Chapter 5
FIVE
Their hotel room is warm, dimly lit, and far too intimate for my emotional stability. A king-sized bed dominates the space, and I absolutely refuse to acknowledge it.
Nick removes his mask first, setting it neatly on the dresser.
He looks as handsome as I remember—sharp jawline, dreamy eyes, the kind of man who could command a room with a single glance.
Klaus drops his beside Nick’s as well, promptly removing his tux jacket and rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off a year’s worth of tension.
“Alright…” I follow suit and slip off my mask, too, toying with the string anxiously. “Let’s continue, shall we? Why are you here?”
“We already answered that,” Nick states, folding his jacket over the back of a chair.
“You ghosted us and we want answers,” Klaus adds as he moves to the minibar, grabs a bottle of champagne, and pops it open with a soft crack.
The sound echoes through the room like a starting gun at a horse race.
Pouring three glasses, he hands one to me first. “Drink. You look like you’re about to combust.”
I roll my eyes, but take the proffered glass nonetheless. “I’m not combusting.”
Klaus makes this sound in the back of his throat, just as the low hum of festive music rings out in the room. When I glance to my right, Nick’s settled himself on the edge of the bed, remote control in hand. “The ball drop coverage started already. Thought we’d put it on.”
“Because nothing says ‘let’s resolve romantic problems’ like watching a giant glowing orb descend,” Klaus mutters under his breath.
Nick doesn’t full-on smile, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Tradition is tradition, son.”
Son.
That does something to me, so much that I have to take a hefty sip of my champagne as a memory that feels like it happened both yesterday and ages ago floods me…
“And who are they?” I ask—like a dumbass.
Because why am I suddenly not…scared anymore?
They start toward me then, the skull masks covering the lower half of their faces coming into view.
Oh, fuck… Basic instinct begs me to move, to dash out the door and get to safety, but they effectively corner me in seconds flat and render me immobile.
Nick shoves aside the coffee table and all, removing any possible blockade between us.
I gasp as he embeds himself in my personal space, caging me against the cushions.
“These are my sons,” he finally answers, the mask moving only slightly above his lips.
As the vision fades and reality sets back in, I find Klaus leaned up against the wall, watching me over the rim of his glass.
My stomach flip-flops, knees threatening to buckle at the intensity of the look in his eyes.
I take another sip to steady myself, but my head swims with the motion, my coordination officially on strike.
The champagne sloshes over the glass, then spills right down the front of my dress.
“Oh, c’mon,” I groan, glaring down at the spreading wet patch like it intentionally betrayed me.
Before I can do anything about it, Klaus is already there.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, stepping into my space without reserve.
His fingers ghost along the low neckline of my dress, dabbing lightly at the spill with a cocktail napkin he must’ve snagged from the top of the minibar.
There’s nothing innocent about the way his knuckles brush my skin, though.
My breath catches.
His eyes flick up to meet mine.
Everything inside me pulls tight, more still when his voice drops into that warm timbre that flows like liquid heat through my veins. “Good to know I can still make you nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I retort.
Behind us, Nick clears his throat, a reminder he’s still very much here and we’re not alone.
The sound shouldn’t affect me the way it does, but it zips down my spine at lightning speed.
Flicking my stare his way, I find him still on the bed, champagne in hand, his gaze locked on me and Klaus—steady, heavy, assessing.
Not jealous in any capacity—he never is—but definitely not unaffected, either.
All the while, Klaus continues blotting the spill, his fingers trailing just low enough to make me squeeze my thighs together, an audible gasp slipping past my lips.
“You okay?” he questions, a hushed chuckle tacked onto the end.
No.
Absolutely not.
But I hit him with a strangled, “Fine.”
“You’re flushed,” he points out, to which I hitch a shoulder in the most blasé way I can manage..
“It’s the champagne.”
“Is it, though?” Nick’s voice rolls closer now, low and smooth. “Or is it something else?”
I’m about to answer, about to reiterate the fact I’ve had too much to drink on an empty stomach, when a warm set of lips skate along my skin—from the curve of my neck to the ball of my shoulder.
“You smell better than I remembered, kitty kat,” Klaus hums as he threads a hand in my hair and tugs.
Not as hard as I normally like, but enough to draw forth the softest moan. “This isn’t talking,” I remind him. “So far from it.”
“I thought we were pretty much done.”
“I have to agree,” Nick concedes, and though I clocked his voice to be at close range, I wasn’t expecting to feel him behind me.
Goosebumps break out along my skin, my knees actually wobbling this time. I’d blame the heels, or the alcohol, but that would be the most unbelievable thing I’ve said—second to my resolution.
It’s just them.
The effect they have on me.
My pulse hammers as their warmth envelopes me.
It would be so easy—so stupidly easy—to let myself fall into the pull of them, to forget every fear and question and consequence waiting outside this dimly lit room.
But the moment I feel Nick’s fingertips graze my waist and Klaus’s lips skim back up my neck, something snaps inside me.
“No,” I whisper, though it sounds like a plea. “We…we can’t do this.”
Klaus stills first, his hand tightening slightly in my hair before he releases it altogether. Nick goes still against my back, the weight of his stare searing into the side of my face as I pull myself upright.
I force myself to step away from them—barely a foot—but it might as well be miles, and lift my chin. “We need to talk.”
Nick’s jaw flexes, blue eyes narrowing just a fraction. “About?”
“Everything,” I say. “I still want answers and like you said, you deserve some some as well.”
Klaus barks out a soft laugh—dark, disbelieving. “Now you want to talk?”
“Yes.” My throat works harshly around the word. “Because if we don’t, then whatever happens next is just going to…ruin me. Or you. Or all of us.”
Nick shifts his weight, studying me like he’s searching for cracks in my armor. “Then go on,” he murmurs. “Tell us why you really left.”
I swallow. Hard. My heart feels like it’s being pried open and I’m useless to stop it. “Because I love you, both of you, and I couldn’t choose between you.” My voice breaks, just a hair. “It was too much.”
Silence.
For several long moments.
Klaus eventually moves first—one slow, deliberate step toward me, his expression unreadable. “So you ran.”
“I thought it was better than hurting you.”
“Newsflash, kitty kat…” He tilts his head aside, green eyes glinting in the golden light. “You hurt us anyway.”
My breath shudders out, hands curling at my sides. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just—” I shake my head. “I couldn’t choose without losing something I wasn’t ready to lose.”
Nick’s gaze cuts to Klaus then back to me, something almost dangerous sharpening behind his calm. But it’s Klaus who speaks, his voice a low, wicked register.
“What if we make you choose?”