The Virgin Society Collection

32. The Seriousness of Tiramisu

32

THE SERIOUSNESS OF TIRAMISU

Nick

The first thing I do when I reach the Strong Ventures building is go straight to Finn’s office.

I rap on the open door and stride in before he even looks up from his laptop.

When he does, he freezes, his coffee in hand. Then, he sets down the mug and points to the small brown box with the clear window on top in my hand. “Shit. It must be serious. You brought tiramisu.”

My brother has a hell of a sweet tooth. “I hope you have room in your dessert drawer.”

Finn pats his flat stomach. “Always,” he says, but his tone is grim, matching mine. He tips his forehead to the door. “Better shut that.”

But I’m already closing it, locking it too. I won’t take any chances.

I stride to his desk, setting down the offering along with the fork. “It’s from Sunshine Bakery,” I say. I don’t tell him Layla lives near the bakery. That I picked this up when I left her home this morning since the bakery was open early today. That I’m a fucking mess. I don’t have to tell him the last one.

“My favorite,” he says, then takes the treat, opens the box, and sniffs like it’s a fine wine. “This is going to hit the spot.”

He closes the box, rises, and heads around the desk, patting a leather chair for me, then grabbing another one for himself. He sits across from me. “What’s going on?”

There’s only concern in his voice. No teasing, no needling.

I drop my head in my hand. “Where do I even start?” I mutter.

“Maybe at the ink spot you had on your palm the other day? I’m guessing that’s a clue as to why you’re here.”

I raise my face, drag a hand down it. Then I just nod. I practiced the words to say during my swim when I got home, then in the shower, then on the walk to the office, espresso-soaked cake in hand.

But the dress rehearsal doesn’t make this confession performance any easier. I lick my lips, trying to find a better way to start than I fell for my son’s ex-girlfriend.

“So there’s a woman,” Finn says, taking the conversational reins. He stares pointedly at me, like he’s saying he started it, now it’s my turn.

I jump off the cliff. “Yes, there’s a woman,” I say, though that hardly covers the magnitude of my feelings for Layla Mayweather. But this ought to cover the problem. “And she’s my son’s ex.”

Finn flinches. “Fuuuuuck.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “I know.”

“Fuckity fuck, Nick.”

I laugh again, for real this time, and at Finn. “Yup. It’s a whole lot of fuckity fuck.”

“With a side of tiramisu.” He blows out a long stream of air then cracks his knuckles. “All right, let’s do this. How? When? And does David know?”

“Miami. A few times. And fuck no.”

Another big breath. “And the payola,” he says, gesturing to the treat on his desk, “is because you need my help breaking it off with her, telling him, or borrowing my Miami home to sneak off for another tryst with her?”

That’s the thing—I don’t want just a tryst with her. “I don’t know what to do, Finn.”

My older brother takes a beat, studying me with wise eyes. “You have feelings for her,” he says, simply.

It’s a statement of the obvious. But sometimes you need to know what you’re dealing with. “Big ones,” I say.

Last night was the tipping point. I was already crazy for her. Then, she opened her heart and her past, and all I want to do is take care of her, adore her, and treat her like the goddess she is to me. But how the hell can I do that? “She’s his good friend now too. She’s a huge part of his life. And I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop seeing her. I can’t stop wanting her,” I say.

Finn clears his throat. “Actually, you can stop seeing her. Sounds like you’re choosing not to.”

Chastened, I lower my eyes. “Fine,” I grumble.

“I’m just saying,” Finn adds, pulling no punches.

But that’s why I came here—for the unmitigated truth. I meet his eyes. “Are you saying I should stop?”

I’d rather eat metal.

He sighs heavily but doesn’t give an answer. “She used to date David, right?”

“Yes, but in college,” I say quickly, like that covers up my sin, the distance in years.

“You’re trying to make a silk purse, man,” he says.

Punch to the gut. Just what I need. I rake my hand through my hair in frustration. “Fine, okay? He went out with her in college, they stayed friends, and they’re still friends. There you go.”

“And she’s helping him plan his charity fundraiser, right? He mentioned her to me when I was chatting with him the other day about our social media. She’s hosting the auction with him tomorrow night, isn’t she?” he says, refusing to let me get away with anything.

“Yes,” I bite out, hating that he’s making me sound like such a schmuck. But this is why I came here. For an icy dose of reality, and Finn sure as hell is dumping the freezing cold bucket of water on my head.

“And how long have you been sneaking around with her?”

“Jesus, Finn. Why the hell didn’t you go to law school?”

He smiles evilly. “Because Wall Street made me more money,” he says, giving an answer I can’t argue with. He worked at a hedge fund before he started his own venture firm.

“If you need a second career, you should consider?—”

“—How long, Nick? How long?”

As he cuts to the chase, I huff out a breath. “I met her in Miami. Didn’t know who she was. She didn’t know who I was. We spent the night together. Fast forward three months and several transatlantic texts and phone calls later, and we made plans to see each other when I moved here. Then, I ran into her at a diner with David. Turns out she’s David’s Layla, and we put on the brakes right away.” I stop to stare out the window before I confess the rest of my lies or in case he calls me on another euphemism. “I thought it would end there. We’d be friends, we’d keep the past in the past, but then…”

He nods, his gaze gentler, along with his tone. “And then?”

“And then I kept spending time with her prepping for the fundraiser, and seeing her, and…when I thought she was going on a date with another guy, I broke the fucking pen.”

“And did you tell her that?”

“I did, and then I told her a ton of other things. About Rose, and her parents, and the country club, and the things Rose’s dad said to me.”

Finn whistles. “Damn.”

“Yeah, exactly. And I tried to stop seeing her. But then, last night…” I flash back to last night. It belittles everything she shared to refer to it as a night spent together. I won’t reduce her vulnerability to that. “I fell for her.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he says heavily, then leans forward, pinning me with an intense look. “What are you going to do about it?”

I hold out my hands, helpless. “I should stop seeing her, right?”

“Will you though?”

“I should. Really, I should.”

“Nick,” he says, never looking away, clearly gearing up to give me some bad medicine. “You’ve been lying to your kid.”

I’m a bad father. I’m setting a horrible example. “I have. And you’re saying I should…?”

“I’m saying you should stop lying,” he says.

He’s absolutely right. And there are two ways to do that. I have to choose which one.

On that mic drop, he rises, claps my shoulder, and returns to his desk, sits in his power chair like the king of Manhattan.

With a satisfied sigh, he picks up his fork. “Did I earn my tiramisu or what?”

Can’t argue with him there.