by Sara Cate
Vera walks me to the kitchen. There are vegetables and bowls scattered on the counter, and it smells delicious. Astrid’s cooking is great, but this kitchen has the aroma of many hearty, home-cooked meals.
I did some research on Frank and Vera Wilde before this trip, just so I knew what I was walking into. Frank Wilde was a progeny in his own right. He worked his way up the corporate ladder until he attained the VP of Production at a major aviation engineering company. Second only to Boeing, they were responsible for manufacturing half the helicopters in North America.
I read in an article that he never intended for his son to follow in his footsteps but Alistair saw potential to take his dad’s business to a more marketable, private buyership. He wanted to be the next Henry Ford and started his own business, which made him over ten million in the first year alone. It also led to the rift in their relationship.
“You have a lovely home,” I tell her as she opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of tea.
“Thank you.”
I can see that Alistair has her eyes, and it makes me ache with missing him. There are bowls out with chopped vegetables and a turkey in a cooking pan on the counter.
“It’s not as nice as that house out there.” She gestures toward the door, and I know she’s talking about Del Rey.
“It’s ten times as nice,” I reply.
She answers with a grin.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask and she looks down at the vegetables on the counter.
“That would be lovely. I need to get these onions chopped for the stuffing.” Looking down at the cutting board, I’m taken back to that night in the kitchen with Alistair. He’s everywhere I look. How long will this go on? It’s getting annoying.
I hear Nash and Frank come in a few minutes later. The onions are strong, and I can’t help the tears that start welling up in my eyes. I let a couple stream down my cheeks as Nash walks into the kitchen. One look at me and he bursts out laughing.
“Jesus, grandma, what did you do to her?”
Nash wipes my tears while Vera apologizes, taking the onions from me.
“I’m fine,” I say with a laugh, and then I fall easily into his side. He puts an arm around me while we all stand around and talk. Thanksgiving isn’t until tomorrow, but there is still a lot to prepare. Frank tells us how he shot the bird himself and Vera talks about the garden she’s working on in the backyard.
For a while, it’s so normal and comfortable. Even Nash is relaxed. His smile comes easy, and it’s genuine, not the menacing one that I sometimes get. I can’t seem to keep my hands off of him. Seeing this happy version of the boy I started lusting after four years ago has me feeling all sorts of crazy things. Like how I could happily live the rest of my life like this. How I think this love I’m feeling for him is real.
Then we start talking about Nash when he was little. Frank laughs as he tells me about the time six-year-old Nash managed to turn the engine on in one of his dad’s helicopters in the yard while the blades were strapped down. It burned the motor up and caused some serious damage. The way he describes Nash’s face at the time and the way his dad reacted by trying to keep his cool but also livid as hell makes me laugh so hard my side hurts.
I watch the way Vera laughs along and how Nash watches her.
“He hated it here when he was little. His dad would drop him and his brother off for the summer, and Preston loved it, but Nash...” She’s staring blankly as he speaks, and I see how Nash’s smile fades in my periphery. When I look at him, a new sadness soaks in his expression.
“Nash would lie on the cement after his father left, holding that little stuffed tiger while he would cry for hours.”
Frank doesn’t say anything, but the laughter in the room is replaced by tension.
“The only one who could calm you was Preston,” Vera adds.
I squeeze Nash’s hand, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling it away. The room grows heavy with silence, and I see Vera start to fidget, as if she’s regretting sharing that story. There’s a shadow cast over her eyes as Frank and Nash start talking about the helicopters and the new builds that Wilde Aviation has planned for the future.
I can’t take my eyes off of Vera. She’s in deep contemplation, worrying her lips like she can’t let it go.
Being here in a home that holds memories of his childhood suddenly feels heavier than I anticipated. Nash doesn’t talk about his childhood much. How his mother abandoned him and his brother. How he felt ignored by his father.
As I get up and start looking around the room, it’s like a visual representation of the same feelings I felt. There are pictures of a smiling Preston next to a brooding Nash.
My throat builds with a heavy knot as I stare at a photo of the two boys at Christmas, and I see Nash so differently now. I see myself in that expression of his.
Suddenly, heavy arms wrap around my waist. Nash’s chin rests on my shoulder as I cling to his body.
“You okay?” he whispers into my neck.
“Yeah. I’m ready for bed,” I answer.
Frank leads us both to the back of the house where the spare bedrooms are. “You two can have this room,” he says, pointing to the room with the king size bed and en-suite bathroom. I look at Nash skeptically, but he glances back at the other room.
We’re not quite on a room-sharing level yet. Crashing in the same bed after a hookup isn’t the same as sharing a bedroom.
“Do you have other guests coming?” he asks his grandfather.
Frank responds by scratching the back of his neck. “If you’d rather sleep separately, you can. We have plenty of space.”
“We’ll be fine,” I answer before the situation grows tense. I pull Nash into the bedroom and thank Frank for his hospitality.
When I crawl into bed, he’s already leaning against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. I catch a glimpse of a helicopter on his phone screen. “What are you looking at?”
He closes the screen. “Nothing.”
“You okay?” It was sort of a big day for Nash. Flying, seeing his grandparents, introducing me.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He’s trying to be level and emotionless.
“Thanks for bringing me. I didn’t know if you wanted to introduce me to them,” I add.
Putting his phone down, he turns his head to stare at me. “Why wouldn’t I want to introduce you to them?”
“Because I won’t be here after Christmas.”
There’s a tic in his jaw. He picks up his phone and starts scrolling again, but his expression has hardened.
“Right, Nash? We knew from the beginning that I was here to give you guys some company. Shake things up a bit. You said yourself he bought me—”
“Yeah, I get it, Zara. Enough.”
“Why are you acting so upset about it?” I ask, and maybe I was fishing for this. Maybe I wanted these answers, to face the reality of what this is because lines are starting to blur a little. He doesn’t even know what’s happening with Alistair, regardless of what he said about liking the competition. Things are getting too heavy, and I’m having a hard enough time remembering this is just a job. I need to know where his head is at.
His jaw clenches even tighter.
“You look upset,” I mutter.
“Let’s just get through this weekend,” he says before turning over and clicking off the lamp. The room goes black as we both settle on our pillows, but just when I expect him to turn away, his arms wrap around my waist and pull me beneath his body.
His lips find mine as he settles between my legs. “I don’t need a reminder that this isn’t real to you. I remember it every fucking second,” he whispers against my mouth.
“Is it real to you, Nash? You said yourself you don’t want to care about me, remember? So tell me this is real to you and I’ll tell you it’s real to me.”
“Tell me you haven’t touched him, first.”
It’s like a bullet to my heart.
“Te
ll me you’d give up the money and stay with me,” he continues.
I don’t answer as he speaks, his body overwhelming mine on the bed. After a moment longer of silence, he leans in. “Exactly. I know whatever this is between us is fucked up, Zara, but I’m so fucking stuck on you anyway. I can’t seem to convince myself to let you go, but where the fuck do we go from here?”
Before I can answer, he pulls my tank top over my head. “I see the way you smile at him. I see the way he looks at you.” I don’t move as his hands roam down my body as he rips my panties off.
“Have you fucked him yet?” he asks as his hips grind against my core. Heat shoots up my spine.
“No,” I answer breathlessly. His eyes close as he lets out a groan.
“Do you want to?” He grinds against me again. I know I could lie, but I don’t. Mostly because I hate lying, but also because this is what he wants. He’s asking me this for a reason.
“Yes,” I moan.
His kisses my neck while his fingers travel down between my legs to swim in the moisture blooming there.
“Do you still want me?” he asks.
My answer comes out quicker this time. “Yes.” My fingers grab onto the waistband of his sweatpants and shove them down. When I feel the warmth of him lining up against my sex, I let out a sigh.
He eases in slowly, and I hold in my moans so his grandparents don’t hear. My eyes close as he thrusts, and I can’t help the visions that surface behind my eyelids.
“Open your eyes,” Nash commands. “Don’t think about him.”
I gasp. “I’m not.”
He slams into me harder. “Yes, you were.”
“Nash,” I answer in a whimper on another thrust. But I realize Nash doesn’t respond to pleas or logic. He responds to honesty. So I sit up on my elbows and put my face inches from his. “If you don’t want me to think about anyone else, then I guess you better be the one to make me come.”
“Oh you little brat,” he hisses as he flips me onto my stomach. My body pulses with fire and pleasure as he slams into me, gripping me hard by the hips and fucking me fast and hard, leaving bruises on my flesh.
When I finally touch myself, it doesn’t take my body long before it explodes with intensity, numb and tingling in every inch.
We collapse together on the bed. As he climbs up to rest his head on the pillow, I lay my head on his chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with us?” he mutters.
“Why do you assume there’s anything wrong with us?” We’re both still breathless, but I feel his voice echo through his chest.
“Because for one nice minute today I felt what having a normal girlfriend would feel like, but then I remember you’re not here to be my girlfriend, and you’d probably be here with him.”
He pulls away from me, and I sit up to stare at him.
“Can you please get over the fact that I’m getting money for one second and just accept that you’re the closest fucking thing I have to family, and today was really fucking nice. And everything between me and your dad is in your head, Nash.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he mumbles.
Turning away from him, I lay back down on my pillow. I don’t understand why Nash shuts himself out so much, why he denies his emotions, but as I lay against Nash’s body I realize that I am calling him out for being closed off when I’m the one who’s still thinking this is just a job.
23
Vera and I are busy making dinner and the boys are watching football in the living room. It all feels so picture-perfect, but I can’t help but feel like something is missing. I’m an intruder. Like I came here with Nash but he’s not entirely here as it is.
Just after we pull the bird out of the roaster, I hear the distinct rumble I’ve come to recognize over the last month of living at Del Rey. Vera freezes her hands that are mixing the salad. We both look up and hear the front door slam.
“What the fuck,” Nash mutters, and I drop what I’m doing to run out to the living room. Through the giant picture window is the unmistakable sight of Alistair’s little bird landing next to Nash’s.
“Oh dear,” Vera whispers as she steps up next to me.
As Alistair walks up the drive, I feel the flutters of excitement in my chest. He’s in dark jeans and a deep gray flannel shirt, rolled at the sleeves. On instinct, I want to cuddle up against him, feel his arms around me, kiss his neck. I need his smiling eyes on me like I need my next breath.
When he reaches the porch, I have to bite my lip to hide my happiness seeing him here. But as he steps up to meet Frank, I remember what Nash told me. Frank and Nash have a strained relationship. It’s a long moment of tension with the two staring at each other, having some clipped, quiet conversation that nobody else can hear.
Then Frank puts a hand out and Alistair takes it in a hearty shake. Vera puts her hand to her lips, and I watch her bite back her own tears. Then she bursts forward as Alistair walks in the house. She throws herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. I watch, my breath heavy in my chest as he buries his face against his mother’s shoulder.
This is a different side of Alistair. The big, intimidating boss has a soft side and apparently it only takes one hug from his mother to make him crumble.
As he looks up, he greets me with an intense glare. To be back in his gaze feels like bathing in the sun. Tears begin to pool against my lashes, and I have to look away.
Immediately, my eyes meet Nash’s who’s wearing a cold, blank expression, ignoring his father’s greeting. I remember what Nash and I spoke about last night. He knows Alistair and I have touched, and he knows that on some level I want him. And I know that on some level, he likes the competition, so I do what I’m aching to do. Leaving the kitchen, I walk to Alistair and wrap my hands around his neck. He freezes, and I feel eyes on me as I whisper, “Thank you.”
An hour later, the five of us gather around the large farmhouse table in the dining room with a beautiful view of the back field behind the house. It’s really gorgeous out here. Equally as gorgeous as the views on Del Rey, just different.
Alistair sits across from me and Nash sits at my right. Every few minutes, I look up and see those blue eyes staring back at me. We make innocent conversation about dinner, football, and Frank asks me about my family. It's an unsettling conversation, to talk about so much death, so much loss and brokenness. Then I feel a foot lean gently against mine. Looking up, Alistair’s eyes watch me for a brief second, but his leg doesn’t move.
A moment later, a hand rests softly on my lap. I put mine on top of Nash’s while my foot rests against Alistair’s, and I can’t seem to understand why I’m doing this to myself.
This doesn’t feel like a job anymore. It hasn’t felt like a job in a while, but I’m having a hard time admitting that to myself.
I feel more and more torn between them by the minute. To the point where I can’t imagine leaving either of them when this over. I’ve built a bond with Nash that I can’t seem to let go of, even if all we do is argue and fight. It’s a connection forged by anger, but it’s a connection nonetheless.
Then, there’s Alistair who sees me in ways no one else does. He pushes me, protects me, makes me feel safe, and I am tired of fighting against something I want so much. Call it daddy issues, I don’t care. I can’t walk away from him. I just can’t.
“Alistair told us you were a dancer,” Vera says sweetly as she puts a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Next to me, Nash nearly chokes on his turkey. I send a glare toward Alistair who is the only one not reacting. When the hell did he have a chance to tell his mother about me?
He answers her coolly. “Yes, Zara was trained in ballet. I’ve been trying to understand why she ever stopped.”
I have to physically force my shoulders away from my ears, and Nash is glaring at me with his eyebrows pinched together.
“In fact,” Alistair says as he pulls out his phone. “I bought you something.”
“Who?” I ask, looking
at Nash.
“Both of you.” A moment later, my phone pings with an alert, and I pick it up to find a text message from Alistair with a link. When I click the link, my brain takes a moment to register what I’m reading.
Two tickets to the ballet production, Giselle
“What is this?” I murmur, my mouth hanging open.
“Tickets for you two to go to the ballet.”
My chest starts to feel heavy and tears sting my eyes. I can’t seem to speak coherent words like thank you or I love it. Does he even know this is my favorite ballet?
“This is tomorrow,” I add, looking at the date on the tickets.
“Yeah. Gramps will let you guys borrow a car for a night in the city.”
Nash is staring skeptically at Alistair, and I can’t seem to get past the lump building in my throat. The last time I went to the ballet was years ago. Emma and I went to see Swan Lake in Los Angeles on a weekend trip.
“He should take you.” My head snaps up from staring down at my phone. Nash’s eyes are on me, and I honestly don’t know if I’m hurt by his words or excited by them. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with Nash because I do, but Alistair is the one who bought this for me. I feel like he should be the one to take me. Plus I suspect he would enjoy it more anyway.
“No, I bought them for both of you,” Alistair says, but I notice the tension in his voice. I’ve learned his moods enough to know when he is walling up emotion, and somewhere underneath that facade, he’s hiding the fact that he wants to take me.
“Zara, I don’t even like the ballet. I’d be a terrible date. Tell him to take you.”
The table is locked in this awkwardness like a cage as everyone looks at me and Alistair. Finally, setting my phone down, I look up at the man across from me. Softly, I ask, “Will you take me?”
Inside, I’m ecstatic, but I keep my face calm.
“That’s fine,” he responds, keeping his tone as cool as mine.
We’re staring at each other when Frank clears his throat, breaking the tension. “I think we need a good old fashioned football game after dinner.” Nash and Alistair both look up at the same time.