16. NICO
16
NICO
M y mind spins as I walk away from Kate. I wasn’t ready to show her the shoes. I’m not sure I fully intended to do it at all. Erica already thought it was weird that I was desperate to get my hands on a pair at short notice, so I can’t imagine what Kate’s thinking.
Not my proudest moment either, dropping them on the gravel and stepping over them, leaving Kate to pick them up. In my defense, my hands were full, and hers were empty.
I decide to put the incident out of mind; no point worrying about it, or the way Kate looked at that shoe like it was a bomb that was about to detonate in her face.
I stand a little straighter as I head towards the Lansen family home, like my height might ward off Kate’s inquisitive gaze, which I’m pretty sure is still burning holes in the back of my shirt.
This place holds a lot of pleasant memories for me. Due to our fathers' close friendship, Seb, Matt and I were over here often, but I came more than the others because I’m Jack’s contemporary. We went to boarding school together, and that bond is nearly as unshakable as the one between me and my brothers.
The house itself is a little tired, but it’s still impressive in the way most large commuter homes in the Home Counties are. It’s red brick, with a 1930s arts and crafts feel to it; terracotta tiles decorate the walls like fish scales beneath the windows. The garden must be at least five acres, and there’s a pool and tennis court in the back, and the hot tub… well, that holds one of my more enduring memories.
Mrs. Lansen greets me at the door like a long-lost son. She kisses me on both cheeks, blushing as I put the pile of gifts down on the hall table.
“Mrs. Lansen,” I say. “Thank you for having me. It’s been a long time.”
“Debbie. Call me Debbie. My God, you get better looking every time I see you.” She beams. “Just like your father. You know, if I hadn’t met Gerard first, I’d have been all over your father like a rash.” She lets out a girlish giggle, and I force myself to smile politely. “Don’t stay away so long next time.”
“I don’t intend to,” I reply.
Curtis, Mrs. Lansen’s new partner whom I recognise from Jack’s party, bounds towards me from the depths of the hallway, one hand extended. His hair is still lank and a little greasy. I suspect it’s part of his look, but I doubt he’s washed it since I last saw him. He’s even younger than I originally thought; possibly my age or thereabouts.
“The famous Nico Hawkston.” He grips my hand and his mouth splits into the type of grin I’ve seen many times before. When people want something from me, or think I can get them somewhere in the world, that same seedy smile appears. I repress a shudder. “I’ve heard so many great things about you, man. What a fucking honour.”
“How do you do?” I say, trying to extricate my hand from Curtis’ warm and over-enthusiastic grip. He notices my pull-back, glances at our hands, then chuckles and releases his hold.
“Sorry, mate,” he says, bumping my arm with a fist. “Don’t often get a chance to shake the hand of a bonafide billionaire.”
Bloody hell, Debbie Lansen is dating a man-child .
Kate appears behind me, and Mrs. Lansen acknowledges her with the barest flick of her gaze before fixing on me. “You brought Kate?” She stands on tiptoes to peer beyond us to the driveway. “Oh, that car. What a fancy set of wheels you have, Nico.” She lightly slaps my arm. “I dare say it’s not the only one you have, is it?”
“It’s not,” I agree.
She laughs. “A car for every day of the week, I imagine? Well, it was very kind of you to drive Kate down. What a gent you are.” She gives me a grateful smile before turning to her daughter. The smile fades as she runs her gaze down to Kate’s feet. “What are those shoes you’re wearing?”
Kate stares down at her worn out trainers. “What’s wrong with them?”
Debbie huffs. “They look awful. I hope you’re not intending to wear them tomorrow.”
“Of course not.”
“Oh, good.” Debbie puts a hand on her heart, relief pouring off her. “What about those wonderful, sparkly ones you love?”
Kate goes rigid, like she’s bracing for an attack. “I lost those—”
“Lost your shoes? Goodness, how does one lose one’s shoes?” Mrs. Lansen glances over her shoulder at Curtis. “Did you hear that? Kate lost her shoes! Never grew up, this child.”
“Mum, will you stop? It’s not a big deal. I have other shoes.” She indicates the shoe box in her hand and a warming sensation spreads through my body.
Kate stares up at me, and in her deep brown eyes I can see the question, Why did you do this ?
My brows pinch together. I don’t know why, Kate. I really don’t.
Mrs. Lansen frowns, then shakes her head and mutters, “Can’t believe you lost your shoes.” Then she forgets about Kate and flaps her arms to urge us further inside. “Come in, come in. Let’s not stand in the doorway. Jack’s already in the pool. The weather’s glorious. I hope it holds for tomorrow.”
Kate doesn’t follow, but stands in the hall, glancing at the walls. “Where are the paintings?”
“What, dear?” says Mrs. Lansen, her voice strained. She knows exactly what Kate’s talking about.
“Dad’s paintings. The art collection. Where is it?” Kate points at the grey rectangles of grime on the walls—obvious vacancies where pictures have vanished.
Kate trots down the hall, poking her head from room to room. “Where are they all?”
Mrs. Lansen taps her temple. “Oh, the art. Curtis has a fabulous art collection, which is being delivered tomorrow, before the party. We had to clear space for it, so we put your father’s stuff in storage.”
Kate stills, a stunned look on her face. “All of it?”
“Yes, all. It’s about time for a change. Some of those pieces had been on the wall for thirty years. Curtis arranged everything. Didn’t you, dear?” Curtis gives a smarmy smile, pleased with himself. “We had the men take them away yesterday.”
“You didn’t think to ask me if I wanted any of them?”
“Oh, Kate, don’t be silly.” Mrs. Lansen’s mouth stretches into a condescending smile. “What would you want with any of those old paintings? You couldn’t hang any of them in your flat. It’s too small. And what with the insurance costs, it wouldn’t be worth it. They’re much better in storage. Maybe when you buy yourself a house, we can talk about it.”
“What about Jack?” Kate asks.
“What about me?” Jack strides down the hall, chest bare and nothing but a sun-bleached beach towel wrapped around his waist, his hair slicked back. Ever the exhibitionist.
“Didn’t you want any of Dad’s art collection?” Kate asks him.
“Oh, Mum did ask me—”
“When? When did she ask you?” Her voice wavers, like she’s starting to panic.
Jack scratches his head. “Maybe two weeks ago? I thought about it, but I’m redecorating and I’d only have to store them.” Jack narrows his eyes at Kate, only now noticing the energy of the moment he’s intruded upon. His eyes flick to his mother and back to Kate, his voice lower when he says, “Didn’t she mention it to you?”
This conversation is increasingly feeling like one I shouldn’t be witnessing, but I can’t take my gaze off Kate.
She shakes her head and mutters under her breath before focusing on her mother. “What about my art?”
“Your art? What art?” Mrs. Lansen’s confused gaze slides to the ceiling, then snaps back. “Do you mean that portrait you did of your father before he died?” A spurt of laughter pops out. “I don’t think you could call that art, sweetheart. It’s in your father’s study, along with all your other doodles. I was going to let you see if there was anything you wanted to keep, otherwise, I’ll send it to the skip on Monday.”
Kate’s shoulders tighten; the motion is slight and you wouldn’t notice unless you were really paying attention. I shouldn’t fucking notice, but I do.
“Right.” Kate draws out the word, as if she’s struggling to process her mother’s callous comments. “You’re going to throw it all away?”
Mrs. Lansen laughs. “Oh Kate, we can’t keep everything. The place is cluttered enough as it is. I have to prioritise to keep things under control here. If I kept every scrap of paper, I’d be swamped.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Kate mutters, but there’s a flash of hurt in her eyes so visceral that I feel it like a slash across my chest.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Lansen says. “Let’s have a drink. Gin and tonics on the terrace?”
There are mumbles of agreement as we traipse towards the back of the house, but Kate isn’t moving.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she says, lifting her bag and turning towards the stairs. “I want to unpack.”
I stare as Kate mounts the steps. The staircase turns halfway up, and she disappears out of sight.
Curtis and Mrs. Lansen are already heading out towards the pool. She’s leaning into him, her temple resting on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. The woman is so self-involved she probably didn’t notice Kate’s distress.
Fuck this . I can’t wait here and ignore it.
I’m about to follow Kate when a hand lands on my shoulder. “She’s touchy about Dad’s stuff,” Jack tells me. “Give her a moment. She’ll be all right later, and if she’s not, I’ll talk to her. She always finds it tough to be here. You know, ever since Dad died.” A melancholy expression flits across Jack’s face, his gaze drifting before he refocuses on me. “Come and have a swim. The water’s perfect.”
“We only just got here. I’m not going to let Kate stew up there. I’ll bring her back down.”
Jack’s hand slides slowly off my shoulder and he raises an eyebrow, causing my heart to double-skip. Is he reading something into my concern? But the expression disappears, replaced with something altogether more relaxed and my rib cage drops two inches.
“Give it a go,” he says. “I’ll see you outside.”
Jack departs, and I bolt up the stairs after Kate. She must hear me, but she doesn’t turn. She’s halfway to her bedroom when I grab her hand and pull her back towards me.
She snatches her fingers out of my grip. “What do you want?”
I step back. “I know you’re upset.”
She eyes me cautiously. I expect some snarky comment about my powers of observation, but she says simply, “I’m fine.”
I don’t buy it for a second. “Okay. Come back downstairs then.”
Her throat bobs, and she blinks for an extended moment. Shit . She looks like she’s about to dissolve. I want to offer comfort, but I hold back, unsure if touching her is a good idea.
“Is it the art?” I say quickly. “Your Dad’s stuff?”
A little broken sound cracks from her lips as she drops her bag to the floor and covers rheumy eyes with her hand. “Can you not look at me?”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re going to cry.”
She splutters a laugh. “So glad you’re here.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I smile and she smiles back, wiping her eyes, and the moment feels… tentative. Like the tiniest of shifts between us.
“Maybe I’m overreacting,” she says. “But sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who cares that he’s gone.”
“You know that’s not true.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I still feel alone in it, though.”
Her gaze holds a thousand unspoken words, and even though I don’t know what any of them are, they tug at my gut. I have no idea if my presence helps. Maybe I’m making it worse. A stillness creeps into the space between us.
“You’re not alone,” I tell her honestly. “I’m here.”
“God, of all the people…” She gives a half-hearted laugh. “It has to be you.”
Something twinges in my chest. “Sorry.”
She sighs. “Mum didn’t even ask me if I wanted anything. She just… got rid of it all.”
“It’s not gone. It’s in storage. I’m sure we could get something out if you wanted. We could find out where they are; swing by the unit—”
“Why do you keep saying ‘we’? This has nothing to do with you.”
“I didn’t…” I let the words fade, unable to express that I hadn’t realised I was saying ‘we’ at all.
In the silence that follows, Kate puffs erratically, causing her breasts to shift under her t-shirt. The motion draws my gaze, and I trace the soft outline of her nipples beneath the fabric. I raise my eyes to her mouth, where agitated breaths draw through full, pink lips.
I want to kiss them, to press my mouth hard against hers. The urge to take her in my arms and fuck the hurt right out of her is all-consuming. Without thinking, I step closer and her scent spins around me, more potent now than it was in the car. Roses and vanilla, sweet and thick, dragging heat up my legs, through my hips.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
My insides compress. “Like what?”
“Like I’m another notch you can add to your bedpost.”
The air pulses like a heartbeat. “You’re not a notch, Kate. You could never be a notch.”
A delicate pink blush washes over her cheekbones. “Then what am I?”
Shit . This isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.
“Come back downstairs,” I say, holding out my hand. She stares at it. Her fingers twitch like she wants to take it, but she doesn’t. “Have a drink. A swim. You can unpack later.” I nod at the discarded bag at her feet. “Let’s not fight in the stairwell.”
Awkward seconds pass, neither of us moving, before she jerks her chin at me. “Why don’t you call me Little K anymore?”
“You said you didn’t like it.”
Kate accepts this explanation without comment and slides her hand into my outstretched one. The contact sends a spark of electricity up my arm. Her fingers are small and warm against mine, and so soft that I never want to let go. I lead her back down the stairs. The silence is crushing as we descend, but when we reach the bottom, she tugs on my hand.
“Nico?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on?”
“We’re going outside to join the others.”
“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean… between us. What’s going on between us?”
My heart thumps rapidly. Despite the colour in her cheeks, Kate brazenly holds my gaze. Her expression is earnest, like she really thinks I might be more qualified than she is to answer the question. As if this situation is some kind of algebraic equation I can easily explain.
It’s not, and I can’t.
I sigh deeply. “You’re Jack’s sister. And my employee.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s not a lie. But right now, I need a fucking drink.”
I try to let go of her hand, but she won’t release it. She tugs on it again.
I raise a brow to welcome her question, and it’s all the invitation she needs.
“Last night… did you want to sleep with me?”
Fuck, this woman is direct.
This time when I try to slip my hand from hers she lets me. I roll my neck, the tension in my body suddenly unbearable.
“I would never have slept with you last night.”
“Why not?”
An image of her, drunk, vulnerable, pushed up against a wall, flashes in my mind. I step closer to her. “Because you were so drunk, you’d have given yourself to anyone.”
A harsh gasp sounds from deep in her mouth. We’re standing so close the warmth of it hits my skin.
“When you sleep with me,” I continue, “it’ll be because I’m the only man you want. Because you need me more than anyone else. Because you belong to me. Not because you’re drunk and lonely and any man would do. When you’re mine, you’ll fucking know it.”
Her blush deepens. “When?” The word slips from her lips like a whisper I’m not meant to hear.
We’re on the edge of a precipice, and I could push us over it with one word, one movement, one kiss.
“If,” I say. “Hypothetical.”
And with two words, I’ve hauled us back to safety. Kate’s shoulders sink on a hopeless exhale. But whatever disappointment I glimpsed— thought I glimpsed—is gone in an instant, replaced by her impenetrable armour.
I clear my throat. “Are we done here?”
She frowns, then nods, her hand sliding from the banister as she steps fully to the ground floor.
“Great,” I reply. “Because I really fucking need that drink.”