts to be here. But.”
“But?”
“But I feel safe here, too.” Her finger brushes mine. “Safer with you than anyone else.”
Maybe there’s still a chance.
“Are you sure,” she continues, “that you want me to stay here? I don’t want you doing this out of guilt. You don’t owe me?—”
“It’s not guilt.” And in my heart, I know it’s not. It’s so much more than that. It’s all the things I’ve shoved deep down for close to twenty years, finally resurfacing. “I want you here, Soph. Full stop.”
Her finger wraps around mine, just as we used to do when we were in school and didn’t want to get in trouble for doing anything more intimate. Her beautiful hazel eyes meet mine. “Then I’ll stay.”
Chapter Eleven
SOFIA
“What would you like for breakfast?”
As I walk into the kitchen, I jolt at the incongruity of what I was expecting and reality.
What I wasexpectingto see at eight AM on Friday morning was an empty kitchen. I figured Nico would already be working in his home office, since he told me before bed last night that he wasn’t planning on going into Fox & Falcon today. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone here yet,” he explained. “Not with the concussion and your arm still in a sling. Too many things could go wrong.”
I didn’t argue, even though my head feels miles better than it did just a few days ago. I didn’t insist that I would be perfectly fine on my own.
Would I be? Probably. Physically, at least.
But I meant what I said last night, that I feel safer with Nico than anyone.
Yes, he has a top-of-the-line security system. But it’s still not enough to chase away the icky, squirmy-ness in my belly whenever I think about being alone. It’s not enough to alleviatethe irrational fear that, despite the obvious safety of Nico’s condo, someone could still get to me here. Try to kill me again.
Am I still pissed at Nico? Yes. Revelations of the truth and heartfelt apologies aren’t enough to erase years of hurt and resentment.
Soften them, though? Maybe.
After all, I never thought he was a bad person. Made bad decisions? Sure. Hurt me tremendously? Absolutely. But a bad person? No.
After Nico left my room last night, I laid awake for hours, just thinking. I dredged up the worst of the memories—those terrible days in the detention center and the ones immediately after, during my frenzied rush to leave the city.
Then I thought aboutbefore. Before things went so terribly wrong. I thought about the two years I had with Nico, and how incredible it was. I remembered all the things about Nico that made me fall in love with him; glimmers of things I still see even now.
I always loved how thoughtful he was. He’d pay attention to the things I liked best—the cozy mysteries I’d stock up on at the library and my obsession with red velvet cupcakes—and surprise me with a pile of brand new books or a box of cupcakes from my favorite bakery. Sure, he could afford to buy me gifts all the time. But they weren’t generic gifts, like flowers or chocolate. They were gifts that meant he really knew me.
Even as a teenager, Nico was protective. He’d always insist on walking on the outside of the sidewalk because it was safer for me. He’d pick me up from swimming practice every evening so I wouldn’t have to take the subway home alone. And if anyone gave me trouble—hinting I didn’t belong at our exclusive private school because I was a scholarship kid or making fun of me for living in Brooklyn—he’d immediately jump in to defend me.
