by Tara Leigh
Nodding, I follow him into the living room, the desk facing the window strewn with paperwork. I wave a hand in its direction. “I take it you saw me from here?”
“Yes. For a minute there, I thought you were going to turn right around.”
I duck my head sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Nerves.”
He steers me toward the overstuffed chair closest to the mantel, logs crackling in the fireplace. “You park your nerves right here while I go make our drinks.”
I sink down into the paisley velvet, running my hands over well-worn fabric that has seen many a wintry afternoon marked by hot chocolate and s’mores. When I stare into the hearth, it’s not just flames that dance in front of my eyes. It’s memories.
From the kitchen, I hear Pappi opening and closing cabinets, pots clanking, and the low rumble of his voice. I smile, having forgotten his habit of talking to himself. He returns a few minutes later, carrying a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies. “Thin Mints and Samoas? I haven’t had these since my Girl Scout days.”
Pappi grins. “A new family moved in next door. Their daughter came knocking and I couldn’t resist.”
I laugh. Pappi singlehandedly made me one of the top sellers every year. I think he donated most of the boxes to the local firehouse, but we always had enough Thin Mints and Samoas in our kitchen to last all year. “I’m glad there’s someone to supply you with your sugar fix.”
“You may be,” he grimaces, spreading his hands on a belly that has grown significantly larger over the past few years, “but my doctor isn’t too keen. More fruits and vegetables, he says. Less meat and sweets. What’s the fun in that?”
I reach for my steaming cup, managing a sip through the cloud of whipped cream floating on top. Delicious. “No, no fun at all.” Wrapping my palms around the mug, I feel warm inside and out, in a way I haven’t in too long to remember.
“I was wrong to run, and I’m so, so sorry.” My voice cracks as I force myself to maintain eye contact with Pappi.
“Are you ready to tell me why?”
“I am. Although my reasons are shameful. I was afraid if I told you what I learned,” my throat closes up and I take another sip of the spiked hot chocolate, wishing I asked for a straight shot of Kahlua instead, “you wouldn’t believe me. Or that you’d want to kill the messenger.”
Pappi leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “First of all, you’re not a messenger. I love you like a daughter, Noelle. No one, not even my son, will ever change that.” A fragile smile trembles on my lips as he continues. “And second, there’s nothing you can tell me about Derrick that I don’t already know.”
My stomach plummets. Of course there is. “I wish that were true.”
“I have a confession to make, too, Noelle.” Before I can stop him, he continues. “I know about Derrick’s gambling.”
I pull back. “You do?”
“I’ve known it for years. It’s in his blood, I’m afraid.”
“You gamble?” I rub at the deep frown denting my forehead. I’ve never even seen Pappi fill out a Fantasy Football bracket.
“How do you think your father and I met?” He shakes his head, eyes staring unseeingly at the fire as his tone becomes introspective. “We met at the tables in Atlantic City, back when the place was a real hot spot and traveling to Vegas wasn’t nearly as cheap, or as easy. We both liked to play blackjack, and were pretty good at keeping track of the cards. Your father and I became friends, and then business partners.”
“I had no idea.”
“We turned our skill at the casinos into the initial bankroll for our business. Mostly, we were day traders. We had our ups and downs together, nearly went bankrupt in the early nineties. Got into tech when the craze was just beginning. We rode that wave right until the end, putting all our eggs into the NASDAQ basket. Didn’t realize it was a bubble until it burst.
“When 9/11 hit, we were nearly bankrupt again. My wife had already left, but your mother, may she rest in peace, never complained. Said she had complete faith in us that we’d right the ship again. Even when your dad and I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, when I was about to lose this house, she never let us think of ourselves as failures.”
Pappi turns his eyes on me. They are a rich chestnut, like his son’s, but edged in a softer, lighter brown that shines with warmth. “I figured Derrick would outgrow the destructive side of his gambling addiction, learn how to put his appetite for risk to good use in the markets, like we did. And I hoped he would have a woman by his side who would love and support him, like your mother did for your father. I didn’t want him to be unlucky in love, like I was.”
I look down at my lap, lashed by guilt that I couldn’t give Pappi the peace of mind he so dearly deserves. “I wish—”
“That things could be different? Don’t. All I want is for both of you to be happy. And, as much as I would have liked to see you and Derrick together, he is not the man for you.” He lifts my chin so that I meet his gaze again. “Did you know that your mother used to do our books?”
I shake my head. I know so little about my parents.
“Well, she did. And even when we weren’t sure how we were going to pay the rent on our office, or the mortgage on our houses, she made sure we paid our taxes, and our insurance. When your father died, that insurance money let me pay off our accumulated business debt and start with a clean slate. I didn’t take as many risks, but over the years I did all right.
“After you left, I decided to do the same thing for Derrick—give him a clean slate. I paid off his debts and sent him to rehab. It didn’t work, though. The second he got out, he was right back at it—even worse than before. But this time, I didn’t step in.
“I wanted Derrick to learn his lesson and finally realize that small-time bets can become huge disasters practically overnight. And that owing money to the wrong people is a terrible, terrible idea.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I just never anticipated that he would try to elope with you to get his hands on your inheritance. I’m sorry, Noelle.”
I sit back, stunned. Pappi wasn’t blind to his son’s gambling. He’d simply been biding his time, hoping Derrick would grow up. It never occurred to him that I would get caught in the crossfire. But then I refocus. “Pappi, it’s you I’m worried about. Derrick’s debts, the men that are after him. You’re not safe.”
“It’s all been taken care of. You don’t have to worry about—”
“But he’s still gambling. That’s how I left without Derrick noticing, he was losing and I slipped away . . .” My voice trails off as I read Pappi’s expression. “You already knew?”
“I found out about it a little while ago.”
“How?”
“A friend. And now Derrick’s on his way to a different rehab facility. A better one this time.”
“But what if he signs himself out again?”
“He can’t. Not at this one.”
There’s a sad, resigned look on Pappi’s face. I don’t want to know what it took to get Derrick involuntarily committed. I reach out a hand, giving Pappi’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Wherever he is, at least he’s out of harm’s way. It’s no way to live, looking over your shoulder every second.”
A look of understanding passes between us. “I’m ashamed you felt you had to run. But, in a way, I think it was good for you. I’m damn proud that you struck out on your own. Took a risk and carved your own path.” His mouth pushes into a half smile. “It took a few days, but I’ve been keeping tabs.”
“Keeping tabs?”
“Of course. The police were no help since you were of age. But I had a private detective hot on your trail within hours. I would have gone crazy otherwise.” He shoots me an aggrieved father look. “Although letting you stay in that rat-trap apartment in Brooklyn was the toughest thing I’ve ever had to do, let me tell you. I slept a lot easier after you moved to the Holtsmann.”
The jarring ring of the doorbell has me swinging my head toward the
window overlooking the front of the house. A familiar black Navigator is parked at the curb. “The friend you mentioned earlier, that was Nash?”
“Yes. I went to see him after learning of your engagement. We had a long talk about Derrick. And an even longer talk about you.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“I asked him not too.” Pappi sighs as he rises from his chair, knees creaking. “We’ve both kept our share of secrets, haven’t we?”
I offer a chagrined nod and Pappi walks to the foyer, hating that he’s right. So many secrets, so many lies. I can’t live like this anymore. I won’t.
There’s a rush of cold air as he opens the front door, then a swift handshake as Nash steps over the threshold, his gorgeous face coming into view. My heart, swollen with sadness, pounds in my chest.
Derrick is no longer a threat.
Mack Duncan has probably already signed the sales contract for NetworkTech. And even if he hasn’t, judging by how well our dinner went, he’ll probably sell his business to Nash whether we’re married or not.
There’s no reason for us to marry anymore.
Whatever we had, whatever we were, is over.
Nash is here to say goodbye.
Chapter 22
Nash
Nixie rises from a chair in front of the mantel, light from the fire setting her hair ablaze like an angel’s halo. The sight of her, safe and sound and so damned seductive, nearly makes me stumble.
No matter how many times she accused me of rescuing her, Nixie is my white knight. Saving me from the empty life I’d resigned myself to.
After Tripp sent me a copy of the marriage license registered with the City Clerk’s office, Jay and I raced downtown but Derrick and Nixie were already gone. And I nearly lost my mind when Damon said that he’d tracked Derrick to a nearby hotel—and that Nixie wasn’t there.
I was on my way to rip Derrick limb from limb when Paul called to tell me that Nixie was sitting in his living room.
By now, he’s probably told her that Derrick is no longer a threat. I might owe Damon my firstborn, but he had his guys throw Derrick in a van and drive him to a place he won’t get out of until I say so. It’s called a rehab facility, but it’s basically a prison where the rich and well-connected send their lowlife offspring after they’ve fucked up too often or too badly to be allowed to roam free. Derrick won’t be getting out of there for a long, long time.
Which means that there’s no reason for Nixie to marry me. The thought sends a jagged crack down my center. Not a break exactly, but a weak zone that’s just Nixie’s size.
Of course, after last night, I don’t know that she wants to have anything to do with me, let alone marry me. She thinks I lied to her . . . again.
Paul quietly excuses himself, leaving the two of us alone. And even though I’ve only just come inside, I gesture toward the window as the first flakes of the season slowly drift from the sky and speak around the thick knot of remorse and regret stuck in my throat. “How about a walk in the snow?”
Nixie glances through the mullioned panes of glass, her profile as exquisite as a carved cameo. “I’d like that.”
I grab the coat hanging on the otherwise empty coatrack in the foyer and hold it out, dipping my head to breathe in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon that clings to her.
We climb down the porch steps and and continue along the stone walkway that cuts through the front yard. Though the sun set an hour ago, it is not very dark.
The moon is low and full, a gleaming white ball suspended in a sky that unfurls over our heads like an inky, indigo bruise. White Christmas lights hang from trees lining the sidewalk, and as the branches dance in the wind, they shine on Nixie’s upturned face like hundreds of twinkling stars. “Pappi said he went to see you yesterday,” she says.
“He did.”
“I know he asked you not to say anything to me, but it’s starting to feel like you like keeping secrets from me.”
“I don’t. I know it looks that way, but—”
Nixie’s eyes are practically glowing, and I can feel myself tumbling into a swirling amber sea. “It is that way. First it was your brother. Then Mack Duncan. And now Pappi. One is a mistake. Two is a pattern. And three is . . . Three is too many, Nash.”
“I explained about Scott. And, like you said, Paul asked me not to. He didn’t want you to know that he’s been keeping an eye on you. He loves you, and he’s proud of you.”
“And Mack Duncan?”
My exhale forms a mini-storm cloud of vapor between us. “You’re right. I should have told you about him when we were in Bermuda. But by the time we had dinner last night, I had another option in mind that would work, if not as well as NetworkTech, then nearly.”
“But Duncan—”
“Duncan was exaggerating. Nothing more. And you should know that I told him about us when we got to my office last night. Confessed that I was less than honest about our relationship. That I lied, actually, just so he would take my offer seriously.”
Nixie makes a small sound, like a strangled cough. “Oh.” She stares at me for a long while, unsure whether she can trust me. I don’t look away from her scrutiny. I deserve it, after all. “Let me guess, he’s still going to sell his company to you.”
“Yes.”
A stray snowflake catches on a ginger fringe of lash, suspended for a moment until a blink sends it on its way. One tiny movement is all it takes for something beautiful to disappear, lost forever. I can’t let that happen to Nixie. This extraordinary chemistry between us is a crackling, live thing, and yet so very fragile.
“Okay.” She looks down, away from me, and though she hasn’t gone anywhere physically, I feel her absence as deeply as if she dropped through space and disappeared entirely. And with her, a part of my soul. “Thanks for coming all this way. I should get back—”
I grab for her hand, desperation knifing through me. “Nixie, wait.” She stays, but the desperation does too. I can’t lose her. I can’t.
And then, I notice her naked ring finger and my heart sinks like a stone. “You took it off.”
“Oh, right.” She digs in the front pocket of her jeans and pulls out her ring, offering it to me on an open palm. “I didn’t want Derrick to see it. I thought he might make me pawn it or something.”
I take it from her and do what I should have done to begin with. I drop to one knee, the cold, damp concrete pressing into my trousers. “Mack Duncan gave me a reason for marrying you. And Derrick gave me an excuse. But it wasn’t the reason. And I don’t need an excuse. Not then, and definitely not now.”
A confused frown pulls at her eyebrows as stares down at me. “What I’m trying to say is—we may have started out ass backward, but nothing in my life has ever felt so right. I don’t care that we’ve known each other for months instead of years. Or that I fuck up over stupid shit and you run first and ask questions later.
“I don’t care about any of it— As long as you forgive me. As long as you let me chase you wherever you go.
“We still have the church booked, the venue reserved. And there is nothing I want more than to wake up with you every morning of my life, to make babies with you and grow old with you and live the rest of my life with you. Nixie, will you marry me?”
Nixie
Snow swirls around us now, the heavy flakes stinging my skin. I hope Pappi isn’t at the window watching this ridiculous display. Nash has clearly lost his mind. “You don’t have to do this. We don’t need to have a marriage of convenience anymore.”
Nash’s bark of laughter takes me by surprise. “Convenience? Hell, you are the most inconvenient woman I’ve ever met in my life.”
I suck in a breath of cold, damp air. “I might be inconvenient, but you are the bossiest, most bullheaded—”
Nash’s arm shoots out and encircles my waist, pulling me onto his powerful thigh, my hip pressing against the ridged muscles of his abdomen, our mouths barely an inch apart. “Is that really what you think
of the man who’s so in love with you he can’t see straight when you’re not around, and is damn near cockeyed whenever you are?”
Nash’s hands run along my spine and settle somewhere between my shoulders and neck, his thumbs finding a sensitive patch of skin behind my ears that sends goose bumps rising to attention like tiny white flags of surrender. “Pretty sure I was in love with you by sunrise, our very first morning together.” He twines a strand of my hair around his finger. “I’d never seen anything so damned beautiful as you sleeping in my bed.”
I lean back, needing to take in the whole of his face and not just the individual pieces that are like works of art on their own. His words echo inside my brain, ricocheting inside my skull. And somehow, they shake something loose. A glimpse of possibility.
Maybe all our lies have become something else.
The truth.
But I resist the lure of Nash’s handsome face and pretty, pretty words. I need more from him. I deserve more. “Love isn’t enough for me,” I finally manage. “Not if you’re going to love me with lies. I want a true partner. Someone I can count on to tell me the truth, even when it’s hard. I can’t love you if I don’t trust you.”
“You can trust me, I swear. This is entirely new for me, but I’ve learned from my mistakes. They won’t happen again. I won’t lose you.”
A faint spark of happiness sputters to life, the flame catching and spreading warmth throughout my soul. Is this really happening? A surge of optimism washes over me, a lightness of spirit.
But the embers of hope dim as familiar doubts rush in, threatening the seductive glow.
“No more lies?”
“No. They belong in the past, with the guy I used to be. The one who didn’t deserve you, Nixie. I know who I am and who I want to be—because you’ve showed me who that is.”
He’s feeling me everything I want to hear—can it be real? “Have you suddenly become a closet romantic?”
“There’s nothing about me that’s hiding in the closet.”