“It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He sniffs again, and this time, I don’t think it’s because of the cold or bravado. “My parents split up when I was five, and my mom remarried when I was about nine or ten.”
I nod because I know this much. He’s told me so.
“Then she had my sisters, one right after another, and she hired an au pair. Her name was Veronica. She was young and pretty and…said she liked boys who could keep a secret.”
I close my eyes, biting my lip so hard I taste copper as he goes on. “I was twelve, and it was almost right after my dad died, when she said she’d teach me what girls her age liked. I didn’t know how to react. I was confused. Because here is this beautiful twenty-one-year-old girl, petting my neck and telling me I’m handsome, that I would love it if I’d just take my pants off.”
My eyes sting, throat swells, but still, he tells me how this monster raped him, made him think he wanted it, made him promise not to tell anyone, and continued to do this for years.
He was so young and didn’t understand how his body could like what she was doing, even if he didn’t. He said that the one time he tried to tell his friend, this other boy said how proud he’d be to fuck someone as hot as her, so Nico kept hismouth shut, embarrassed that he wasn’t proud. Guilted and shamed.
For three years, it went on.
“Until my mom came home early one day and found Veronica naked and in my lap. She called me disgusting and threw my clothes at me. Said I was just like my father, a womanizer, manwhore…” He pauses momentarily to lick his bottom lip and rip his hat off his head, so he can pull at the ends. “She didn’t fire her or go to the police or anything else. She protected her. Apologized toheronmybehalf.”
I can’t take it anymore, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling his head down to my shoulder, whispering apologies into his ear, because he deserves them. Nico relaxes his weight onto me, forcing my back against the brick building, as if he can’t hold himself up anymore. He’s been keeping his secret for so long, it’s a wonder he’s been able to remain so healthy, mentally and emotionally.
It’s also no wonder he behaves the way he does, hiding everything behind a grin and leaning into the reputation his own mother cursed him with when he was a child.
“You have to talk to someone about this,” I tell him. “A professional can help you.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Nico, I will always be here for you, and I will always keep your secrets, but holding this in isn’t good for you.”
He eventually nods then lifts his head. “I know, but…”
I stroke his head, his cheek, glide my thumbs under his wet eyes, then lean in to press my lips to his, sealing my promise with a kiss.
“That’s why you don’t speak to your mom?” I guess once we start walking again, and he loops his arm around my neck.
“Yeah. We text every once in a while, but there is nothing I want from her.”
“But sometimes she wants something from you?”
“Yeah. She’s having a party and wanted to know why Iwasn’t coming home. She’s mad she had to learn I was engaged through the tabloids instead of me telling her. I haven’t responded. I’m not sure I want to.”
I have my own issues with my family, so I don’t have any good advice, and instead of saying anything else, I hold on to his hand on my shoulder as we make our way back to the valet. We wait in silence for his car, the enormity of his past hanging over both our heads.
It’s impossible to ignore how much trust he’s placed in me, letting me see the real Nico Tremblay, past the last piece of the mask he wears for the public. So when we settle into his bed back at his apartment, I kiss my appreciation for him into the skin of his chest, right over his heart, and in a moment when he would use sex to forget about old wounds, I simply lie with him, help him accept the pain, and let him know he doesn’t have to do it alone anymore.
CHAPTER 25
NICO
There are veryfew places I feel like I don’t fit in, and this art gallery is absolutely one of them.
Jo tugs on the sleeve of my suit jacket, directing my attention to the photograph in front of her. Some picture of a bridge. She talks about the depth and emotion and color.
I think it’s a bridge.
But Jo loves it, so I do too.
In the month since the holiday sweater party, this is my first true day off, and instead of spending it with Sheffy and Naomi, we’re at this gallery. Not that I’m mad about it.
