10. Valeria
VALERIA
I’m so late.
I check my phone for directions again, dodging one woman walking her golden retriever and another pushing a stroller.
Several feet below the sidewalk, the Chicago River laps against the concrete bank.
I swear and tighten my coat around me as a gust of wind blows off the frigid waters and slices straight through my bones. Spring can’t come soon enough.
I burst through a set of nearby café doors and drag in a deep breath of warm, coffee-scented air.
Ruth said she’d be at one of the tables upstairs, overlooking the river. I search for the stairs, rubbing my hands together for heat.
My gaze falls on a tall, mildly attractive wrench in today’s plans.
With a grey sweater and white collar peaking out, Nico might pass as a normal, law-abiding citizen, but the convict buzz cut and snake tattoo on his neck give him away for what he is. He kicks off the wall he was leaning on and saunters toward me with a smirk.
A light headache starts to form.
He wasn’t supposed to be here today—it was just supposed to be me and the new wedding organizer, Ruth, who introduced herself at the engagement party with a business card and actual tears of joy for my upcoming nuptials.
I’m not mentally prepared to deal with Nico. In fact, I’ve been studiously avoiding all thought of him and my lapse of judgment in that bathroom, cramming every memory of his touch into the furthest recesses of my mind.
Right as Nico opens his mouth to say something snarky, stupid, or worse, I throw an open palm into the air to stop him.
“I’m not in the mood today, so just save it.”
“What’s wrong? Not looking forward to picking out the wedding of your dreams?”
I throw him a scathing look, and he laughs.
“You and I both know the wedding of my dreams would be to someone else.” Maybe I’m pushing him too far, but he pushed me plenty at the engagement party.
Not that he seems to care as he leans in with a vicious smile. “Would someone else fuck you like—”
I hold my hand up again.
“I’m already running late,” I say, figuring I can kill two birds with one stone by venting my problems and reminding him I am a real person with actual complaints, not just an easy fuck, “and I didn’t eat breakfast or make coffee because I thought I would be here a half hour ago, but I missed the L because I didn’t hear my alarm.
The neighbor’s dog kept barking all night, and I couldn’t sleep.
I’m getting my period soon and my uterus is trying to stab out an escape path through my belly and I didn’t have time to put on makeup and my bangs won’t sit right, and now, you’re here. ”
“Well, you look nice.”
I scowl. He’s clearly got one thing on his mind. “Do you know where Ruth is?”
“She’s upstairs, right next to the entrance. You can’t miss her.”
“Why do you sound like you’re not coming?” I can’t tell if it’s disappointment or annoyance that’s dropping in my belly.
“Why? You’d miss me, pretty girl?”
Instead of dignifying that with a response, I turn and head up the stairs. My belly grumbles, and the caffeine withdrawal amps up my Nico-headache, but when I see Ruth wave to me from a nearby table, I put on a polite smile.
She’s a little older than my parents and dressed in a deep emerald coat that matches her dangling earrings and thick-framed glasses. Her red hair is perfectly blown out, and the smile she offers me is blindingly white and ruby-lipped.
I feel like a human skid mark next to her.
“Hi, Valeria, I’m Ruth. You just missed your fiancé, but he had so many lovely things to tell me about you—I feel like we’ve already met.”
I manage to maintain my smile with a not-insignificant amount of effort. I’m not sure what Nico could tell her besides the fact that I don’t want to marry him and that I wear a lot of black.
And that apparently, I love being called a slut.
I flush warm and sit down, peeling off my outer coat.
“Nico said you met at a party, is that right?”
My face must be glowing red right now. I nod.
“He said you asked him to dance.” Ruth leans in conspiratorially. “I love a woman who takes charge.”
“He said that?”
“Among many other kind things. Oh, hi Nico, I didn’t realize you’d be joining us again.”
Nico sits, his long limbs folding to let him squeeze onto the tiny café chair next to mine. He has a ceramic coffee cup in one hand and a BLT sandwich in the other.
Of course, he’d fucking eat my favorite food just to mess with me—
Nico places the items in front of me.
“Eat,” he says.
The order chafes.
“Oh, how sweet. What a gentleman,” Ruth coos.
I’m not sure how anyone could look at Nico and think gentleman, but I suppose this is very sweet.
“This isn’t poisoned, is it?”
Ruth chuckles like I’ve told a great joke, but her eyes flick between us, probably trying to gauge his reaction.
Welcome to the shit show, lady.
Nico smirks. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”
I’m hungry enough that I risk it, tearing into the bread like a hungry wolf.
Ruth claps her hands. “Well, this is as good a time as any to get started. Some details have already been decided by your father, Nico, but thankfully, he left the fun stuff to us! Do you have any themes or designs in mind?”
Half-way into my sandwich, I shake my head. My one design idea—shackles, chains, and upside down crosses to represent this unholy union—is probably too avant-garde for Ruth’s tastes.
“Whatever she wants,” Nico says. He rests his arm over the back of my chair.
I inch forward so he’s not touching me.
“No matter. We have plenty of time to decide. Let me show you a few themes, and you can tell me if any speak to you.”
She pulls out a thick white binder from underneath the table and sets it on top of the surface, flipping the cover open to a full spread of collaged images. Pink and red flowers, a sun-bleached barn, a man on a horse. The word “Rustic” in heavy brown font sits at the top of the pages.
I poke at the barn. “That one.”
“Oh,” Ruth says. She flips to the next page, where beachy, summertime images smile up at me. “There’s lots of themes to choose from. Please, look through them.”
I take a long sip of my coffee. “The first one is fine.”
“I don’t think that’s going to—”
“She said the first one is fine,” Nico cuts in.
Ruth reaches to snap the binder shut and pushes it toward me, but she’s staring at Nico. “Your father isn’t going to like this.”
Nico laughs.
Now that I have a little food and caffeine flowing through my body, I feel a pang of sympathy for Ruth. She must have experience with the Matassas, and if Nico’s any indication, they’re probably an impossible family to please.
“Do you have a vision in mind?” I ask.
“Well, of course I do, but a wedding is an intimate thing, and a bride and groom should always have a say in what shape their wedding takes.”
“Not us,” I say. I slide the binder back to her. “If you don’t like the rustic, just pick out whatever you want, whatever you think will look nice.”
She glances from me to Nico. “I’ll have to tell your father about this.”
He shrugs.
She takes the binder and hugs it to her chest. “Well, okay then. I will send you both the designs tonight. If you change your mind, we can pivot to a new design scheme.” Like she’s suddenly realized she’s frowning, she smiles painfully. “I’m here to help.”
“Thank you, Ruth.”
Ruth gives a little nod, seemingly to herself, collects her things, and leaves.
I should probably go too, but the thought of getting back on the train and hauling myself all the way back to my silent home, when I still have a half sandwich and coffee to drink isn’t very appealing.
But neither is sitting next to Nico for any length of time, not when I’m so hyperaware of his every breath next to me.
“How much was the food?” I ask.
“What?” He’s so close, he only needs to speak in a low murmur for me to hear him above the café chatter.
I can’t face him. I gesture toward the food. “The sandwich and the coffee. How much?”
I reach for my purse, and Nico takes it and places it on his other side, away from me.
Annoyance flashes through me. Can he be mature for five fucking minutes?
“Don’t be a dick.” I reach over him for my purse, but he snatches me by the wrist and drags my body across his.
“A dick, huh?”
I twist up to face him, ready to spit out a few more choice words, but he’s so close I could count each dark eyelash framing his golden eyes, smell the cinnamon from his breath. Arousal stirs inside me, and I pull away from him, panic welling, but he doesn’t let me go.
“Nico, stop, you’re making a scene.”
“No, I’m not.”
“People are staring.”
“Let them.”
“Nico,” I whisper. I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Let me go? Kiss me? Make whatever attraction is building inside me go away—even though every time we reconnect, it comes back worse, a hunger that won’t be sated?
Nico strokes his fingers into my hair. Static electricity tingles down my spine.
“You don’t owe me a thing.”
My body is stiff as a board, but he’s perfectly at ease under me. How is he so relaxed all the time? He has family expectations too, a role to play—presumably—but he acts like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Like he has all the time in the world to play keep-away with me in a café.
“I don’t want to be in your debt,” I say.
“It’s too late, I already paid.” His eyes roam over my face, lingering on my mouth and throat. “But you can pay me back in a different way.”
I can’t help the greedy pulse between my legs. His tone hints at something wicked. I wish he’d just take me to another bathroom and fuck me—fill my thoughts and senses with him instead of the tough choices I always have to face alone.
“Just sit. Talk.” He releases me, and I settle back into my seat.
“Like a date?” I ask suspiciously.
Nico laughs. I feel silly for a moment, like a little girl who just asked if fairies were real. We don’t date. We fuck, and we fight.
“Exactly like a date.”
Warmth flutters in my chest. I swirl the remains of my coffee in my cup.
“That’s not a good idea.”