Chapter 15 Melanie
MELANIE
Good morning Baby cakes. I had to go to the restaurant this morning to handle some business.
Babycakes?
Trying out nicknames unless you want me to stick with Princess.
Uh ya, how about neither?
Sugar Plum?
Definitely not.
Sugar tits?
Really?
Babe
So original
Brat princess
I’m not a brat.
I beg to differ, but okay, princess, it is.
Our flight got delayed, so we didn’t get back into town until midnight, which I was grateful for.
The thought of facing Abigail made my stomach churn, even though she was kind enough to keep Loco another day.
I needed quiet. Stillness. A moment to breathe in the aftermath of what this whole trip became.
Nick must’ve sensed it—of course he did—because he gave me space last night.
No questions. No lingering glances. Just silence…
and God, somehow, even that felt intimate.
My fingers trembled as I reached for my toothbrush.
The shake in my hands wasn’t subtle anymore—it was a full-body hum.
Nerves, adrenaline, fear, excitement. Everything crashed into me at once like a storm breaking inside my skin.
My muscles wouldn’t stop twitching. Maybe it should’ve been the wine, but I hadn’t had a single drink last night.
For the first time in six months, I wanted to feel everything—no dull edges.
No haze. I needed to remember what it felt like to stand inside my own body and not crumble.
Today, I had to sell a fantasy.
I stared into the mirror, brushing my teeth like it was some ritual armor.
I told myself I could do this. Lie. Smile.
Pretend. Hell, I’d been doing it since I was thirteen.
Only this time, the lie was mine. Not his.
Not my stepdad’s, with his twisted words and filthy hands.
Not my mom’s, with her diamond-studded denial.
Mine. And this lie—this one—offered me something better: freedom. Safety. A way out.
And maybe even the faintest, most dangerous glimmer of something that felt like hope.
I spat the toothpaste, wiped my mouth, and walked to my suitcase.
Every piece of clothing I pulled out felt wrong.
Too casual. Too dressy. Too revealing. Too much.
Too exposed. What the hell did someone wear to their first fake Thanksgiving as a fake wife in front of a man who wasn’t faking how he looked at her?
I finally settled on a beige sweater and jeans. They were safe, soft, and fall-ish, and they made me feel… grounded. A little.
Thanksgiving meant everyone—Nick’s mom, Colt, and Abigail- would be there.
A whole house full of warmth and laughter, I wasn’t sure I belonged in.
Especially with Colt orchestrating some picture-perfect family dinner, making it impossible to hide.
I hadn’t realized how tight Nick and Colt were until this trip—Brothers, not just friends.
Real connection. Loyalty. It made me ache in places I didn’t know I still had.
My childhood had been cold. Lonely. No siblings.
No laughter in the halls. Just silence. And secrets.
And gifts from a man who bought my mother’s love and buried mine beneath shame.
I hadn’t even gotten a call this morning.
Not a “Happy Thanksgiving” text. Nothing.
Just a perfectly filtered Instagram post from Switzerland—The best place to be for fall—while my mother posed in designer boots with Richard’s arm wrapped tight around her.
I liked the picture anyway because that’s what good daughters do.
Only Olga had messaged me. She wasn’t even in our lives anymore, but she remembered. She always did. The only one who knew the truth. The only one who hadn’t chosen to look the other way.
A deep, cold ache settled in my chest.
Then—“Hey.”
I jumped like I’d been shot.
“Shit, you scared me.” My heart galloped as I turned and saw him, standing in the doorway, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips. His shoulders shook with a laugh he didn’t let out, which somehow made it worse.
“That’s not funny,” I snapped, but there was no bite to it. “I mean, this is a small house. How could I not hear you coming up the stairs?”
His voice was low and easy. “I was a tier one operator for years. It’s second nature to sneak up on people. Plus, the stairs are solid wood, so they don’t make any creaking noises.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered under my breath.
He held up a plastic grocery bag like it was a peace offering. “After I left Villa Ravenna, I had to pick up some rolls. Abigail has a craving for them—the Hawaiian bread kind.”
I nodded, grounding myself. “No worries, I was just about to get dressed.”
“Perfect. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay,” I said quietly, but before I could move, he turned back around halfway, pinning me with that disarming stare of his.
“You don’t need makeup, by the way,” he said. “You look beautiful without it.”
The air left my lungs. Just like that, all the careful armor I’d built—brick by brick over years of survival—shuddered under the weight of one man’s kindness. One man’s sincerity.
“Is that real advice or fake advice?” I asked, my voice light, too light. I needed to keep this playful, to pull the focus away from how my heart was galloping and how raw I felt.
“Nothing more real than your natural beauty.”
He didn’t wait for my response. He just turned and walked down the stairs, taking my breath with him. I stood there, stunned, rooted to the floor, trying not to fall apart from the simplest, truest compliment I’d ever been given.
And damn him—damn him—if he wasn’t tearing down every single wall I built around my Toxic Heart.
When I step out of the car, a chill seeps into my bones, and my lips part slightly in surprise.
I’d forgotten how modest this place was.
Not small, exactly—but simple in a way that made it feel like a warm breath in the chest after being held underwater too long.
For someone like Colt, who played in the NFL and made millions, it was…
grounding. Honest. Not like Richard’s mansion, where everything sparkled with intimidation and cold excess.
This house wasn’t screaming for attention—it felt lived in, like love clung to the walls.
The air nipped at my arms, raising goosebumps, and I instinctively wrapped myself tighter, rubbing warmth into my skin. Nick’s car door thudded shut behind me, and his steps crunched over the gravel. Then his hand slipped into mine—rough, warm, anchoring me.
“Ready, princess?” he said, his voice low, steadying.
God, his eyes. That intense, greedy green locked onto mine like he could see every trembling thought I was trying to keep buried. My lungs tightened. I’d gotten used to keeping people out. But Nick? He was getting in. Slowly, dangerously in.
“Just follow my lead,” he said, and for a second, I forgot why I was scared.
His hair had grown since the first time we met. It fell over his forehead now, softening the sharp angles of his face, making him look less like a soldier and more like a storm you’d want to chase. I reached for something to steady myself.
“Why haven’t you cut your hair?” I asked, the words slipping out too casually as we began walking.
He stopped cold in the driveway. The sudden halt jolted my senses. I blinked at the crowd of parked cars beside the house, suddenly hyperaware of the dozens of eyes we’d soon face.
“Excuse me?” he said, dragging my attention back to him.
“Your hair,” I repeated. “It’s grown a lot. Since the first time I met you. It’s just… odd. For someone like you.”
His gaze narrowed, sharp as a blade. “Someone like me?”
“Yeah,” I said, folding my arms to hide my nervous fidget. “Someone trained to be so clean-cut.”
“You don’t like it?” he asked, but there was mischief in his voice now, like he was toying with the edge of something deeper.
“No. I didn’t say that.”
A grin pulled at his lips. “So you do like it.”
I rolled my eyes and looked away. “Never mind.”
“I’m reinventing myself,” he said. “Besides, that’s part of why I’m growing it out—because I can. I don’t have to cut it anymore. And it gets cold in the winter. This way, I don’t always have to wear a hat.”
We reached the door, and I froze. A wreath stared back at me—golden leaves, mini pumpkins, the artificial warmth of someone else’s perfect fall.
It mocked the turmoil twisting in my stomach.
I stared at the ring on my finger, turning it, pretending I didn’t care.
But I did. I cared too damn much. The shine of it caught the light just right, and my chest swelled—then crashed. It wasn’t mine. Not really.
Nick’s future wife would wear it someday. I was just the body keeping it warm.
The door opened. Colt filled the frame with his solid build, a grin already tugging at his face. I hadn’t even stepped inside, and my pulse was thundering in my throat.
“Look who made it late. Not acceptable, soldier.”
“If I didn’t have to stop and pick up more rolls—because apparently, the ones I got weren’t the right ones—we would’ve been here on time,” Nick replied.
“Just messing with ya.” Colt pulled Nick in for a hug, the kind of hug that meant history and brotherhood. I stood there, suddenly cold again, hoping the ring would stay unnoticed. Hoping we could skate by undetected.
“Melanie.” Colt turned to me, warmth radiating off him. “C’mon in. Mi casa es su casa.”
Inside, the smell hit me like a wave. Buttered bread, garlic, rosemary, and pumpkin spice wrapped around my senses like a blanket, easing some of the tightness from my shoulders. Abigail had candles flickering everywhere. It felt like a real home.
“You need to work on your Spanish accent,” Nick said.
“Coming from the guy who has no hint of an Italian accent and he’s half Italian.”
“I don’t try to pretend I’m good at accents.”
“Thanks for having me,” I said to Colt, my voice softer than I expected. “It was sweet of you guys to invite everyone.”
“Nah, it’s nothing. I’m not used to being home for Thanksgiving. Coach worked something out, but I’m flying back to Arizona tonight. Abigail’s due soon. I just… wanna be close.”
“That’s so sweet of you,” I replied, meaning it more than I wanted to admit.
“Yeah, she brings the good parts out of me.” The way he looked at Abigail made my chest squeeze. That kind of love- unapologetic and open—felt like fiction in my world.
“Hey girl!” Abigail’s voice broke the trance. She appeared in a curve-hugging sweater dress, glowing like the goddess of effortless maternity. Her baby bump looked more like a designer accessory.
“Hey,” I said as we hugged.
“Look at you,” I touched her belly lightly. “Making pregnancy look like a piece of cake. That baby’s growing fast.”
“She’s gonna be athletic like her daddy. I can feel her kicking now.”
My spine curled inward slightly, jealousy curling tight in my gut.
“You can?” I asked.
“Yeah, feel.” She grabbed my hand before I could protest and pressed it against her belly. Her head bowed like she was praying, and then I felt it. A tiny thump under my palm. A life. Real and raw.
“Whoa,” I breathed. “That’s amazing.”
“Is that the baby or your stomach rumbling?” Colt teased, wrapping his arms around Abigail and kissing her temple.
I turned away, pretending not to notice how tender they were with each other, but it burned—a slow, invisible fire in my chest.
“Let’s eat, I’m starving,” Colt said.
Nick reached for my hand again, squeezing it—just enough to say I’ve got you without speaking a word. And I needed it. I was crumbling inside. But with his hand in mine, I could pretend I wasn’t.
Then it happened.
The little blonde girl—the one from the lake house—spotted us. Her stare pinned me like a bug under glass.
“Nick, why are you holding her hand?” she asked, clutching her stuffed bear like a weapon.
Silence. Heavy. Crushing.
Bianca stepped out of the kitchen with the turkey, her smile faltering as she saw the frozen room.
“Niccolò?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Nick is cheating on me,” the girl said matter-of-factly.
Nick let go of my hand. The ring. Fully exposed now.
I wanted to disappear.
He stepped forward and knelt by the girl, whispering something in her ear. I couldn’t hear it, but Abigail gasped.
“Is that a ring on your finger?” she asked, her voice muffled behind her hand.
My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. I lifted my hand slowly, dread pooling in my gut. “Surprise,” I said, smiling like I wasn’t dying inside.
“You two got married in Vegas?” someone asked.
Nick moved beside me, sliding his arm around my waist like it was second nature. Somehow, it helped.
“It’s part of why I asked Colt to get everyone together,” he said. “We were going to tell you guys at dinner.”
Bianca placed the tray down, her voice thick with emotion. “Nessun mio figlio si sposerà senza Dio…”
Colt cracked a joke. Everyone laughed. The room shifted—but I didn’t. I was still stuck in the middle of it, too exposed, too fragile.
“Is that why Brittany saw you leaving the lake house last night?” Abigail asked, her voice sharper now. I stammered. Nick saved me again.
“Let’s sit and eat,” he said, pulling out my chair. I sank into it, grateful. He kissed my forehead.
It was fake. But it didn’t feel fake.
Bianca smiled at him like he hung the moon. And I watched him with the same hunger.
A sniffle broke through the room.
“You don’t love me anymore,” the little girl said before running off.
Geeze, even five-year-olds are in love with Nick in this town. Anytime he comes out to greet a table of girls at the restaurant, they swoon over him. Some practically eye fuck him on the spot, and I know some girls would if that meant he gave them the time of day.
Nick chased after her without hesitation and knelt in front of her, whispering in her ear.
And I just stood there, aching. Aching because a child got something I never had: his protection, his comfort, his arms around her. And I wanted that more than I wanted the ring.
I wanted him.
And it hits me, I’m jealous of a five-year-old.
Not because he’s looking at her with adoration, but because he is making her feel safe in his arms. I never got that as a child.
I never had a dad around until later in life, and instead of protecting my innocence, he damaged every piece of it down to my core.