by Tara Leigh
Throwing on a simple sundress I decide to go downstairs now, while he’s gone. The house is quiet as I take a seat at the round table in the cozy breakfast room. Sipping a cup of coffee, I’m tempted to believe that last night was just a dream.
God, what would it be like to call a man like Nash Knight my husband?
I haven’t been around very many married couples, not since I lived with my parents. Pappi never remarried, never brought anyone serious back to the house. But from what I remember, my parents liked being around each other. I was forever trying to squeeze in between them, either on the couch or on lazy weekend mornings in bed.
Spending the past few days with Tristan and Reina has been bittersweet. They’re always touching, whether holding hands or merely being close enough that their shoulders rub. It’s obvious that they’re completely crazy about each other, and just being around them warms my soul and makes me long for a love like theirs.
But that isn’t what Nash is proposing. Love isn’t a part of the deal at all.
I put my mug down and bring my hands to my face, groaning.
“Good morning.”
I lift my head and pull my hands away, the sight of Eva in a bikini top and sarong, her long dark hair swooshing against her back as she glides into the room, almost too much to take. The woman is a genuine brunette Barbie. I can’t imagine her pregnant at all, let alone with twins. “Good morning.”
She spoons eggs and fruit onto her plate from the platters arranged on the sideboard, and joins me at the table. “We had quite the lively discussion last night, didn’t we?”
I blink slowly, taken off guard that Eva is so quick to dive right back into it. “I think I’m still processing it all, myself.” I cast a hopeful glance behind her. “Where are Parker and Madison?”
“Believe it or not, they’re still sleeping.” Eva spears a bite of pineapple and chews thoughtfully. “If staying here means they sleep past seven, I might never go back to New York.”
I laugh, pushing my food around my plate. I wasn’t very hungry to begin with, and now what little appetite I had is gone.
“Nixie, can I ask you something?” Sober, and with no one else at the table to act as a buffer, there’s an edge of tension between us.
I try not to appear as wary as I feel. “Sure.”
“What is it that you want from Nash?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, last night, everything seemed so clear cut. But now that I’ve had the chance to sleep on it, I’d like to get a sense of your expectations.”
“My expectations?” I repeat Eva’s words back to her, my tongue unwieldy and awkward in my mouth.
“Yes. I’ve known Nash a long time and . . . he’s been different lately. I’m wondering if that difference is because of you.”
“I don’t know,” I finally say, speaking slowly. “But as for expectations, I don’t have any. I certainly don’t expect him to marry me. I mean, that came from way out of left field.”
She cocks her head to the side, silently appraising me. “Everyone has expectations, Nixie.”
“Maybe mine aren’t on the same level as yours. All I want is to make it to my next birthday without any drama. But if there’s something you’re trying to say, I’d rather you just say it.”
“I guess I am beating around the bush a bit. It’s just that Nash is very—” Eva stops, her eyes sliding away from me as she exhales. “Nash is very important to me, that’s all. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t do that to him.” My mug shakes in my hands as I take a quick sip. “And, not to be rude, but do you really think you’re in the best position to be telling me that?”
She offers a fragile smile. “I guess he told you about us.”
“He did. He said you were in love, until you met his brother. If there’s anyone who hurt him, it’s you.”
“You’re right. I did. Nash says he’s forgiven me, brushes it off like it was nothing. But I know what I did wasn’t right. I was selfish and stupid and cruel. Nash pretends to the whole word that he’s a cocky hardass. And he is, but on the inside, beneath the ripped muscles and chiseled jaw, he’s just a big softie.”
Finally, something we can agree on. “Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.”
“I’ve been in a holding pattern for a long time, afraid to move forward. Nash is the closest thing to a father my kids will ever have, and we loved each other once. I want him back, and I’m hoping that this,” she waves her hand at me as if shooing away a mosquito, “infatuation he has with you will burn itself out quickly.”
Above our heads, there are two thumps followed by quick footsteps. I stare at her, too shocked to move. Eva glances toward the ceiling, and when she looks back to me her features have hardened. “Nash needs a woman who’s not afraid to stand on her own two feet and has the strength to face life head-on. You can barely stand up for yourself, whether it’s turning down a marriage proposal or making your own holiday plans. You run away from your problems, Nixie. And Nash needs a partner, not a burden.”
Eva’s unfiltered opinion of me eviscerates the top layer of my skin, penetrating to my bones. As two pint-sized careening tornadoes burst into the room, throwing themselves into Eva’s arms, she delivers the final nail in my coffin. “Nash might not know it yet, but he needs me. And a few months with you will be all the proof he needs.”
After my conversation with Eva, Bermuda feels less like a tropical paradise than an uncomfortable purgatory.
When it’s time to fly back to New York on Saturday, I swallow my nerves and climb up the stairs to the plane on my own. Nash doesn’t have to coax me at all. We’re barely speaking anyway.
I purposely take a corner chair, near Madison and her grandmother. Once we get settled, Madison sweetly asks, “Do you need my princess crown again? Because you can borrow it if you’re still scared.”
“You know what, I think I’m not as scared today as I was last time. Thank you, though.”
Nash’s mom flashes me a sympathetic glance. “Do you get nervous flying, Nixie?”
I nod. “I prefer keeping my feet on the ground, to be honest.”
“I don’t blame you. If not for our grandkids, we probably would never board a plane again.” She exhales a trembling sigh. “After our Scotty—”
The stewardess appears, holding up two frosted glasses as she smiles brightly at the twins. “I heard there was a special request for milkshakes on your flight here.”
Madison squeals. “Me! Milkshakes are my favoritest!”
Parker frowns at his sister. “That’s what you said about Shirley Temples.”
“But that was last time. I’m allowed to change my mind.”
“You change your mind all the time,” he says, then looks to the stewardess. “Milkshakes are always my favorite.”
Eva calls from her nest at the very back of the plane, eye mask already in place and her voice sleepy, “What do you say, guys?”
“Thank you!” they both yell, grinning around their straws.
As adorable as the the twins are, I find myself impatient for them to settle down with their sugar fix. There was a look on Mrs. Knight’s face when she mentioned her son’s name, sad but also wistful. As if she wanted to talk about him. I noticed it in Bermuda, too. That she would often share stories with Madison and Parker about their dad and uncles when they were boys. The twins absolutely lapped it up, of course. And even Nash had chimed in a few times, talking about some of the trouble they’d gotten into.
After the stewardess passes out champagne flutes to Mrs. Knight and me, and tumblers of scotch to Nash and his dad, I ask, “What were you saying about Scott?”
But before she can answer, her husband puts a hand on her forearm. “I’m sure Nixie doesn’t want to spend the flight talking about 9/11.”
There’s a sudden ringing in my ears, a pinging so high-pitched that it drowns out everything else. The thrum of the jet engines, the sound of the twins noisily slurping their
shakes, the stewardess asking if we’d like anything else before we taxi to the runway.
I feel Nash staring at me from across the plane and I turn to meet his gaze, taking in his pinched, almost apprehensive expression.
“I don’t mind, really,” I say, after coating my dry throat with a heavy swallow of bubbly. “Was he . . . in the Towers?”
Nash
At the Holtsmann, Madison and Parker’s disappointed whines echo from the backseat as I walk Nixie into the lobby. They’ve grown attached to her already. So have I.
But from the daggers glinting in her eyes, I highly doubt she feels the same.
It was a mistake not to tell her about Scott, I realize now. She’s angry. But more than that, she’s hurt. I deliberately chose not to tell her that my brother died in the same tragedy that killed her parents. As if it was a secret, or something I had to hide from her.
“I’m sorry you had to hear about Scott like that,” I say, reaching for her elbow to keep her from walking away from me.
“Are you?” she snaps. “Because it feels like you want me to live under your roof, follow your orders, and tell you all about my past—while sharing absolutely nothing about yourself.”
“I brought you on a family vacation. You’ve met my parents, my niece and nephew—”
“And Eva. Don’t forget about her.”
I sigh. “Look, I’ll be back as soon as I get everyone settled. We’ll talk then, about anything you want.”
“You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be fine.”
I ignore her. “You’ll be here?”
“Yes.” There’s absolutely no commitment behind the word, but I decide not to push her.
I return to the suite two hours later. Nixie is nowhere to be found. I call and text with no success, wearing a hole in the carpet as I grind my teeth until my jaw aches, pensively deliberating the moral implications of installing a tracking device on her phone.
Finally, I go down to the bar and order a stiff drink, watching the lobby over the rim of my glass. I’m halfway through a second when Nixie strolls through the revolving doors, Kismet trotting briskly at her side. I slam my glass on the table and meet up with her before she reaches the bank of elevators. “You said you would be here when I came back.”
Nixie’s eyes flick over me dismissively. “I’m here now.”
Kismet, at least, is thrilled to see me. She jumps up on her hind legs, yipping as she spins in circles. I pick her up and she covers my face in doggy kisses. “You were supposed to stay in the suite.”
She points at the dog. “I went to pick up Kismet.”
The elevator opens and I follow Nixie in. “Why didn’t you wait for me? Or for Jay, at least? You shouldn’t go out alone.”
“All that talk about a marriage of convenience has left you stranded a few centuries in the past. I don’t need a chaperone, Nash.” There’s a soft ding as we come to a stop and she launches herself through the doors before they fully open.
I unclip Kismet’s leash and set her down, remaining in the doorway. “It’s Derrick who’s put you cage. I’m the guy offering you a way out.”
“A wedding.”
“I didn’t write the terms of your parents’ will. And I’m not after your inheritance. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. But I’ll be damned if I let Derrick hurt you again. In fact, the simplest solution is to put him in a hospital bed so it’s physically impossible for him to hurt a fucking fly.”
She rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Nash. Knock it off.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious.” Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve sent a guy to the hospital, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
“Derrick is Pappi’s son. That man raised me. I’d never be able to look him in the eyes again if I’m responsible for something happening to Derrick. And I would never forgive you for it, Nash. Never.”
Nixie’s fierce glare is unblinking. She means it. “Then marry me, for god’s sake. If you won’t let me hurt Derrick, for real— then at least give him the illusion that you’re out of reach.”
She walks back over to me, puts one hand on my chest and shoves me into the hall. “Fine. I give in. You’ve got yourself a bride. Congratulations.” And then she slams the door in my face.
I have a keycard in my pocket but I decide to knock instead. After a few minutes of feeling absolutely ridiculous standing alone in the corridor, Nixie flings open the door. “What?”
“Can I come in?”
“I can’t stop you. It’s your place. But I’m telling you, Nash, I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“I thought we were going to talk. About Scott, about us, about—”
“I don’t want to talk to you right now. About anything.”
“Nixie—”
“Please. Just, give me some room to breathe. That’s what I need right now.”
Disappointment and guilt twist through me. I want Nixie to need me, and it’s my fault she doesn’t. “You want to stay here . . . alone?”
“I swear if you tell me it’s not safe I’m going to scream.”
There are security cameras everywhere here, in addition to doormen, porters, the concierge, and assorted other staff. “No. It’s fine.”
“I’ll start looking for a new place tomorrow. I’ve stayed long enough already.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ll go back to my apartment. You stay here. I want you to stay here.”
She nods. “Thanks.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”
“Nash, please. I got twelve new orders while we were away. I’m sure you have a ton of work to catch up on, too. When I’m ready to talk, I’ll let you know.”
“Miss Daniels is running late,” Simmons announces as she walks into my office, followed by a stooped, older man wheeling a large black suitcase and holding a square box. “But she said to should start without her. She’ll be here soon.”
Start what?
My question is unspoken, written only in the confused frown no doubt streaking across my forehead. “Your fitting,” my assistant says quietly, as the man puts down the box and unzips his suitcase. “For your wedding.”
Right. My wedding. To Nixie, my fiancé.
We returned from Bermuda four days ago and I haven’t been back to the Holtsmann. Or, more accurately, Nixie has made it clear—repeatedly—that I’m not welcome at the Holtsmann.
I did, however, send over a jeweler from from Harry Winston to hand-deliver the ring I selected. Encircled by a halo of chocolate-colored diamonds, the pear-shaped diamond is a rich, saturated yellow just a few shades lighter than Nixie’s eyes.
I have yet to see it on her hand. But she accepted it, so I guess it means we’re engaged.
Maybe it’s for the best. Because if she took one look at my face as I pushed the ring over her knuckle, she would see how much our engagement really means to me. There are feelings inside me, uncomfortable emotions that I’m not ready to examine yet, and I want to keep things simple. Nixie doesn’t need to know about them. Yet, anyway.
The tailor motions to me, expectantly patting the box—which I now realize is a fitting platform—he’s set on the floor. When I step onto it, he pulls out a worn tape measure, mumbling to himself as he jots down numbers in a small notebook.
Eva arrives as the tailor finishes with the last of his measurements, wandering over to the open suitcase which is packed with fabrics of varying shades and textures, all of them black.
She holds up two fabric swatches that look identical to me. “Which do you prefer?”
“Surprise me.” I step off the platform and return to my desk, listening with half an ear as they discuss the tuxedo I’ll be wearing in a matter of weeks.
After the tailor leaves, I lean back in my chair and turn my focus on her. “So, are you planning to fill me in?”
“Oh, right. Sorry for being late, my parent/teacher conference ran long. Madison and Parker are doing great. Madison is having a hard time sitting st
ill during circle time, though, and Parker—”
“Eva,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about the twins right now. Is there a reason you’re so eager to see Nixie and me married?”
Clutching the Hermès Birkin bag I gave her last Christmas, Eva lowers herself into one of the chairs facing my desk. “Why shouldn’t I be? Nixie’s a nice girl who needs help. You’re in a position to do that. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Not long ago, you were talking about the two of us getting together. Now Nixie’s in the picture and you’ve done a complete one-eighty.” I tilt my head to the side, eying her cautiously. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
I arch a brow. “This is me you’re talking to. Spill.”
She sighs. “I’m not blind, Nash. I can see that you’re attracted to the girl. She’s pretty, she’s sweet. But she’s not right for you.”
“Then why—”
“So that you can do your good deed and move on. Marry her next month, live separate lives until she gets her financials in order, and then get a quiet divorce. Otherwise, you’ll wind up shadowing her for nearly a year, constantly watching and worrying about her.”
The force of Eva’s delivery pushes me against the back of my chair. I sweep my tongue over the porcelain tiles of my teeth, weighing my response. Finally I nod. “Okay. I appreciate your honesty.” Jerking my chin toward the door, I say, “You can see yourself out.”
But Eva remains seated, edging forward until she’s perched at the edge of her chair. “Am I telling you something you don’t know? You can’t really think you and Nixie are good for each other, can you?”
Her questions are ones I’ve been asking myself for the past month. And I’m no closer to finding an answer. “Eva, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now.” Or ever.
“You had the time when you were the one asking the questions.”
“Well, I’m through now.” Stretching my hands toward my keyboard, I tap out a few commands and turn my face toward the screen. Work is the one place I still feel in control.