My Nick. It felt like his chest was caught in a vise.
“I can be your Nick.” He took her hand from his face and slipped the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly. “Say yes,” he urged, folding his fingers over hers. “And I will be.”
Jay closed her eyes and he felt his heart clench.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes.”
???????
When Jay was younger, she had thought about her wedding like any other girl, but every template for marriage she’d ever seen had either been disastrous, like her mother’s, or had a hard, sterile stop after the “I do,” like one of those children’s fairytales.
Nobody had ever told her whatshouldcome next after the happily-ever-after. She only knew what failure looked like, and had felt the brutal sting of its loveless lash as her parents’ marriage disintegrated. Relegated to the role of spectator, she had watched the matches play out as cold silences and shouted arguments, punctuated by broken plates and late-night rendezvous. Both her mother and Damon were far too proud and cruel to ever let the other leave unscathed, even if it meant that their own children would end up as the casualties. Which they had. Over and over.
What would happen when she and Nicholas inevitably fought? Because they would. They were like oil and water—if the oil was ablaze and the water was frozen. Would he mock her, trap her in a cage of her own words? Or would he follow his father’s teachings and allow himself to become poisoned by the hate he claimed to deny as she inevitably failed to meet his expectations and fled from his taunting?
For years, her resistance had become a steel bar that she could support herself against when everything else was crumbling down. If she didn’t need anyone, it wouldn’t matter if she ended up alone. If she didn’t let herself love anyone, it wouldn’t hurt when they left. But now that bar had been yanked away and Jay could feel herself falling into the cold dark void it had left behind, and for the first time in her life, she had to trust that somebody would catch her.
(You need someone to take care of you)
God, it terrified her. It had been so long since she had been in a relationship with anyone, and none of those had ever made her feel the tide of overwhelming sensations that threatened to take over whenever they were together. It left her feeling desperate—to run, hide, both, either. She wasn’t sure. She had tried both and been run to ground by his tireless, maddening pursuit of her.
The lines that were beginning to form on his face suggested that he was as exhausted by it all as she was. Far from being the carefree playboy she’d imagined he had become in her absence by living large on his father’s money, Nicholas ran his company with the defiant stoicism of a captain manning a sinking ship.
Not that he was saint—he had his father’s cold patrician arrogance and could be so hot-tempered that he was nearly bratty. But in the years that she had been away, Nicholas had become an adult in a way that she had not.
And she was so fucking lonely.
Nicholas wanted to celebrate their upcoming nuptials by taking her out to dinner. He didn’t call it a celebration but she knew it was one because this time they didn’t go to Accia; they went to the Bayview, which had a very expensive wine bar with a view of the ocean.
Hitting up all the old haunts, she thought, wondering if Nicholas knew that despite its quiet elegance, the Bayview was notorious for being the place where men brought their mistresses.
At least I fit the dress code, she thought, pulling down her strappy black dress. She felt ridiculous in it—her mother would say she looked like a “size fourteen sausage in a size ten casing”—but when Nicholas saw her wearing it, he had nearly walked into the wall.
“My fucking god,” he said, fisting his keys. “Come here. Now.”
(“Tell me I’m yours”)
A maître d’ walked them to a booth by the plush bar of Quentin’s father’s hotel. Or maybe it washishotel now. She caught a glimpse of Quentin himself, dressed in a tailored suit and giving orders to a handful of staff as he no-doubt instructed them on how to handle the pre-dinner rush.
Jay looked away before their eyes could meet but thought she saw him do a double-take in her periphery. He was pushy enough that he would take a single look as invitation to come over, so she kept her eyes on her water glass. But when a complimentary bottle of wine arrived at their table that Nicholas denied ordering, Jay knew who it was really from.
It angered her. Did everyone think she was so cheap to buy?
“One More Night” by Saleka was playing from some hidden speaker, the low, sultry music adding to the seductive atmosphere. Anxiety heightened her senses, making her aware of everything from the smells of cooking spices to the slight current of displaced air against all the skin exposed by her “punishment dress” every time someone passed by their table.
Nicholas took his napkin and covered the cork, twisting until the bottle opened with a muffled pop. “Was Quentin the one who told you about Jake?”
Jay looked at him so sharply that her earrings shivered. “He was.” Taking the bottle from him, she poured them each a frothing glass, as a waiter raced over in a panic, trying to help her pour. “We’re fine, thank you,” she said, and then felt her mouth harden when his eyes flicked involuntarily to the low neck of her dress. “He mentioned you invested money in this hotel.”
“Very opportunistic of him.” Nicholas leaned back in his seat as he watched the flow of pale liquid, his eyes a deep slate in the low lights of the bar. “I wonder if he’s kissing up to me or you.”
“You, probably.” She handed him his glass and a spark shot up her wrist when their fingers brushed. “He made it very clear where his priorities lay when we last spoke.”
“He took you for granted then. Just like all your other friends.” He raised the glass to his lips, causing his dinner jacket to fold open. He was the only man in the establishment who wasn’t wearing a tie and he outshone them all with his dark elegance. “It’s pathetic how quickly they’ve all come crawling back, isn’t it?”
“If you dislike it that much,” Jay said, filling her own glass, “why are you here?”
“I never said I disliked it. But you do. Is that why you pushed him away? I always wondered. He looked at you like he wanted to add you to his collection of expensive, pretty things. In another life, it could have been you up there. The charming brochure-ready hotelier’s wife.”
