Chapter 21 Nicholas #2
“Getting sassy, princess. I like it.” And he does. Andrew being comfortable enough to tease and play with him is fucking glorious.
“I could watch you later,” Andrew says quietly, drawing his nails down Nicki’s throat. “I don’t think I want to…you know, not tonight. But you could put on a show for me.”
Pulling Andrew into a frankly indecent kiss, Nicholas groans into his mouth, trying to convey even one tenth of his desire.
This perfect man is going to be his undoing, as is kissing him in public if Nicholas doesn’t want to come in his tux, which he doesn’t.
He did that once at his father’s party a few years ago, the photos splashed across gossip sites.
That’s not the kind of attention he wants to bring to his princess who would likely be mortified.
Nicholas can be a good boy for one night, or half a night.
Once they get back to their hotel room later, all bets are off.
“I’ll take it that’s a yes,” Andrew laughs breathlessly when Nicholas ends the kiss before things get too heated. As it is, several people are staring, and he curls an arm around Andrew possessively.
“Fuck yes.”
“Someone is coming this way,” Andrew says, straightening his shoulders. The expression on his face shifts, the softness gone. He’s still smiling, but it’s not the same smile that he gives Nicholas.
“My father,” Nicholas sighs, not bothering plastering a fake smile on his own face.
“Nicholas,” his father intones, quiet enough the people around them don’t stare but loud and sharp enough for Nicholas to feel like a chastised child. “You’re on time. I’m shocked.”
“Andrew doesn’t like being late,” Nicholas explains.
His father turns his eyes on Andrew, and it takes everything in him not to scream. He might be standing in the middle of a gilded, gold ballroom but in his mind he’s in a rage room. It’s been so long since he saw his father in person, he somehow forgot how it felt.
“Mr. Whitmore, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Andrew holds his hand out politely and his father actually takes it, giving him a firm shake.
“A man with manners, what a breath of fresh air.”
Nicholas tightens his hold on Andrew. “Andrew is amazing.”
“I wouldn’t know, my son here didn’t see fit to tell us about you. Imagine having one child, giving them everything in the world, and having to find out they’re seeing someone through the media. His poor mother was beside herself.”
“I’m sure she was,” Nicholas replies as dismissively as possible.
The only thing his mother cares about more than gold is gossip, being deprived of sharing the news herself must’ve really been a blow.
“Same Nicholas as always,” his father replies, tacking on an unnecessary and disgusted, “unfortunately.”
“Fuck you,” Nicholas snaps.
“Do you see,” his father sighs, shaking his head. “Be sure no one hears you. This place is full of reporters.”
“Which you invited,” Nicholas grits out, recalling how many of his own personal issues made it into the news because his father thought he could use it for political gain.
They hadn’t even cared enough when he came out as bisexual to be supportive, but they sure as shit took any opportunity to claim the ally card for publicity when they thought the wind was turning that way.
Eventually, Nicholas took control of the narrative by causing enough of a scene he made the news on his own.
Granted, it was usually for being drunk or fucking or blowing Mommy and Daddy’s money, but sometimes it was for his hockey playing.
“There are a lot of important people here tonight, Nicholas. You’d do well to remember that.
” His father grabs a glass of champagne from a passing server, his attention already drifting to someone else.
No, it’s good to see you, son. No, tell me about your life in Santa Leon. No, you played well this season.
Even though Nicholas didn’t expect any of that, it would’ve been fucking nice to be proven wrong.
“If you see your mother, let her know the mayor’s wife would like to speak to her.”
“Of course,” Nicholas lies, having no intention of passing the message on.
“Well he’s…something,” Andrew says once his father is out of earshot, tactful as always, given what a dick his father just was.
It would be so easy to tell Andrew the truth right now, to let him know how much he hates his parents, how much he hates himself for caring about them still.
To explain why he dragged them both across the country for a party he doesn’t even want to be at anymore.
But he looks at Andrew with his face relaxed, thinks of Andrew’s brothers who showed up after a few hours of worrying because they love him so much, and a rock forms in the pit of his stomach.
Andrew’s family is nothing like his, and while he should tell him he can’t.
“Something,” Nicholas echoes.
Andrew steps in front of Nicholas, effectively blocking his father’s receding form from view.
“Do you dance, Nicki?”
“My parents tried to make me take lessons growing up.” Try being the operative word.
He’d been a shit, refusing to participate, disrupting lessons and being as difficult as possible to see if his father would come pick him up.
He’d simply sent the driver when Nicholas was kicked out, along with a secondhand message about being disappointed in him.
“Would you dance with me?”
With just that sentence, no one else matters. Not his shitty father or a room full of people he can’t stand or vulturous reporters waiting for a story. The only one who matters is a princess waiting for a dance. His princess.
“I’d love to dance with you.”
Andrew’s expression softens, that smile that Nicholas has come to claim as his own appearing on his face. He holds out his hand. Nicholas takes it before slipping it through his arm as they make their way further into the center of the ballroom and towards the dance floor.
“Full disclosure,” Andrew whispers. “I have no idea how to dance. Not like this. I went to homecoming and prom with Charlie and—friends. But I didn’t dance.”
Not liking the way Andrew tripped over the word friends, he pulls Andrew against his body, leading him directly onto the middle of the dance floor.
Muscle memory takes over, and though they stumble once or twice, Andrew’s serious expression has Nicki wanting to do better, to be better.
“I got you, princess,” he murmurs, pulling Andrew flush against his chest before settling his hand at Andrew’s lower back. “Follow my lead.”
The music fades into the background, the people into the periphery, as Nicholas guides Andrew around the dance floor with an ease he hardly knew himself capable of.
Something happens when he’s around Andrew, something good.
When the song ends and a new one begins, Andrew looks flushed but happy.
Nicholas is happy, too. It’s an odd feeling, and one he’s not sure he’s experienced often, not like this.
“I’m thirsty, Nicki.”
“I’ll get you a drink.”
“I can get it.”
“No, I’ll get it for you,” Nicholas insists.
“If you’re sure,” Andrew says, rising up onto tiptoes to kiss Nicholas’s cheek. “Thank you for dancing with me. It was so nice. You’re so nice, Nicki.”
Nicholas isn’t nice. He’s an asshole. One who used Andrew because he can’t handle his own parents. Suddenly the room is stifling, the music grating his ears and the guests around them making him want to hit something. He isn’t good enough for Andrew. Fuck.
Weaving through the crowd he ignores everyone, making his way towards the open bar. His distraction works against him when he ends up almost colliding with the last person he’s in the mood to talk to.
“Nicholas, darling, you didn’t even come find your mother when you got here.”
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for your own mother. Ashley had to tell me you’d arrived.”
“Who is Ashley?”
“My assistant dear.”
“I thought Marie was your assistant.”
“Was, darling.” She turns towards the ballroom, eyes snagging on Andrew.
Nicholas wants to hide him away, can’t believe he brought Andrew here on purpose.
What kind of fucking asshole is he using him to try and one up his parents?
The worst kind of asshole, that’s who. The kind that doesn’t deserve someone as good as Andrew King.
“He isn’t your usual type.”
Her shrewd gaze makes Nicholas feel mildly ill.
“Leave him alone.”
“So testy, Nicholas. You were always such an emotional child. So prone to tantrums and big feelings.”
“I was a child.”
“Not a child now, yet still so moody. Besides, I was only going to go say hello and introduce myself since you didn’t. You let your father meet him, it’s only fair.”
There it is, the only reason she cares. Because his father got something she didn’t. He has no idea how the two of them are still married when they can’t stand each other.
“He’s not like you.”
“Like us, dear. You’re one of us, even when you try to run.”
“I’m not running,” Nicholas grits out. “I’m playing hockey. Something I’m really fucking good at, which you’d know if you paid any attention to my life.”
“Hockey,” his mother sighs like he’s said something distasteful and not a professional sport beloved by people around the world that pays millions. A sport he loves. “Your—what’s his name, please tell me he doesn’t play hockey, too.”
“Andrew is an accountant.”
“An accountant,” his mother says. “How…reliable.”
“The fuck are you implying?”
“Your language is so uncouth,” his mother sighs. “We tried so hard with you. Raising you wasn’t easy, you know.”
Nicholas's eyes roll so hard, they almost go into the back of his head. Somehow, he’d forgotten how fucking infuriating his mother could be, her delusions and gaslighting on another level.
“You didn’t raise me,” Nicholas reminds her. “The multiple nannies did.”
“I’m still your mother,” she sighs. “I need a drink to handle this conversation. Get me one, darling.”