Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The man bent over clutching his chest and belly as he struggled to breathe.
“I hope you die,” Eric grumbled as he slumped back in his office chair.
The video feed on his large monitor showed Devon stumbling to an armchair, still gasping for breath as he howled with laughter.
Center screen, Franco sat beside Juliette on a small couch, both of them staring at him—well, at his image on their screen—in what he could only describe as horror.
He was deeply regretting his decision to call the Grand Master. He’d originally called to tell her he was fixed and she could call off her attack therapist. As evidence that he was fixed, and Elijah could go home, he’d told the Grand Master and her trinity that he apologized to Nikolett.
Elijah had blinked silently for several minutes when, earlier today, Eric told him about his messages to Nikolett. He’d sighed when Eric let him read them.
It was Elijah’s insistence that they talk about this that had Eric deciding to go above the American’s head to get Elijah to go home.
Eric was no longer catapulted into fight, flight, or freeze mode whenever he thought about the people he’d loved and lost. He was ready to stop spending his days thinking about, and talking about, his past and his feelings. It was time for action.
And, he had a plan for Nikolett.
Admittedly a plan he’d come up with all by himself rather than talking it through with anyone. But it was a good plan.
He’d been sure of that until Juliette asked him to read out the messages he sent Nikolett, which brought them to this moment. The normally taciturn Devon was having a manic laughing fit, while Franco and Juliette were distressingly quiet.
“I needed to apologize. In order to move on.” He hoped he didn’t sound as defensive and unsure as he felt.
“Did Dr. Mata suggest this?” Juliette asked carefully.
“No.”
“Have you shown him these messages?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He…made a weird face and sighed. Then sighed some more when I told him I wasn’t going to hang around anymore. I have places to go so he should probably head home.”
Devon finally calmed down enough to clear his throat. Juliette and Franco both turned to look at their husband.
“That,” Devon said calmly, “is serious fuck-boy behavior.” He then devolved into another fit of red-faced hysterics.
Eric wasn’t fluent in American idioms, but he refused to ask for a definition of “fuck-boy behavior.” It seemed fairly self-explanatory.
It was also the first time he’d seen the normally reserved Devon like this. It should have made him like the otherwise stiff and cold man more. Maybe it would have, if Devon wasn’t laughing at him.
Juliette threw the pillow she’d had on her lap at Devon, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“Eric, what…” She stopped, clearly thinking about her next words. “What did you want Nikolett to feel and think when she got those messages?”
“I wanted her to feel better because I acknowledged I’ve been an ass—”
“Fuck-boy,” Devon wheezed. “Ultimate fuck-boy.”
“Not helpful,” Franco said. “Accurate, but not helpful.”
“I have to go,” Eric declared. “The castle is being attacked by…dragons or something.” He leaned forward to end the video call.
“Wait!” Juliette held up a hand. “Just wait.”
“Dragons…” Devon wheezed.
Eric indulged in a brief fantasy of throwing Devon off the cliff. Not just pushing him, but picking him up and tossing him so he sailed through the air before plummeting to his death.
“What did you want Nikolett to do, when she got these messages?” Juliette asked again.
“Do? Nothing. I owed her an apology.”
“No argument there,” Juliette said, “and I want to acknowledge that the first half of your message is great.”
“What’s wrong with the second half?”
“Didn’t you say something like ‘what we had is over’?”
“Yes.”
“How do I put this…” Juliette paused, lips pursed. “You come off like an arrogant dickhead.”
“I am an arrogant dickhead, but I apologized!”
“Before you sent that message, did Nikolett think you two still had any kind of romantic, personal relationship?”
“No. She’s been pissed at me since…” Since Amalfi, and certainly since her marriage. “She’s been done with me for months.”
“Okay.” Juliette nodded. “Then why did you effectively negate that by saying ‘now that I say it’s over, it’s really over’?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Isn’t it?”
Eric opened his mouth. Closed it. Slid his hands into his hair and gripped it until his brain hurt. “Fuck.”
Devon was back to wheezing between gales of laughter.
“Fascinating,” Franco mumbled, chin propped on his fist. “Though honestly, some of this reminds me of you and Devon.”
“We were never this bad,” Juliette protested.
“No, probably not.” Franco eyed him. “They need a third.”
The idea made Eric sick to his stomach. Not just because he’d never wanted to be in another trinity marriage, but sharing Nikolett…
“Oh, he hates that idea. Look at his face.” Franco was leaning close to the camera. All Eric could see was his nose and one eye. “This is like watching a telanovella.”
Juliette yanked him back, smiling. “Who do we have in Hollywood that might want this?”
“Do not make a movie about me and Nikolett,” Eric said through his teeth.
“It would do better as a series. Probably on a streaming platform. Let me check the membership list.” Franco pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Eric grabbed the monitor, shaking it like he wanted to shake the Americans. “Are you going to help me or just make me feel stupider?”
“Eric,” Juliette said gently, “I can do both, because I’m just that good.” She smirked.
That startled a laugh out of him, which released the sick knot of tension that had formed in his stomach when Juliette pointed out how his message had probably come across to Nikolett.
“I wasn’t trying to say that it was only over because now I said it was over.”
“What were you trying to say?” Juliette asked.
“I was trying to make it clear that what we were doing before—”
“Using one another as emotional refuge and punching bags, plus periodic hate-fucking.” Franco nodded as he spoke, as if he were merely reiterating known facts and details.
“That’s… I…” Eric took a calming breath. “I’m going to shake Colum until his teeth fall out.” He should have taken two calming breaths.
“You hadn’t really accepted that your relationship before—healthy or not—was over until Elijah came?”
“No, I knew it was over. Like I said, she’s been done with me for months.”
“Okay.” Juliette drew the word out. “Then why did you say that?”
“Because I want her to know that the next time I kiss her, it’s not the continuation of what we had, it’s the start of something new.”
All three of the Americans froze.
He wanted a life with Nikolett. Or flip it around to say he had no interest in a life that didn’t include her.
“You’re going to…” Franco trailed off.
Devon rose from his chair to perch beside his wife. “But she’s a territory admiral, and you’re the fleet admiral and—”
“I know. But my brain is no longer confusing memories with active current danger. I’m no longer convinced that my loving Nikolett will doom her and that I need to protect her by staying away.”
“A little wild that you thought that,” Franco mused. “Nikolett is a self-rescuing princess.”
“Eric.” Juliette’s tone was careful. “As much as I applaud your success in therapy, you need to remember nothing has changed for Nikolett.”
“I know.”
“If you announce her marriage, but now it’s to you—”
“Not announcing it. I’m not going to make it an arranged marriage.”
Juliette blinked. “What?”
“I’m not going to force her to marry me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask her out on a date.”
N. Varda - Operation B Target 2
Sorry for not responding. Work has been crazy.
The Spaniard smiled as he picked up his phone.
Gus Alias +44 Number
I understand. How’s your leg?
N. Varda - Operation B Target 2
Better. I have a different cast. Not as heavy.
Gus Alias +44 Number
That’s great. I didn’t know there were multiple kinds of casts.
N. Varda - Operation B Target 2
It’s 3D printed.
He paused, wondering if now was a good time to push. With a shrug, he sent another message.
Gus Alias +44 Number
I bet it looks like a sci-fi exoskeleton. Did you get a cool color?
A minute later, a picture came through, and he smirked that she’d taken the bait.
The image was a close-up view of her leg from the knee down.
Clearly she took the picture herself, holding the camera near her knee.
The cast was bright, neon green. He could see her leg through the gaps in the smooth, glossy plastic, and her skin seemed almost too pale.
He could also see what he thought was a bandage midway down her leg, and his stomach muscles tightened.
Shaking off the feeling, he texted again.
Gus Alias +44 Number
That’s bright! Does it glow in the dark?
They sent a few more innocuous messages, and the Spaniard found himself leaning back in his chair, relaxed and smiling.
He also changed her contact name in the messaging app he used that would make it appear he was messaging from a +44 number rather than a +34, which was the actual number associated with this particular mobile device.
The casual, chatting mood ended with Nikolett’s next message.
Nikolett
I never answered your question about hotels.
He hunched forward over his phone. “Come on, Nikolett. Do it.”
Nikolett
I have a hotel room in Paris next week. Would you like to join me for dinner?
The Spaniard didn’t stop to examine the too-real elation that swept through him as he typed his response.
Gus Alias +44 Number
Name the day and I’ll be there.
Nikolett
Wednesday?
Gus Alias +44 Number
Perfect.
Nikolett
Are you sure it’s no trouble coming to Paris? I assume you don’t simply happen to be in France.
The Spaniard turned to look at the small paper calendar he had open on the desk. His schedule and notes were analogue, since he knew exactly how easy it was to access a digital calendar.
Flipping a page, he picked up a pen and drew a heart around the box for next Wednesday.
He’d already doodled an Eiffel tower with a question mark in the Monday box.
Now, he scribbled out the question mark and extended a line from Monday through Friday.
It appeared he would be going to France after all.
He turned back to his phone, not wanting to leave her question unanswered. That might cause doubt, and in turn give her a reason to cancel.
Gus Alias +44 Number
No, I wasn’t planning to be in France next Wednesday, but my schedule is flexible.
Seeing you again is worth a trip to Paris.
The Spaniard looked at the heart around Wednesday. He’d meant it to be mocking, but staring at it now, it seemed almost…hopeful.
Which was absurd. Nikolett wasn’t even his primary target.
So why was he genuinely looking forward to their date?
Nikolett stared down at her phone, a stupid smile on her lips and her cheeks pink.
Gus made her feel almost innocent. This felt soft and sweet like a first love, or at least the first love she’d seen in movies.
He was kind, attractive, smart, and successful.
He reminded her of Eric.
That thought wiped the smile off her face.
Slouching down in her chair, she stared at the ceiling. Maybe she was only attracted to Gus because his smile reminded her of Eric’s. If that was the case, she’d sleep with him in Paris, use that to burn away her lingering feelings and ephemeral ties to Eric, then end it with Gus.
But what if it was more than that? What if she liked Gus for himself?
What if she could love Gus in a way she knew she wouldn’t have been able to love Laszlo? A text from Gus had her feeling more than the dinner with Laszlo had.
But Gus’ name couldn’t have been on Elena’s sparkly board because he wasn’t a member. Even if he was, he wouldn’t be part of her territory. He would have been recruited by England.
Nothing said she couldn’t recruit him now. He clearly had ties to Hungary. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for a person to be recruited to a territory they were living in rather than the one they were born in.
Heart beating too fast, she sent a message to Zoran before she could have second thoughts.
Please send me everything you gathered on Angus Mc Angus.