Kiss the Girl

by Susan Sey

  Not that it changed anything. He could take that speech he’d just given her and give it to himself, because no amount of love could convince him to do this. To launch heedlessly into an affair with a woman whose first priority had always been--would always be--her endlessly demanding public.

  He closed his mouth and walked out of Nixie’s bedroom.

  He grabbed his jacket from her awful couch and let himself out of the apartment, but stopped in the doorway. He hated himself, but knew he had to ask. There was more at stake here than his heart.

  “The gala?” he asked, and her lack of surprise sliced at him. She’d expected him to ask. Had been waiting for it.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice distant and blank. “I’m a pro. Pimping my personal life is SOP, right? The gala’s in five days. I’ll do it to keep your clinic alive--I owe Mary Jane that much--but that’s the last thing I’ll ever give you.”

  She turned her back on him.

  He let himself out of her apartment. Out of her life. It was for the best, he told himself. For both of them. But he stood in the hallway outside her door for a long time before he could force his feet to move toward the elevator. Toward what he knew he had to do next. The only thing that could keep him safe from Nixie and her dangerous claim on his heart.

  Mary Jane was numb. The kind of all-over dullness that made her think of Novocain, infomercials and the first time she’d broken up with Ty. How many times had she done that now, anyway? It was hard to keep track. Half a dozen? A dozen? Most of her twenties, certainly.

  But this time felt real. Permanent. She poked around the fresh hole in her heart but only found that queer missing sensation. Not pain precisely. But something deep and grievous and serious. Something that was going to hurt like hell when her system realized the loss it had sustained. But right now? Nothing. Just the dread of what was coming.

  The doorbell rang and she looked at the clock. Nearly midnight. She should be curious, shouldn’t she? What if it was Ty? But she knew it wasn’t. She’d seen his face when she’d walked out of his life. He understood the crushing finality of this decision, too.

  Still, doorbells at midnight couldn’t be ignored. She rose from the couch, muted the Home and Garden channel and looked through the peephole. Then she opened the door and let Erik in.

  “Hey, Mary Jane.”

  “You look like hell,” she said.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stuffed his hands into the pockets of rumpled khakis and said, “I’m sorry it’s so late. I just had something I wanted to ask you and it couldn’t wait.”

  “Okay.” Still no curiosity. How very strange. Mary Jane in Wonderland. “What is it?”

  He drew his hand from his pocket and held out a black velvet box. Small, square. The kind rings came in. “Will you marry me?”

  She frowned at the box. “Why?”

  He lifted his shoulders with a kind of bewildered helplessness. “I love you. I always have. You’re my best friend.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “I love you, too. But as my best friend.”

  “I know. That’s what I want. I want to marry a woman I know and trust, a woman I respect and can be easy with. I don’t want the rest of it.”

  “The rest of it?” Mary Jane eyed the little box and prodded herself to feel something.

  “You know.” He shoved a hand through hair as rumpled as his pants. “True love, soul mates, matches made in heaven? It’s a field of fucking landmines, and I don’t want to walk through it anymore. I want this.” He took her hand, pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head.

  “Ah.” Mary Jane closed her eyes and let the simple comfort of a friendly hug seep into her aching bones. Relief washed through her, a balm on all the bruises and scrapes of the day. He wanted what she wanted. Just a friend to come home to. Somebody to care about, but not deeply enough or passionately enough to hurt.

  He pulled back and looked down at her very seriously. “Will you, Mary Jane?”

  “Yeah. I will.”

  He handed her the box and she flipped it open. It was a lovely ring--simple, tasteful, with a whopper of a diamond front and center. Probably antique. She wondered who he’d picked it out for. Still, she slid it onto her own finger and handed the box back. He pushed it into his pocket and smiled at her. If he looked unutterably weary and sad at the same time, she didn’t let it worry her too much. She probably looked the same way.

  He leaned down a pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks.”

  “What are friends for, huh?”

  “Do you want to make an announcement, or should I?”

  She twisted the ring around her finger. It was a little big, so she held it in place with her thumb. “Why don’t we give it a few days to sink it?” she asked. “Just keep it to ourselves for a little while?”

  He shrugged. “Okay. Let me know.”

  “I will.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a moment. It occurred to Mary Jane that she should ask him to stay. He was her fiancé, after all. But relief was the only light glowing in her soul when Erik finally said, “I should go.”

  “All right.” She opened the door for him, and even though all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for two years, she reached out and touched his shoulder as he passed.

  “Hey,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He looked at her, his blue eyes still and flat. “About what?”

  “About whatever happened that’s making you look like this. All dead and defeated. Because it’s not very you.”

  He mustered up a smile and it was almost painful to watch. Or it would be if she were capable of feeling pain at the moment. “Um, no. No, thanks.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  She closed the door behind him and went back to the couch, but she didn’t turn up the volume on the TV. She twisted the ring around and around her finger and waited for it to start feeling like it belonged there.

  Waited to start feeling anything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Five days later, Nixie slipped her gala dress over her head and hauled up the zipper as far as she could. Crap. Unless she was willing to dislocate a shoulder, she was going to need help with the last two inches between her shoulder blades. She glanced toward the Senator’s apartment before she could stop herself.

  No. He wasn’t there, of course. The separation of the private and the professional was the cornerstone of Erik’s own personal constitution, mandating a gala guest list that conspicuously didn’t include the Senator. So it wasn’t like she’d risk running into him if she hopped over to his mother’s for a little assistance dressing.

  But his rejection had detonated in Nixie’s heart like a dirty bomb, and the kill zone was still smoking. She was too raw to smile her way through the kind of sharp-eyed, well-meaning inquisition the Senator would surely deliver.

  She twisted in the mirror, checking her rear view with a dispassionate eye. Bronze silk flowed from her shoulder blades to her ankles, glowed in the dying light of the day. The jeweled bandeau bodice caught the golden light and shattered it into jagged bits of color that played on her beige walls. She stepped away from the mirror and the tiered hemlines swirled from her knees to her strappy bronze sandals, whispering the expensive nonsense that had just a week ago sent a thrill of girlie vanity straight through her. She’d loved it. More than that, she’d loved that Erik would love it.

  Now she couldn’t work up even a glimmer of her former pleasure. The dress was haute enough to please the fashionistas who kept detailed track of her professional wardrobe but still reasonably comfortable to sit in. That was going to have to be enough, because even a cautious stirring of the embers that used to be her heart sent a wave of fresh, sparkling hurt dancing into the air.

  She closed her eyes, pressed a thumb to the wrinkle between her brows and blew out a trembling breath. God, she’d been s
uch a fool. All this time she thought that maybe her job was the problem. Maybe if she learned how to be something other than Nixie Leighton-Brace--great, now he had her doing it; speaking her own name in italics--somebody would take a chance on the woman inside. Maybe some unlucky fool would fall in love with her. She herself managed to fall in love against steep odds all the time. Surely it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that somebody else might, too. Somebody driven, talented, intense. Somebody intelligent, accomplished, dedicated. Somebody like Erik.

  It had never occurred to her that, no matter which way she went, she was screwed. She could give up her name, her job, her place on the world stage, or she could use every gift she had in service of his dream. It didn’t matter. He could still look at the heart she’d offered up and simply choose not to love her back.

  The doorbell pealed, a solemn bong. James Harper. He’d insisted on picking her, and she’d agreed. It was going to be a long evening in his toxic company, but she’d made a bargain. At this point, she had nothing left to lose by keeping up her end of it. Let the press get a few good shots of them walking the red carpet together and maybe he’d be satisfied enough to leave early. If his daddy let him.

  She put on her most professional smile and opened the door.

  “Karl!” She stood back, let him march into the apartment. “Wow. It always surprises me how good you look in a tux.”

  He pulled a hanky from his pocket and mopped at his glistening scalp. “I hate dressing up. Such a waste of money and resources.”

  “I know.” In spite of everything unresolved between them, she smiled. He was just so...dependable. Maybe they didn’t always agree but at least he never surprised her. “A necessary evil.”

  He looked at the hanky with disgust. “I don’t know what the hell the hotel’s washing these with, but it’s like wiping my head with sandpaper.”

  Nixie rubbed a corner between her fingers. “Somebody starched the crap out of that.”

  “God, I miss Africa. Don’t you?”

  Nixie turned around, presented him with her back. “Can you get this zipper for me?” she asked. “I can’t reach.”

  He yanked it up and Nixie gave an alarmed squeak. “Easy, Karl. This is a Badgley Mischka. And I have to give it back in the morning.”

  He frowned at her bare shoulders. “That’s a lot of skin, Nixie. Is it going to stay up?”

  Nixie crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that a crack at my figure?”

  “What?” He colored slightly. “No. God. I’m just saying, it’s kind of--”

  “Hot?”

  His flush deepened. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Taking Harper to the gala tonight was a good move, but nobody expects you to, um...” He waved a hand up and down toward her dress.

  “To out-hot Sloan?”

  Karl looked uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry. I know my limits. Out-hotting Sloan isn’t on the agenda.”

  She moved toward the mirror at the far end of the living room, leaned into the enormous mirror and slicked her mouth a deep bronze. She dropped the lipstick into her useless confection of a purse and turned to face him.

  “Well? Will I do?”

  He frowned at her. “As long as your dress stays up. I am not in the mood to smooth over a wardrobe malfunction.”

  She sighed. Had she really been expecting a compliment?

  “So, we have a few minutes.” She perched on the edge of the wretched sofa. She was going to burn it one of these days. “I know you too well to think you’re just here to say hi. What’s on your mind, Karl?”

  He didn’t sit, just watched her with those sharp pale eyes. “You know what’s on my mind. Bumani.”

  She smoothed the silk over her knees while what was left of her heart twisted in her chest. “I’m not going to Bumani.”

  “Why not, Nixie? Jesus!” He flapped his arms and paced the length of the room. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into you! Is this still about that damn doctor?”

  “This has nothing to do with Erik.” She stood and clasped her hands calmly in front of her, as if speaking his name didn’t make her stomach ache with regret and loss. She watched Karl stalk through the room, raking his hands through his hair until what little he had stood out like a frazzled halo. “This is purely my decision.”

  He shot her a narrow look. “Bullshit. Don’t stand there with that martyred face and lie to me. I know he dropped you. Everybody knows.”

  “Lovely.”

  Karl glared. “Nixie, come on. I don’t begrudge you the detour, okay? You’re young. You deserve a wild hair every now and then. But you had your fling and now it’s over. The guy doesn’t want you.”

  Nixie flinched and he relented with a great, gusty sigh.

  “Listen, honey, I know you’re hurting.” He moved toward her, took her cold hands in his big warm paws. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t deserve you. Never did, the asshole.”

  Tears came into her eyes in a wild rush and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. A choked noise escaped her--a laugh? A sob?--and she shook her head. She let herself bask in the solid press of the hands that had picked her up from every fall she’d ever taken. And God knew she’d taken a doozy this time.

  “Karl?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve had a very bad week.”

  His laugh was a familiar rumble that eased the aching vacuum in her chest a degree or two. “I know, kid. What do you say we get out of here?”

  “What? And stand up my date?”

  He patted his chest pocket. “I have three first-class tickets to Bumani right here that say Harper can go stag tonight.”

  Nixie pulled her hands back, a sudden chill sweeping over her exposed skin. “You want me to go to Bumani tonight?”

  “Of course.” Impatience warred with warmth in Karl’s eyes. “Where else? The doctor screwed you. Why don’t we screw him right back? We’ll go help some folks who’ll appreciate you instead.”

  “You’d screw a bunch of kids to avenge my train wreck of a love life?”

  Karl put both hands on her shoulders, and they bowed under the weight of the responsibility he placed there. “This isn’t about your love life. It’s about doing the right thing.”

  “The right thing.”

  “Listen to me, Nixie. What you’re feeling right now? This whole dramatic life’s-lost-all-meaning heart-break crap? It isn’t real. Love is bullshit. Temporary at best.” He bent until she had to meet his gaze. “You want to know what’s real? Paying your debts. Recognizing what you’ve been given and giving back accordingly. People are dying--literally dying--because you’re chasing a fairy tale. It’s time to be the woman you were meant to be, the woman I raised you to be. And that means putting away these childish dreams and getting on the damn plane.”

  Nixie’s eyes slid away from his while her stomach twisted inside her. “And if I don’t?” she whispered.

  He straightened, let his hands drop away from her shoulders. “Then you’re nobody I care to know.”

  A panicked weightlessness shot through her limbs and for once she was glad for the couch. She sank onto the arm and tried to give him an ironic smile. “What does that mean, exactly? Nobody you’d care to know. Are we talking about a shunning? Disownment? Would I be dead to you, or would all be forgiven if I start behaving?”

  He shook his shaggy head slowly, sorrowfully. “Don’t joke about this, Nixie. I was there when you were born. When you were baptized. Phoenix Kasmira isn’t just a name. It’s a responsibility.”

  “To rise up from the ashes,” she murmured, “and command peace.” How many times had she heard that growing up? Hundreds? Thousands?

  “A responsibility,” he said again, “that I raised you to fulfill. I won’t stand by and watch you deliberately sentence innocent people to poverty, disease and death just so you can chase rainbows. I love you, but I have to do what’s right. I want to do it with you just like we always have, but if you refuse, I will replace
you.”

  Nixie’s heart fluttered like a wounded bird inside her chest. What was it with her and men with extreme ideas about the personal and professional? Maybe Erik was a little insane about keeping the two separate, but for Karl the distinction didn’t even exist. The professional was his personal. Which meant, she realized now with another twist of her battered heart, that if Nixie wouldn’t be his star, if she refused to be the face of his campaign to save the world, there was no room for her in his life. At all.

  “I can’t believe this, Karl. You’ve been my mentor, my guide, my father. You taught me what it means to be good. To do good.”

  “Then listen to me.” He snatched up her hands in his and they were hot, urgent. “Come to Bumani.”

  She stared at him for an endless moment, her pulse bumping in confused circles. Then the intercom buzzed, shattering the stillness. Nixie jumped as if she’d been stung.

  “That’ll be James,” she said slowly. “I have to go.”

  “Of course,” Karl said, giving her hands one last squeeze before dropping them. “But we’ll talk after the gala. You have a decision to make, Phoenix.”

  “I know.” She gathered up her purse and keys with great care, as if the rapidly fraying fabric of her life might give at any moment. “I know I do.”

  “Oh dear God, is that a red carpet?” Mary Jane pasted herself to the tinted glass of the limo, dread clawing at her throat. “Is that paparazzi?”

  Erik leaned past her, glanced out the window and said, “Yes and no.”

  “What does that mean, yes and no?” Mary Jane’s chest felt tight, like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen. “Either it is or it isn’t.”

  “Yes, it’s a red carpet. No, it’s not paparazzi. That’s a well-ordered, hand-picked press corps, led by Missy Jensen from Channel Four. Nixie asked her to do red carpet interviews, Oscar-style.”

  “Jesus.” Mary Jane twisted the engagement ring around her finger. She watched a junior Senator from Texas exit a limo and stroll up the red carpet. The cameras went nuts and reporters shoved microphones into his face, into his date’s face. They smiled shiny, professional smiles and hit their marks like Mr. and Mrs. America. Mary Jane’s stomach tightened alarmingly. “I can’t do this.”