TWENTY EIGHT
E ver since our last conversation, Nicolas stayed true to his word and kept a close eye on me. Which was only while I worked, because I spent most of my free time with him.
I tried not to think about the massive bomb he dropped on me the other night, because he promised that he'd keep me safe.
His mere presence was intimidating. I noticed that he only displayed his soft side when he was around me, so I couldn't imagine how outsiders must've felt whenever they saw him.
Especially individuals who threatened the people he held dear to him.
He seemed like he definitely wouldn't be doing much talking. He'd probably beat the shit out of them, and that's me putting it lightly. I walked out of my office building, looking around for Nicolas' car which was parked across the street.
The cool breeze blew against my skin and I inhaled deeply as I walked towards the vehicle. Nicolas immediately climbed out, stepping closer. "Is everything okay?" he asked, probably noticing the look on my face.
"Yes." I brushed it off. "Everything's fine." I was about to walk to the passenger side when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me flush against him. When our bodies collided I gasped, looking up at him.
"I don't like being lied to, sweetheart. You should already know this," he said darkly. "And right now, that's exactly what you're doing."
I gripped the handle of my bag tightly in my left hand. "Everything is fine, Nicolas." The last thing I wanted to do right now was discuss the issues I had with my mother.
"Try again." I sighed, rolling my eyes at him. "That attitude of yours needs to be worked on." He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I can and will stand here all day if you don't tell me what's wrong."
"You're so persistent," I huffed. "Okay, fine. Can we at least get the in the car first?" He narrowed his eyes at me.
"Very well then, but if you don't uphold your end of this agreement, I'll grab that pretty your neck of yours and pull you out of this car. Understood?"
"No need to be so violent." I laughed softly. He smiled at me and slowly released me from his firm grip.
Once we were inside of the car and we were buckled up, I turned to look at him. "It's my mother," I said, sighing softly. "A few weeks ago, she reached out to me after years of no contact." Nicolas started the car and stepped on the gas, slowly driving off.
I could tell by the look on his face that he hadn't expected the conversation to go in this direction. "It's okay, we don't have to talk about it," he offered.
"No," I replied almost instantly, fidgeting with my necklace. "I want to." I swallowed hard, trying to reel in my emotions. "My parents got divorced when I was thirteen and my mother forced me to choose sides. At that time, I didn't know any better so I chose her."
Nicolas' grip on the steering wheel tightened and his jaw ticked. "Despite everything she put me through mentally and emotionally," I said softly, "I chose her because I thought it was the right thing to do. She's my mom, why wouldn't I choose to stay with her?"
He reached over, placing his hand on my thigh and rubbed circles on the flesh with his thumb. "I soon realised that it was a huge mistake on my part, and two years later, I finally had the courage to contact my father."
My voice was shaky and I didn't understand why. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I never shared anything about my life with anyone other than my close friends.
"She was manipulative, arrogant, a tyrant. She tried to control everything I did and constantly made me feel worthless. She told me women were only meant to be wives and mothers. We shouldn't have dreams, goals, ambitions, or our own careers. We should just work towards becoming somebody's wife and then inevitably being a mother."
Nicolas' grip on my thigh tightened and I looked down at his hand. "Take your time," he reassured me.
"Being an event coordinator wasn't my first choice. I wanted to study law because I've always dreamed of becoming a lawyer. Fighting for what I believed was right, fighting for people who couldn't fight for themselves. That was my dream. Of course, my mother disapproved. She told me I wasn't smart enough to study, wasn't good enough, would never amount to anything."
"Jesus fuck," Nicolas muttered under his breath.
I chuckled at his response, placing my hand on top of his. "This mental abuse started when I was about eight or so. My grades were never good enough, my hair was too curly, but if I straightened it, then it didn't suit my facial features. Everything I did always seemed subpar in her eyes."
I paused, inhaling slowly before exhaling. "My father, on the other hand, always encouraged me, motivated me, reassured me. He's the one who taught me how to ride a motorcycle." I smiled at the memory. "Obviously, my mother didn't approve. Riding a motorcycle certainly wasn't ladylike. No man would ever want a woman who participated in those activities."
Now that I spoke about it aloud, I realised how bad my mom treated me. "My father taught me how I should be treated, and when I was fifteen, I moved in with him. Only then did I discover the reason why they got a divorce."
Nicolas only nodded, silently encouraging me to continue. "She aimed to be a housewife and he didn't agree with that. He told her that it was important for a woman to have a form of independence, because anything could happen and solely depending on someone else to sustain you wasn't a wise choice."
I shook my head. "Christina couldn't fathom that her husband wouldn't let her quit her day job, which was for her own benefit, mind you. My dad spent years trying to undo the damage my mother caused. I was always self-conscious, self-doubtful, had low self-esteem and even when I was given the opportunity to study, I chose a career path I wasn't passionate about."
We pulled up to his house and the gates opened. Once the car was parked, he turned to look at me. "I'm truly sorry you experienced that, Gabriella," he grimaced. "No child should ever experience that kind of treatment, especially from their parent."
He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. "I know it's difficult to let go of trauma, but it's imperative that you try your utmost best. Those negative words that were uttered to you are simply not true. Do you understand that, my love?"
When I didn't answer, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and held the side of my face. "Tell me you understand, sweetheart."
"I want to understand," I sighed.
"Is law still something you're passionate about?"
I nodded, leaning in to his touch. "Yes, very much so, but I just don't know if I'll be able to pursue it anymore."
"Why not?" I thought of an explanation as to why, but there was none. "Seems like you don't have a valid reason, which means you're still harbouring those negative feelings."
"Are you a therapist now?" I joked, making him smile.
"No, but I know how it works because my therapist has been drilling it into my brain since my first session," he scoffed. "Did your mother contact you again today?"
"Yes, she asked me for money."
"Did you send her any?" he asked with a scowl on his face.
"No." I frowned. "I refuse to send her anything. She hasn't spoken to me since the day my father blocked her from my phone, due to the disgusting messages she constantly sent me, and that was almost ten years ago. Then when she does make contact with me again, it's for some cash? That's so heartbreaking."
Nicolas eyed me and I could tell there was something he wanted to say. "I'm not going to comment on that. It's your choice, but what I would like to discuss is you studying for that degree. If it's something you're still interested in doing, I'll help you."
My heart skipped several beats and all I could do was stare at him. "What?" I asked softly, unable to comprehend what he was saying, or maybe I was just in disbelief.
His throaty laughter filled the air. "I said—"
"Wait." I chuckled. "I heard what you said, I just couldn't believe what I was hearing." I smiled. "You'd do that for me? "
"I thought we already established that I'd do anything for you, Gabriella," he murmured. "I don't like knowing that you've ever felt worthless or doubted yourself. You're a smart woman. You're beautiful, funny, hard working." He leaned in. "Too sassy at times, but that's something we can work on."
"Are you going to help me work on it?" He brushed his lips against mine.
"Oh, definitely. There are many other ways we can use that mouth of yours."
I squeezed his shoulder, making him wince. "You're filthy, you know that?" He only smiled in response. "What about your parents? Are you close with them?"
Nicolas' smile slowly faded and he cleared his throat. "They're no longer alive." The way my heart sank made me clutch my stomach.
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"No, it's okay. You didn't know." He grabbed my hand, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. "They were in a car crash when I was eighteen. My younger brother was thirteen at the time."
Instinctively, I held onto him, rubbing soothing circles against the back of his head. "When I first heard the news, I was devastated because both of them died on the spot. It was a head-on collision with a truck."
I frowned, wanting to say something, but knowing nothing I said would make a difference. "It forced me to be independent and to ensure I looked after my brother. It hit him the hardest, because he was more in tune with his emotions than I was."
"You don't have to share this information with me if you're not comfortable. I know it's a sensitive topic," I said softly.
"I want to. I need to." He smiled. "Family members provided us with help for the first few months, but after that, we were basically on our own. I had to get a job and finish school simultaneously, which wasn't the easiest task but I did it. My mother would've been proud of me."
I nodded, smiling brightly. "Extremely proud."
Nicolas' eyes sparkled with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "Thank you for listening to me." He leaned closer. "I've never shared that information with anyone. Not even my friends."
"Then I'm honoured." I smiled. "What's your brother's name?"
"Christos," He said.
I smiled. "Are you and him close?"
"Definitely." He chuckled. "A little too close, because he thinks I'm his father. Which is understandable, given the fact that I've been looking after him since he was thirteen-years-old."
"That must've been a really huge responsibility for you."
"It was, but I suppose things were meant to happen that way. I'm not pleased with it because they should've been here to see our accomplishments, but hey, it's in the past."
I held his hand, fiddling with his fingers. "Your feelings are valid, you know. Grief doesn't come with an instruction manual. In my opinion, you turned out to be a fine young man and I just know they're looking down at you smiling."
"It's been twelve years, but I can still picture their smiles," he said, gazing into the distance. "My brother has a beautiful daughter. A three-year-old menace. My father would've spoiled her rotten."
I laughed softly. "You're saying it as if you're not already spoiling her."
"How did you know?" He clutched his chest. "Who's the stalker now?"
"You once told me that you'd spend your entire pay check on me. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you probably spend more than that on her, too. "
We sat in silence for a few minutes, but it wasn't awkward. It was comforting. The kind of silence that provided you with peace and solace. The kind that made me forget about every single worry and fear. I wish he knew that I'd choose to sit in silence with him for the rest of my life. As long as he was always beside me.