Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Iplay chess with Zia’s father for a few hours before he has to rest, then I wander the house while I wait for Zia to come home.
I don’t know where he went, but I already miss him.
Zia and his father both said I had free rein, but I still feel like I’m invading their privacy.
Everywhere I look, there are paintings and pictures of Zia and his father.
They look happy. It’s evident his father loves him very much, and I memorize each and every one.
In some, he looks young but still so serious.
I wonder if he ever truly got to be a child.
When I find a room that’s obviously an office, I hesitate.
There are no locked doors thanks to Zia, but should I go in?
No one is around, so I step inside and carefully shut the door, glancing around as I do.
It’s a plush space, made for comfort and long hours at work, with the same old-world decor as the rest of the house.
Warm, dark-wood bookshelves are filled with books and knickknacks.
Deep inlaid sofas are on the left with a coffee table before them covered in open papers and books, and a desk at the back faces a computer, but it’s one of the open books on the table that catches my eye.
It’s a picture album.
Heading over, I sit softly on the edge of the leather sofa, hearing it creak as I do.
I pick the top book up and see Zia. They are all of Zia when he was young, maybe six or seven if I had to guess.
He has the same eyes and wicked smile. His face is chubbier and his hair is different, but the main difference is the way his eyes sparkle with happiness.
There are so many of them—him with a kite and playing in the garden.
In every single one, he has this spark, one I haven’t really seen in him.
Innocence, maybe, or just childish joy? As I flip through the book and he gets older, that spark seems to die, and he must only be ten before he looks stern and put together.
As I go to put the book down and grab the next, something flutters out.
I pick it up, turning it over to see a picture.
It’s of Zia’s dad, and there’s a baby in his arms and a woman at his side.
Is this Zia as a baby? He was so little, and he has the same eyes as the woman.
His mother? He never mentions her, but his father did a bit.
She died. Is that when Zia changed, or was it before? Was it the pressure of being a Xander? I don’t know, but I hope I can relieve some of that for Zia. I want that spark back. I want to see him smile so freely again.
Putting the picture back, I exit the office and shut the door, leaving his dad to his memories, when a loud beeping noise splits the air.
None of the guards rush in or seem worried, but I wander to the front door and open it.
Peeking out, I see a truck backed in, the tailgate lowered.
Zia watches with his arms crossed, his sunglasses in place.
“Zia?” I call, and he turns with a smile.
“There you are. Good timing. Come here.” He holds out his hand, and I wander over. I’m like a moth to a flame when it comes to him. Capturing my fingers, he draws me closer to his side and lets me see what all the noise is about as he pushes his sunglasses up. “Surprise. This is for you.”
“What is—” My eyes land on the sparkling black ARCH KRGT-1, one I have looked at a million times and dreamed of, promising myself I’d buy it one day with my winnings. The bike shines in the sun, and I turn to Zia, unsure what he means when he hands me a set of keys. “Zia, what is this?”
“It’s an ARCH KRGT-1. I was told it’s the best. There were a few others, but something about this one drew me in. I had it custom made for you.” He smiles so widely that it must hurt, but I just stare, my heart sinking.
“Zia . . .” I swallow the words.
He looks at me, his smile fading. “You’re annoyed.”
“Damn right I am,” I scoff as I hand him the keys. “Take it back.”
“What? No. It’s a gift.” He frowns.
“Zia. This isn’t a gift. This is a contract,” I retort as I stare him down. “You really want to do this here?” I look around at the guards and delivery people, and his jaw clenches as he gets my meaning. He lifts his chin, and I hate that he’s pulling away and putting distance between us.
“Leave us,” he barks loudly, and everybody clears out, even the truck driver. I wait for them to go, but he beats me to it. “If you don’t like it, I can exchange it for one you would prefer—”
“Why did you buy this for me?” I ask, trying to understand.
“Because I wanted to.” He shrugs. “It was pocket change, so don’t worry, and your bike was looking a little worse for wear. No man of mine will be seen on anything less.”
“Zia,” I snap, and he looks at me. “Do you see what you did with this?”
“Bought you a gift that you seem ungrateful for?” he responds. “If it’s about the money, it doesn’t matter to me, Nikko. I have more than enough—”
“It’s not about the money!” I yell, throwing my hands up.
“Then what is it?” he asks softly, truly confused. Doesn’t he understand? Can he really not comprehend his own motives? Is it so deeply rooted that he doesn’t even notice how he’s trying to manipulate the situation? That saddens me, so I take a deep breath and try to calm down.
I don’t want to shout at him, but it hurts. It fucking hurts. Everyone else can see what he is doing—everyone but him. I thought we were getting closer. I thought he was letting me in. I’m in his home and bed, but I was wrong.
“Zia, whether you realize it or not, you are trying to push me away again, trying to drive a wedge between us.” I gesture at the bike.
“This isn’t a gift. This is a form of control.
You’re trying to manage this relationship because you’re scared, so you revert back to old ways—using money.
If you’re in charge, if they owe you something, it means you can’t get hurt.
Don’t you see? It’s like I owe you something if you buy me this.
It’s not about the money. It’s the thought.
Gifts should be given because you care about someone and want to show that, but this is a declaration in a pretty package. ”
He stares at me, his eyes widening as I speak, and when he doesn’t respond, I smile sadly. “You didn’t even realize you did it, did you? I don’t know if that makes it worse or not.”
“I—” He swallows. “I just wanted to give you this.”
“But why? Why, Zia?” I press.
“I don’t know,” he says, looking so lost and confused, my heart aches for him.
“If you tell me it’s because you want to make me happy, then I’ll believe you, but you have to believe it yourself. Why did you buy this, Zia?” I ask once more, refusing to let him escape.
His eyes dart away for a moment, and when they come back to me, they are harder.
“I don’t know what you want from me. I gave you my body, my bed, my home, and now this.
I don’t understand. Others would kill for a gift like this, for me to spoil them like I spoil you.
What do you want, Nikko?” He grows annoyed as he speaks.
“Tell me. Tell me what you fucking want.” He steps closer until we are almost pressed together.
“I can buy it or steal it. Tell me because no, I don’t fucking understand why you are reading so much into this gift. Fucking tell me what you want!”
“You!” I yell in his face, and he flinches.
I try to rein in my temper, but my words are quick and sharp, cutting him to the bone.
“I just want you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, you fucking beautiful idiot.
” He stares at me, and I swallow, softening my voice.
“The bigger question here is, what do you want, Zia?”
He just stares at me, and I nod. He doesn’t even know, or he’s too scared to admit it.
“I will give you time to figure it out. But let me make this clear—I am walking away right now, but it isn’t forever, just so you can think alone.
I won’t leave you, Zia, not even for a moment.
” I turn to head inside and gather my things, but a hand grabs my arm and yanks me around.
His panicked eyes lock on mine, stopping my retreat.
“You, okay?” he blurts out, sounding desperate.
“I want you too. I don’t understand exactly, but I want you, Nikko.
That’s why I bought this. I wanted to make you happy.
I wanted to spoil you. I don’t know if it’s for a day, a month, a year, or forever.
I’m not sure. All I know is I’ve never felt this way, and I’m happy when you’re around.
I wasn’t trying to control you with money.
Yes, I’ve done that in the past, but I just want to make you happy, Nikko.
” His words hammer straight into my weak heart, and his hand tightens on my arm as if he’s worried I’ll walk away.
Doesn’t he know I could never walk away from him? Even if he could never give me anything more, I’d take scraps from his table just to be in his life.
“I want you,” he repeats. “Is that enough? Can it be enough?”
He looks so scared, I can’t resist. Dragging him close, I wrap my hand around the nape of his neck and press my forehead to his.
“Give me your heart, Zia,” I beg. “I promise I will never hurt it. I will spend my life protecting it. Give it to me the way I have given you mine. It’s not fair, but I want it. I need it.”
His eyes blow wide and his lips part, and for a moment, I worry he won’t speak. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if there’s anything left to give.”