Chapter 12 #2
Not angry or disappointed. Not worshipful either.
He looked interested, like I was something new and curious—like he was readying himself for something amusing as well as potentially important.
As usual, the intensity of his focused attention made me feel unbearably self-conscious; my lashes fluttered under the weight of it. “What? What is it?”
Nico shrugged. The shrug did little to decrease the concentrated sharpness of his funny look. “You tell me. You’re the one who wanted to talk privately.”
It might have been my imagination, but the room felt abruptly smaller after the word privately passed his perfectly formed mouth.
“Oh. Yes. Well.” I cleared my throat and tried to mirror his relaxed posture, resting my shoulder against the wall and crossing my arms. “There are actually a few things I’m hoping we can discuss, starting with your decision to enroll Angelica in the study.”
Mild amusement abruptly transformed into somber concern; he frowned, his posture less relaxed. “Is there something we should know about the study? Is it dangerous? Do you think we made the wrong decision?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just want to make sure you’re making the decision for the right reasons. You shouldn’t feel pressured or swayed by any factor other than what you think is right for Angelica.”
He nodded somberly. “Dr. Botstein didn’t try to sway us one way or the other. He just laid out the facts. We all talked about it this last weekend.”
“Who is we all?”
“Everyone. Well, everyone you saw on Saturday. It was a family decision. We just want Angelica to get better. You saw how she was at the restaurant, sitting on Christine’s lap watching all the other cousins play. She’s not…” he glanced at the ceiling, “I just want things to be better for her.”
I studied him and my chest hurt a little. He appeared every inch like a tortured parent, and his vulnerability was heartbreaking. A need to protect him welled up within me. I didn’t like seeing him so upset and seemingly helpless.
“Why are you here?” I felt compelled to ask this because it seemed unfair that he should be shouldering this burden for his family.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you here instead of your sister Christine or your brother Robert? How can you take so much time off from your show and from your life in New York?”
He considered me for a moment; the tightness in his features indicated that the topic was difficult for him to discuss, but he seemed relaxed in my presence.
“Tina and I were close, and I’m Angelica’s godfather.
She left my mom custody, but I think Angelica needs a male role model too—a father figure. ”
“But Robert, Manny—they all live in town and already have kids. They know how to be a father. Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to fill that role in her life, and be here for her?”
“No.” The corners of his mouth tugged downward, and the muscles at his temples ticked.
Nico’s typical charismatic energy felt muted and restrained, and he looked like such a grownup.
I was struck by how adult-like he seemed—responsible, trustworthy, thoughtful, careful.
Everything about him screamed I have my shit together.
“But you’re missing so much work, and that can’t be good for your career, not to mention the upheaval to your personal life.”
“Those things don’t matter.”
“But the burden of caring for a special needs ch-”
“I love her, Elizabeth. I want to be here. She is not a burden; she is my family, and I love her.” The rising heat behind his words and the flashing of his eyes demanded that I drop my questioning.
My gaze slid to the infusion chair in the corner, mostly to avoid his. “Ok.” I sighed, feeling repentant for pushing him but still frustrated by my helplessness to ease his burden. “I’m just trying to understand you better.”
“Why?”
A smile pulled at my mouth, and I glanced at him through my lashes. “I guess because I feel like I don’t know you anymore, and I’m curious.”
His expression mimicked mine—albeit with a smaller, somewhat sad smile—and his gaze moved slowly over my features. “Elizabeth, I don’t think you’ve ever known me. Not really.”
His words were soft, almost resigned, absent any residual frustration from my meddling. And they were doing things to me—the sound of his voice more so than the actual words—that made me feel both warm and adrift.
“That’s completely preposterous.”
His mouth hooked higher. “You’re blinded by stubbornness.”
“You’re just jealous that I’m always right.”
“Not always.”
“Mostly always.”
“There is no such thing as mostly always. It’s either always or not always,” he said.
“Well, you mostly always used to say things that made me blind with rage.”
“And now?”
“And now….” I allowed myself a brief moment to study him. His gaze was wary, but it betrayed interest. “And now I feel like I’m mostly always the one saying the wrong thing.”
His gypsy eyes, searched my gaze, before he whispered, “Not always.”
We engaged in another staring contest. The frequency of our staring contests was verging on ridiculous.
But I couldn’t help it. I liked staring at him, and I liked it when he stared at me.
His eyes caused a delicious pleasure-pain to spike in my chest. I could see myself becoming addicted to the feeling.
This thought paired with an igniting heat behind his eyes stirred me from my Nico-trance. We’d drifted closer to each other without me realizing it.
I stiffened then took a step back and blurted, “The video.”
His brow dipped into a V, as though he was confused by the sound and the meaning of my words. But then, as understanding arrested his features, a slow grin claimed his mouth. “Ah, yes…” he also shifted a step backward and had the decency to appear contrite, “…the video.”
I tucked loosened strands of hair behind my ears then clasped my hands in front of me, hoping their grip would quell the earlier tinglings and longings and stars still buzzing around in my head.
I tried to mentally swat them away and focus.
“So…the video…on YouTube…of me…and you…where I said that thing.”
He nodded again. “Yes. I’m aware. I was there.”
“Yes, of course. And I realize this is my fault. No one forced me to hop on that chair and yell crazy things at the top of my lungs.” I took a faltering step toward him.
“And I know I have absolutely no right to ask you for help but, is there—do you think there is anything you can do to make these people back off?”
“Are people bothering you?”
“A bit.”
“What happened? Did someone approach you?” He advanced a half step and we were again close enough to touch.
“Not really.”
“Not really? What does that mean?”
“Well there was a photographer taking pictures of me yesterday while I was eating lunch.”
“Damn.”
“How did they find my phone number so fast? And my email account is completely full. Half the messages are from newspapers and bloggers I’ve never heard of, and the other half are from crazy women who want to…
.” I grimaced and shoved my hands into the pockets of my lab coat.
“Well…let’s just say they wish their child was yours. ”
He gave me a mirthless smile. “Just so you know, I really appreciate—really appreciated—what you did. You’re right. You didn’t have to jump on that chair. But you’re also wrong; you do have every right to ask for my help.”
“Are you sure about that?” I didn’t agree with him. I truly felt I had no right. “Because, I wouldn’t blame you if you gave me the middle finger salute and walked out of here.”
Nico wrinkled his nose. “Why would you say that? Why would you even think that?”
“Because….” I searched his eyes, hoped to convey without actually admitting the internal frustration and dissidence I’d been living with since he’d appeared last week—actually, perhaps even longer than that.
“Because I saw a segment on Showbiz Weekly this weekend, and they were crucifying you over what I yelled at our reunion, about you and me having a child. If I’ve caused you any problems, I can’t tell you how… .”
Nico waved away my concern. “Are you kidding? I have fake baby drama all the time. Every month there is a blog or trashy newspaper claiming that I’ve left some poor woman abandoned with eight kids, my very own octomom. Don’t worry about it.”
I wrestled with my guilt then finally blurted, “I haven’t been very nice to you.”
His expression softened. “Elizabeth, in your own misguided, crazy, PMSing woman way, I think you’ve been trying to be nice.”
My mouth fell open. “Hey.”
“You’re just not very good at being nice. It’s not a strength of yours.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“You should work on it. You should compliment me more; tell me I look pretty.”
I hit him on the shoulder even as I laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
I stopped laughing. I couldn’t look away from his eyes—and, believe me, I tried. “You can’t do that.”
“What?” His tone was soft, like a caress.
“You can’t say things like that.” My hand waved through the air, floundering.
“If we’re still going to be friends, you can’t keep breaking out the charm cannons.
” Realizing what I’d just said, and what I’d implied—that I still wanted to be friends—my face and neck warmed with embarrassment, but thankfully, not a full-fledged blush.
“That is, if you still want to be friends.”
“Did I say I wanted to be friends?” He assumed an expression of mock thoughtfulness, eye twinkle alert level red. “When did I say that?”
My heart fluttered as though he’d yanked it toward him. “Yes…” I cleared my throat in an effort to subdue my silly heart. “It was last week. I believe you said, ‘I want to be friends—just friends’.”
“Ah, yes. Friends without benefits, right?” His eyes narrowed, again with mock seriousness. “Do you still want to be friends without benefits?”
I nodded my response because I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“Hmm…ok.” His smile was small and sly. “What am I not allowed to say? That you’re beautiful?” His voice was still soft, like a stupid caress.
The heat spread; I wrestled like a Klingon with the urge to blush. “Yes.”
“You don’t tell your friends when you think they look nice?” The eye twinkle was like a bullet.
“It’s not the same.” I huffed. “Don’t do it.”
“What do you typically do with your friends who are girls? Since you seem to eschew males from that circle.”
I needed to get control of this conversation before he had me wobbly legged and falling into his arms like an idiot. “Talk about sex.”
He paused. His smiled widened. “Ok. We could do that.”
“Really?” The single word was a disbelieving squeak; my plan to obtain control had officially backfired.
“Yeah. It might be nice for you to have a man’s perspective. What else?”
“Uh…we drink, cuss, and knit.”
“Well, I think I’m definitely down with the drinking and cussing, but I’ll need your help with the knitting.” His full-fledged charming smile was back, but he hadn’t lost the residual appearance of a responsible adult male.
“You’re going to learn how to knit?” My eyebrows bounced upwards again.
“No. Knitting is for girls. I’m going to learn how to crochet. But…” he dipped his chin to his chest and issued me a look that meant business, “…since we’re going to do this, I have a request of my friend.”
I stiffened. “What’s that?”
“I’m going to give you music homework.”
I stared at him. “Say what?”
“I’m going to give you music to listen to, not boy bands, but lots of different artists and genres, and you have to listen to it.” He shrugged, hands still in pockets. “We can talk about it when we hang out.”
The request sounded benign—suspiciously benign. “Fine,” I stated as though I had won an argument. I couldn’t think of a reason to object, but I didn’t want to appear to be too accommodating, “Then I have a friendship stipulation.”
“Why do you get two?”
“It’s less of a stipulation and more of a request.”
“Fine. Let’s hear it.”
“Will you please let me fire your security guards?”
He sighed, scratched his neck. His gaze was sheepish. “They are pretty bad.”
“I know someone who has a security company. He owns the building where I live—well, part of it, my floor anyway, and is engaged to my best friend. He has a division that provides private security, and he’s kind of a badass wizard.
They are very discreet, and you don’t have to worry about your privacy at all.
Please, will you just talk to him? You’ll like him.
He’s really bossy, just like me, and mostly always knows best, just like me. ”
Nico smiled, but then quickly suppressed it. He shrugged again. “Fine. That’s fine. Give me his number.” Nico handed me his phone.
I released a breath that I wasn’t aware I’d been holding, feeling relief down to my bones as I programmed Quinn’s number into Nico’s cell. I couldn’t stop my large smile. “This is great. And you will not regret it. You should call him today, or I can call him.”
“I’ll call him.”
“You promise? You’ll call him today? If you don’t call him today, I’ll find out.”
“Yes. Yes, today.” He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was enjoying my bossiness. “Do you worry about me?”
I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to tell the truth either, so I settled for a statement that applied to all of humanity. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Even me?”
My response escaped before I had a chance to disarm it. “Especially you.”
His eyes lit, burned brighter. “Why?”
Curses!
“Because…” My brain was failing me. I flailed, resorted to making a few weird scoffing and tsking noises, raised my hands and lowered them, then said something true but not the entirety of the truth; so, once again, avoiding.
“Because I really like Angelica. She seems like a sweet girl, and has already lost quite a lot in her short life. I wouldn’t want her to lose you too. ”
“Hmm….” His expression betrayed his skepticism. “She likes you, too.”
“She does?”
“Yes. She does. Why wouldn’t she?”
“Kids usually don’t. I’m not generally great with kids. My friend Fiona’s kids refer to me as ‘that strange lady’.”
“What a coincidence—that’s what Angelica calls you too.”
I gave him my very best I am not amused face. He, of course, thought this was hilarious. His laughter eventually became infectious, and soon we were both laughing.
“Funny, funny guy.”
“Smart girl.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you when you say that.”
Nico studied me for a moment, and then he swayed forward, his voice velvety, his eyes dreamy. “You should. You should always believe me. I will always tell you the truth.”
My stomach dropped to my feet and the room tilted a bit. I could only nod.
My silence seemed to fuel his amusement. He glanced at the floor, then shifted a bit closer. His tone was silky, measured. “Still friends?”
“Yes…friends.” The words almost caught in my throat.