Chapter 17 Melanie
MELANIE
Iwoke to the scratchy rasp of a tongue dragging across my cheek.
My eyes snapped open. “Loco, seriously?” My voice was hoarse, still caught in the dream I didn’t want to leave.
I wiped away the slobber with the back of my hand and squinted at him.
“I was having a good one. Why’d you have to ruin it? ”
The scent hit me before I could sit up—thick and greasy bacon layered over the rich bite of coffee. My stomach growled. Nick was either downstairs cooking or had left his mark behind, and the house still carried him in the air.
I stretched beneath the covers, my calves rubbing against the cool cotton sheets.
My body ached in all the ways that reminded me I’d pushed it too far last night.
I had walked until my legs gave out, hoping its rhythm would silence my brain.
I found a narrow, quiet river cutting through the trees and sat with it.
No town, no bookstore, just silence and a reminder that Nick’s place was further from everything than I wanted to admit.
I’d been so spent when I got back, I could barely focus enough to check my blood sugar. I’d done it anyway—mechanical, practiced now. One shot. One prick. Then I collapsed. Not even a goodnight. No sign of Nick.
I fell asleep reading on my phone, words blurring until they vanished into darkness. Now, groggy but alive, I grabbed my phone and saw a missed call from my mom in the Middle of the night. Of course. Still in Switzerland, probably forgot the time difference again. I played the voicemail.
“Hi, honey. Happy Thanksgiving. Richard and I are still in Switzerland—sightseeing all day, and I completely lost track. The Swedes have their Thanksgiving in September, can you believe that? Anyway, we’ve taken a ton of pictures. Wish you were here. Miss you. Love you. Bye.”
“At least she remembered,” I muttered, the words empty in the air. Loco pressed against me. I scratched behind his ears, his favorite spot, until he leaned in, heavy and warm.
Downstairs, I saw him before he saw me—or maybe he knew all along.
Nick stood at the stove, flipping a pancake like it was just another day.
Sleeveless shirt. Muscles tight and lean.
Tattoos mapped across his skin like something old and dangerous.
His sweatpants clung low on his hips, just loose enough to tempt, just tight enough to make my breath catch.
God, he was beautiful.
And he didn’t even know. Or maybe he did. Maybe he could feel it radiating off me whenever we were in the same room.
“You hungry?” His voice cut through the haze. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. Somehow, he always knew when I was near—like I had a gravitational pull he couldn’t ignore. Or maybe he was just that good. Army. Tier-one operator. Always aware.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I moved to the table, forcing my gaze down, away from the curve of his back and the heat pooling in my chest.
“I picked up Loco,” he said over his shoulder. “Figured you’d want to see him, since you insisted on riding my bike to Colt’s last night.”
There was a flicker of something in his tone—teasing, maybe, or something else buried under control. My stomach flipped. I was suddenly aware of every inch of me, every unspoken word hanging between us.
“You didn’t have to,” I said softly, the warmth in my voice betraying me. “But thank you.”
“There’s coffee. I grabbed stevia, too.”
That one detail—him remembering—landed like a punch to the chest. I wasn’t just seen.
I was known. The butterflies came alive, fluttering like they wanted out.
My body heated, and with it came the ache of wanting more than breakfast and company.
There was so much we hadn’t said. And too much has already been said with silence.
“What was your role in the military? Like, what does a tier-one operator do exactly?” I watched him pour pancake mix into the skillet, and it sizzled when it hit the pan.
“I thought you didn’t care about my role.” He said with a hint of sarcasm.
“I don’t, but as your wife, it’s probably something I should know, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t answer me. When the pancake is done cooking, he continues to flip it and place it on a large plate.
“Yes, that’s why I wrote a biography of everything you should know about me last night. And I need you to do the same before you go back to work, in case people ask you questions you don’t know the answers to.”
“I still have to work at the restaurant now that I’m your wife?”
He finally turns around and faces me, spatula in hand. “Yes, if you wanted to be a stay-at-home wife, you should have married a rich guy from California. I’m sure plenty of guys are there looking for a trophy wife.”
I scoffed, "That's not my end goal, thank you very much. I want to be recognized for something other than my looks one day. It’s why I was going to college.”
“You know, you could take out a loan and go back. You don’t have to rely on your parents’ money for everything, princess.”
“And go into debt and spend the rest of my life paying it back, no, thank you.” I brushed at the tabletop, feeling the need to move or do something as anxiety rose anytime I brought up my stepdad’s money.
“Not everyone has options like you. And can’t you just ask your rich daddy to pay it back for you?” He sits down across from me and sets a plate down. The aroma wakes me up as I get a whiff of the buttery pancakes.
“He’s not my real dad, remember,” I tell him as I scoop some scrambled eggs onto my plate.
“That’s right, stepdad,” Nick says, getting up from his seat to grab a pen and paper, then returning to join me.
“Here, you write something about yourself that you think I should know, and read it to me. Then I’ll share something off my list with you, and we can exchange papers to memorize.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. It certainly would help perfect our acting roles, like a manuscript for a movie.
“Okay, I have been on the set of several different movies being filmed, like The Aviator, Wolf of Wall Street, Saving Private Ryan, and Legends of the Fall.”
Nick didn’t act all giddy like most guys did when I told them that, he simply grabbed the syrup and started pouring it on top of his pancake.
“That’s cool. I loved Saving Private Ryan. Good movie.” He took a bite and then looked over at his sheet and read something off of it while chewing his food.
“My favorite dessert is anginetti cookies.”
I chuckled. “You think you would write something a little more significant.”
“My mom always sent those to me when I was deployed, and it was always around Christmas time. Those damn lemon cookies were the only thing I looked forward to at times, so it is significant.” His voice was deep and stern as if he were growling instead of explaining.
“Sorry, I didn’t m-”
“Yeah, you did.” He glared at me, making it hard for me to concentrate. He was displaying that overbearing, survivor persona again.
“I never had a father-figure in my life until I turned nine, that’s when my mom married my stepdad.”
“I don’t remember much of my dad since I was five when he died.” He said with a pained expression as if it was his fault his dad died.
A sharp pain shot through my core. I felt so stupid for thinking.
Because I was on the set of these famous films being produced, it meant my life was more meaningful and I was better than him.
He’s had a more fulfilling life than I ever could imagine.
He had a mom and a sister who thought the world of him.
“I know it’s ironic, but I have a major sweet tooth, but now, I have to regulate it.”
“Interesting. Never would have guessed.”
“Why’s that?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“I don’t know, I thought most people who love sweets are typically sweet.” A tiny smirk formed at the ends of his lips as he read another fact about himself.
Ass.
“I love the color black.”
“I love the color pink and gold,” I said.
“I don’t like pizza unless it’s thin crust and authentic.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting, an Italian not liking pizza.”
“Don’t generalize princess.”
I’ve never eaten at a McDonald’s.”
“Really? Never?”
“Nope, never. My mom told me it was rat food.”
“Huh. I lost my virginity at sixteen.”
I went to open my mouth, but I closed it
I wasn’t sure if I should tell him when I lost mine.
Would he judge me? Will he think I'm disgusting and dirty, like the way I feel half the time? Even though mine wasn’t lost, it was taken from me.
“I lost mine at thirteen,” I said, lowering my voice.
“Dang, girl. And you don’t know what you like in bed?” He says through a laugh.
I sighed, placing my hands on the table. “Having sex and knowing what you like are two different things.”
“Yeah, but it sounds like you must like it, if you were that curious to find out what it’s all about at thirteen.”
He’s trying to be funny, but the ache in my stomach makes it hard to focus on anything but the disgust I feel in my gut.
“No wonder your mom got you on birth control. I would, too, if I found out my daughter was having sex at such a young age.”
I look him straight in the eyes. Anger, disgust, all those feelings are rushing back to me, forcing me to deal with my past.
Should I lie? No, I have nothing to lose by telling him the truth, and if we were going to pull this off, I needed to be honest.
Just say it, make it quick, rip it off like a band-aid.
“No, my mom never knew I was having sex. I got on birth control because that’s when my stepdad started having sex with me.”
Holy shit, I can’t believe I just admitted that. Why did I do that? I didn’t even really know Nick, what if he was some sick twisted rapist himself. He was eleven years older than me.
Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.
With shaky hands, I reached for my fork and forced myself to take a bite of my eggs, trying to play off the unease in my stomach.
When I swallowed, it felt like a rock was going down my throat, and my mouth was so dry.
I felt his gaze on me, but I didn’t want to look at him. I wasn’t ready to face him.
What did I just do?
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for being stupid.
“Are you serious?”
My body tensed, and I snapped.“What, you think you’re the only survivor here?
Because you're not, we all have shit happen to us, but at least I don’t act so damn sad and mop around because I survived the bullshit that man put me through time and time again.
You don’t have to go to war with guns to be a survivor.
You just have to go to war with the wicked. ”
Not ready to answer any more questions, I pick up my plate, place it in the sink, and head back upstairs, leaving Nick speechless.