by Box Set
“Hey, love. What’s up?”
“Do you trust me?” The question sounded abrupt and slightly rough, a little too urgent, but that was okay. It reflected the way she felt right now.
There was a slight pause before Jen laughed, “Well, good morning! Of course I trust you.”
“Even though I…” No. Aria stopped, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to ask about Simon. Jen had told her the answer often enough, and it was time to start believing in it.
Even if she had to fake it before she genuinely reached that point.
“Okay. Okay.” Aria took a deep breath. “Because I don’t know if I should trust myself. Like, if I should believe in my own feelings or—or be wary.”
“Oh, honey,” Jen sighed. “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean.”
“Do you?”
“Well, there were a lot of times, with Theo, when I wondered if I was making bad decisions. I mean, when we got together, he was my boss.”
Aria nodded. At the time, she’d kind of thought Jen was making bad decisions too. Obviously, she hadn’t said anything—but she’d been suspicious of the older, wealthy guy who held so much power over her best friend. She’d expected everything to end in tears.
And now they were married. Sometimes, she supposed, things did work out. Sometimes, people really just wanted to love you.
“Even when he proposed,” Jen was saying, “I kind of wondered what the fuck I was thinking. All I knew was that I loved him, and I believed in us. And sometimes I wondered if love was a trustworthy emotion. But you know what? I think it’s worth the risk.”
Aria nodded slowly as her mind worked through those words. “Okay. Um… thank you.”
“Do you want to talk about anything?”
“No, no. I think I’m good.”
“Okay, love.”
Aria put down the phone and let her messy thoughts sit for a while. Or tried to. She went about her day, looking into properties for the tattoo shop—which, yes, she was still going to do. She supposed some women might send back all that money as a point of principle. Frankly, the mere idea made Aria hysterical with laughter. She felt more inclined to demand a bonus for the way he’d fucked her over, but she wouldn’t push her luck.
That thought made her imagine Nik’s reaction, though. He’d laugh and argue just for the sake of it, that teasing smile on his face—but in the end he’d agree anyway, because he had this weird idea that she was smarter than him.
By the time night fell and Aria was back in bed, she’d made her decision. She opened up the thread of emails they’d begun weeks ago and sent another.
I still don’t trust you.
Then she rolled over and went to sleep.
Chapter 20
The next day Aria woke up to a reply that had arrived exactly three minutes after her email.
It’s a weird feeling, to be this upset over a message but this fucking ecstatic that it came at all. I know you don’t trust me, and I understand why. Can I try my best to fix it?
Aria’s tongue snuck out to toy with her lip ring as she considered her response. Finally, she typed out:
You can send me shitty Vines, if you want. And anything else that will make me laugh. I don’t think I can deal with heavy conversations.
She didn’t know how he’d respond to that. After all, she hadn’t really answered his question. She hadn’t given him a chance to do or get what he wanted. And yet, she was barely surprised when he replied with exactly what she’d asked for. No further questions, no probing remarks, just a series of videos that made her laugh. He kept it up throughout the day, even though she didn’t reply; one at lunch, another around dinner, another just before she went to bed.
And then he did it the next day. And the next day. And the next.
By the fifth day, the urge to reply was so strong that she stopped trying to fight it. What was the point, after all? Why was she denying herself the great luxury of a fucking email exchange?
For the first time since she’d asked him to make her laugh, Aria typed out a message to Nik.
“Well, then.” Lila Jones, British footballing legend, looked around the table of suits. “I don’t know about all of you, but I think we definitely have space for Mr. Christou within the foundation.”
The swell of pleasure in Nik’s chest was muted, like a lot of his feelings recently—but it was undeniably there. And it grew in intensity as the rest of the room nodded, murmuring their agreement and flashing welcoming smiles. Satisfaction bloomed. He’d decided that since he had enough money—more than enough—he didn’t need to look for work as a coach or a manager. Instead, he wanted to focus on philanthropic pursuits. To help people. He’d be working with Lila’s charity, which focused on making football training accessible to disadvantaged girls—but it had occurred to him that, when he knew enough, he could also choose a cause back home.
He remembered Aria telling him that he could do anything. Would it be too much to let her know that he was doing this? Probably. He was excited, and she was the person he wanted to blurt out all his excitement to, but it wouldn’t make her laugh. He was supposed to be making her laugh.
Maybe he’d get the chance to tell her eventually.
It was that maybe, on top of his success at the meeting, that had Nik leaving the foundation’s offices with a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. He pulled out his phone to text Varo.
And saw a notification he hadn’t expected, but desperately wanted. One that took his tentative happiness, strapped a rocket to it, and sent it soaring across the sky like a comet.
Aria had finally replied.
Your taste in Vines has improved since the last time we emailed. Must be my influence.
His grin was so wide, it felt like he might break his own face. He almost dropped the phone in his haste to reply.
Definitely. I’d say you’ve improved a lot of things about me.
He paced the street as he waited for her answer, ignoring his parked car. He couldn’t sit in a confined space right now. Not when bright, burning hope was bursting inside him. He traced his own footsteps across the tarmac five times before his phone vibrated in his hand.
Suck-up. How are you?
Right now, I’m very good. Excellent. Fantastic. Never better. How are you? How are things going with the shop?
I’m okay. They’re good, actually. I’m looking at locations and enjoying being rich. Although 350k doesn’t go as far as I thought it would. Is that why you guys hoard wealth?
Nik didn’t bother holding back his laughter. He started to type out ‘I miss you’, then shook his head and deleted it.
Maybe. But you might be interested to know that my latest occupation is unpaid.
You’re being circumspect to pique my interest. I know your games.
He would be worried about that last email, except she followed it up with a winking emoji. An emoji! That little yellow face almost gave him heart failure. She was… sharing emotions? Tiny, graphic emotions. With him. Positive ones, even. All of a sudden, every word he typed seemed like the word that could potentially ruin unbelievable progress. The pressure got so great that in the end, Nik had to sit on the curb, right there in the street, and pull himself together.
Guilty as charged. But I will happily write you a lengthy essay on the meeting I just had if that’s what you want. Say the word.
An essay might be a bit much. Why don’t I just call you?
Nik wasn’t sure what he said in response. Jesus fuck yes, please call me, perhaps. It was all a bit of a blur. And then his phone was ringing, and he was practically cracking the screen in his rush to answer. “Hello?”
The sound of her voice washed over him like an ocean wave, powerful and perfect. “Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Didn’t we already cover that?” He could hear her smiling. She was smiling. For him. Fuck, his palms were sweating. He was going to tell her so—but wait, no, he didn’t want to pour his feelings all
over her and make her feel responsible for them. This whole thing was supposed to be low-pressure, all her, no bullshit from his end.
So, he just laughed and said, “Yeah. Yeah, we did. I just—I want to know you’re good, that’s all.”
“I’m good,” she answered softly. “So, tell me about this mysterious occupation.”
Nik sat on the street and told Aria everything he knew, everything he’d hoped for, and everything he’d soon be a part of. To his everlasting relief, she actually seemed pleased. Impressed, even. She told him about her plans for the shop, the progress she’d made, and seemed happy when he was interested. She asked how his tattoo was healing. She said…
She said, out of nowhere, “God, Nik, I missed your voice.”
At which point, he was almost delirious with happiness. “You did? What does that—? Wait, no, you don’t have to answer that. I just—”
“I haven’t forgiven you.” The words fell on his fledgling hope like bricks. But hope was a tough little fucker. It was still alive under there; he could feel it, bright and strong. Then she sighed and said, “No, that’s not right. I think I have forgiven you. I just, I’m struggling to… well. It’s all part of a very long story.”
“You know you can tell me anything,” he said, because the hollow dip in her voice made him think that this ‘long story’ was something she needed to release. He wanted to be the one who helped her do it. He wanted all her stories, long and short. “Anytime, anywhere. I’m in the U.K., you know.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Not because of you.” Technically. “I still live here. When I’m not at home, I mean.” God, he was talking too much.
“Well, okay. Maybe we could hang out. At some point. Eventually.”
Never had such stilted, half-hearted words sounded sweeter to Nik’s ears. “I would love that. I would really fucking love that.”
“Okay. Cool. Um… I have to go.”
“Alright, sweetheart.” Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.
But she didn’t mention it. “Bye, Nik.”
“Goodbye.”
When the call ended, Nik celebrated harder in his suit and tie, in front of baffled pedestrians, than he ever had for any goal.
Two weeks later, Nikolas Christou found himself sitting in a restaurant with the love of his life.
She looked amazing, he assumed. He wasn’t completely sure. He couldn’t see her very well, what with the stars in his eyes. But he heard her just fine, when she asked suddenly, “Have you had sex since I last saw you?”
Nik frowned, the stars falling away with a blink. And, yes, she did look amazing—even though she was eyeing him suspiciously. Her hair was shorter with ice blue streaks, her lips shone with that gloss he loved so much, and her curves were clad in a tiny, lime-green dress. She stood out like a beacon in a fancy restaurant full of plain people in plainer clothes.
“No,” Nik said finally. “Of course I haven’t.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
He shrugged. “You left me. I never left you.”
She shook her head and laughed softly, turning her gaze to the menu. “How very Nik of you.”
“What?”
“You know what you want out of life, don’t you?”
He hadn’t, actually. Not until he met her.
Aria’s gaze softened, her mouth twisting slightly. “I’m sorry. It just kind of hit me, when I saw you, that you might have… I don’t know.”
Nik smiled. He wanted to grin like a five-year-old and dance on the table because, apparently, she was hypothetically jealous. But he limited himself to that smile and said, “Turns out I’m great at saying no when I have a reason.”
“I’m a reason?”
“Aria. I love you.”
The tip of her tongue slid out to nudge at her lip ring. She held his gaze for a second before her eyes fluttered away like butterflies, too fast to catch. “Why am I staring at wine? Fuck wine. I need food.”
He laughed. He teased her. She teased him right back. And just like that, it was as if nothing had happened, as if he’d never fucked up and she’d never left, and they were just… them. Together. The way they were meant to be.
Through the starter and the main course, they managed to skirt around the elephant in the room. It was like a dance, as if the melody of their laughter and the beat of their back-and-forth kept them on track, showing their feet where to go.
But then, just after they ordered dessert, Aria’s mouth tightened. Her whiskey eyes became shadowed, her shoulders rigid, and he knew before she said a word that they were about to talk. To Talk, actually. Capital T.
He’d been waiting for this—for the chance to discuss what had happened between them, to really apologise, to explain what had been going through his head. But he was dreading it, too, because she’d said that she wanted to tell him something. And he had a feeling that this something might be responsible for the haunted look that came over her every so often. He had a feeling that someone had hurt her.
And that he’d made it worse.
“I told you, at one point, that I wasn’t really dating,” she said. Her words held the tone of a lengthy speech, an introduction rather than a casual comment, so he nodded wordlessly, not wanting to interrupt. “Well…” She huffed out a long, slow breath. And then, all at once, a rapid stream of words fell from her lips. “Well, I decided to avoid men because I can’t trust myself with relationships, because I just, you know, I’m in them just to be in them, which is fine until it starts to hurt people, and it started to hurt people, because I dated this one guy last year and he turned out to be a murderous stalker and he kidnapped Jen and she nearly died and he blew his own hand off and—”
Nik held up a hand. “Stop.”
She stopped.
He hadn’t planned on touching her tonight, but he reached across the table and caught her shaking fingers with his own. “Are you okay?”
Slowly, her laboured breaths calmed. “I’m fine. I’m just nervous.”
“What are you nervous about?”
“I’ve only really talked about this with my therapist.”
Nik took a deep breath and savoured the cool air that flooded his lungs. It helped with his anger, his worry, his fear—none of which would be useful to her now. “Okay. Well, let me make sure I understand. You were seeing someone.”
“Yes.”
“And he kidnapped your best friend.”
“Yes!”
“And did what to his hand?”
She shifted in her seat. “He had a gun. And there was, like, a police stand-off, but when he pulled the trigger, it kind of back-fired… The police said it was homemade, or something. Did you know you can make guns? I didn’t know that.”
Nik swallowed. “Was she okay?”
“Ah, well, she turned out to be pretty good in a crisis. She stabbed him. With a screwdriver. So, when he managed to fire the gun, she was kind of out of range, and then it sort of blew up, and he lost his hand, and she…” Aria’s hand fluttered up to the side of her face. “She’s got these scars. I suppose she’s okay, now. She seems fine.”
“And when was this?”
“Ummm… November.”
Nik’s throat went dry. Less than a year ago.
“So, you see,” she said, “I’m thinking that… well, that I might have overreacted a little bit. With you. Because I felt like every guy was hiding some dangerous side to their personality, and I was too desperate for affection to figure it out—”
“Aria, you didn’t overreact.” His grip on her hand tightened, as if he could push his words into her skin as well as telling her out loud. “Never think you overreacted. You felt how you felt, and you behaved accordingly. And if me lying hit you even harder because of your past… Well, I shouldn’t have lied at all. If I’d acted right, you wouldn’t have a reason to be upset. That’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Okay?”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.” And then, after a moment, a tentative smile
lit up her face. “I mean, obviously it’s your fault. Everything’s your fault. Because you suck.”
“Definitely,” he agreed, his voice solemn.
“I mean, global warming, the bees—”
“Well, maybe not that stuff.”
“The deterioration of Topshop’s quality—”
“I don’t actually think—”
“Why are you arguing with me?” She grinned. “Aren’t you supposed to be winning me back?”
Nik froze. “Can I win you back?”
She gave a studied shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe if you tried really hard.”
“I’m prepared to try hard. The hardest.”
“And maybe if you explain what the fuck you thought you were doing, coming up with that bullshit plan.”
Nik sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. Yes. I would love to explain that.”
“Well, go on.” She cocked her head mockingly, a little smile playing about her lips. But she hadn’t pulled her hand from his. She was holding on to him.
Please, don’t let go.
“First, I want to apologise for not apologising enough at the time. I don’t think I took it as seriously as I should have. I didn’t expect you to be that upset, because, honestly, I was thoughtless. I saw it all from my own perspective. I knew I didn’t want to hurt you, I knew I loved you, I knew my intentions—but you didn’t. So, I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Right. And, um… What were your intentions?”
The fact that she even cared had him ready to pass out in relief. Because intentions didn’t matter half as much as actual, concrete results, and the results of his actions had been hurting her. Yet she was giving him the chance to tell her all of this, anyway.
“I love you,” he said. “Do you mind me saying that?”