Chapter 11 #2
He follows me into the ridiculously large walk-in wardrobe. It’s bigger than my entire living space. My annoyance at him has me seeing it all so differently. His money is such a turnoff.
I don’t bother to correct him, reaching up on my tiptoes to get my dress from the hanger. I spin with it, clutched in hand, only to come face-to-face with him.
There’s so much anger in his stare, but it’s not for me. Sitting in the lines of his handsome face, I see something else. Something I can’t pin down. Fear maybe? His own pain? I don’t know, but it irks me, because I don’t want to stay, and I don’t owe him a thing.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I can’t stay.”
“You can.”
Can I?
My heart feels like a baseball that’s been pummelled by so many swinging bats. My whole life I’ve fought to keep the stitching together, tending to the battered edges. Yet, Mason Lowell shows up, and I allow him to hit a home run straight out of the gate.
Why am I still here?
“Sleep in my bed. I refuse to leave you alone after...” His pity sears into my skin, making me want to claw at the flesh. “Sleep in my bed, please. I will stay in the spare room and drop you home first thing. Just don’t leave.”
Pride is a funny thing. It’s restricting, suffocating, and at times has held me back from making life choices.
Always refusing to leave myself open to any more hits. Everything inside me tells me to go, and it’s not my pride or morals or stubbornness that stops me.
I’m at war with something else.
It’s the soul-deep pride in the blacks of his eyes that bleeds out between us.
Just don’t leave.
And I won’t. My pride, my morals, my stubbornness—who knows, but I don’t leave. I let his pride suffocate me, restrict me, hold me back from making a choice that I may or may not regret.
Vinny arrives just after seven a.m. to pick me up. I lay awake for the last three hours, waiting for a semi-acceptable time to call him, and his expression as I climb into the front seat of the Audi is the exact reason I couldn’t call a taxi. I look like a mess.
“Good morning, Nina,” he says chirpily.
“I’m so sorry, Vinny. I know it’s a Sunday.” I do up my seat belt and settle in as he pulls out onto the deserted road.
“You can call me anytime, you know that, love.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t get a taxi in this.” I gesture to the oversized joggers and T-shirt I stole from Mason’s wardrobe.
“I’ve seen worse.” He winks.
I smile, leaning my head back against the seat, glad to be away from the penthouse but sad to leave Mason behind.
Vinny sits quiet, tapping his finger on the steering wheel whilst listening to the radio. I try to think of anything but the doubts in my head.
“Do you have a family, Vinny? A wife?”
“No. I’m better, happier alone.” He smiles, and I can tell he’s being genuine. He believes his words.
“I can relate to that,” I look up at him. “You don’t think one day though, if you found the right person?”
“It would take a saint to put up with me, Nina.”
“Because of your job? Having to rescue damsels in distress from raving lunatics at stupid hours of the day?”
“Exactly that,” he chuckles. “And then some.”
“Well, I think any woman would be lucky to have you. You’re a catch, you know,” I say, elbowing him in the arm.
His phone starts to ring throughout the car, and Mason’s name lights up the screen.
“I’m presuming he doesn’t know you left.” He eyes me, letting it ring for the third time.
I shake my head. “You can answer it.”
He accepts the call, his expression stony. “Mason.”
“Vinny.”
I close my eyes at the sound of his ragged breath. I picture him tearing through the penthouse, searching for me.
“I need Nina’s number. She took off this morning and Scar’s just called, the doctor is coming out to see Dad, I need to go to the estate.”
Guilt eats at me, and in the cold light of day I second-guess myself.
Did I overreact?
Is his dad okay?
I look to Vinny, swallowing hard.
I wish I didn’t leave.
“I will send the number now. Mason, calm down. Do you need me to drive you out?”
“No, I’m fine. Scar’s just worried; he hasn’t stopped vomiting. She thinks it may be alcohol poisoning.”
He’s nothing like your mother.
I drop my head, staring at my lap. Vinny shouldn’t have to lie for me, and now I’m sat absorbing information that isn’t intended for me. It’s just as bad as what he did, looking me up.
“Okay, let me know if you need anything. Drive safe, Mason,” Vinny says calmly, then hangs up.
“I’m sorry I put this on you.”
“Send him your number, Nina,” he tells me, holding out the phone.
I don’t question it, typing out my number and hitting send. My phone rings moments later, and I stare at it, not wanting to answer.
“I won’t tell you what you should do,” Vinny starts.
“But?”
“I haven’t ever seen Mason act like this. He seems to care for you very much.” He shrugs as if it is that simple.
“I’m damaged goods, Vinny. I prefer to be alone.”
It’s what I know.
He nods, smiling smugly. “You don’t think one day though, if you found the right person?”
I glare at the side of his head as he throws my words right back at me.
I check my clutch for my keys, hoping I have spare clothes in the studio. I need to get lost for a while.
“Can you drop me at the studio, please, Vinny?”
Unexplainable calmness. It seeps into me and makes me forget about everything that exists outside of the room.
I’ve only had my studio a little over a year, but it’s the sense of belonging here, that I’m not alone.
It doesn’t make sense really, but I figure to have a place I’m so proud of, something I built on my own, having people who depend on me for a place to come and express themselves— it gives me purpose.
I don’t get to dance. I didn’t have a change of clothes. Instead, I climb up on the piano and lay on my side, looking out on my purpose.
I won’t give up on it. On any of it.
Lucy picks me up from the studio midmorning to take me home, and I change quickly while she waits in the car.
She knows something is up. I don’t go to the studio on a Sunday—especially not in men’s clothes.
But she doesn’t question me, doesn’t ask anything until after lunch, laying ourselves out on the garden swing seat we’ve spent many days of our childhood and teenage years chatting on.
“I think Mason’s dad is an alcoholic,” I eventually voice.
Lucy’s hand finds mine between us. “But that’s not what has you going to the studio on a Sunday morning?”
“No.” I roll my eyes at her perceptiveness. “He fucked it up, Luce. He’s such an idiot.”
“He’s a male. It’s their thing.” She smiles.
“He had me looked up, looked into my mum and the studio.”
“What?” she asks, taken aback.
I nod my head. “I took it on the chin too. I promised myself I wouldn’t leave.
We had the most incredible sex. God, the sex, Luce,” I groan, making her laugh.
“He prepared a beautiful date, said all the right things when I freaked about the gifts he bought me, then when I needed space, and for him to shut up so I could process the whole him having me looked up thing, he crushed me. Told me I would run my studio into the ground if I didn’t stop helping Mum and pay back my loans. ”
Tears well in my eyes as I prepare for what comes next.
“How did he get that much information?!”
I shrug. “I told him to stay out of my business, that he could have sex with me, but he’d get nothing more than my body.” Cringing at the memory, I close my eyes.
“Oh, Nina, that’s not you.”
“What?”
“Babe, you’ve known this man a week. You’re attached already, look at you. You could never have no-strings-attached sex. It’s why you’ve broken so many hearts over the years,” she explains, pulling me into a hug.
“He compared me to my mum. Told me the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” I mumble into her neck.
She tuts, shaking her head. “God, Nina, he really is a dick.” She sighs. “But...”
“But?” I question, not liking that but at all.
“It’s not you. You’re not your mother, and he shouldn’t have said that. But. You painted the picture for him. He just hung it to dry.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am.” She squeezes me tight. “I promise you I am, just don’t go writing him off just yet, okay?” She fingers the bangle on my wrist. “Is this Cartier?”
I roll my eyes. “I have no idea.”
“As your best friend, it’s my job to step in and tell you when you don’t see situations in their true light, yet you’ve always made it so easy for me.
You have a good head on your shoulders, and you always make the right decision.
I envy your balls, babe. Trust your judgement, and don’t ever feel bad for letting your guard down. ”
“You think I should give things a go with him?”
Does Mason even want to give things a go?
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You’ll do you anyway.”
Lucy drops me home just after six, and I trudge up my steps feeling exhausted from the lack of sleep last night. I need sleep, and more importantly, to refocus myself on the week ahead. The showcase is coming up, and I intend to smash it with my girls.
Inside my apartment, I strip down and shower, then pull on the comfiest clothes I can find. I’m sitting on my sofa no more than twenty minutes later, eating a bowl of Coco Pops when my phone rings. My mother’s name has my spoon falling into the chocolatey milk.
Why is she calling so soon? It’s been what—a week?
Every emotion I’ve been suppressing all day seems to come bubbling to the surface, and Mason’s interrogation as to why I pay my mum is at the forefront.
I have no answer as to why and as my phone continues to vibrate across my coffee table, I rage at myself, at my inability to let her go or to let anyone else in. Lucy is right, I could never hack no strings attached sex, and it’s all my mother’s fault.
I launch my phone at the wall watching it flash once more before the screen dies.
Mase
Selfish, that’s what I am. She doesn’t want to see me, but I need to see her.
I shouldn’t have left Scarlet alone on Friday night, and maybe my father wouldn’t have gotten so poorly if I’d stayed, but Lowerwick brings back too many bad memories for me.
Every time I walk through the door, I think of my mother.
Her open arms as I’d run for her, the smell of cookies baking in the oven, and the music she would play us.
Four years. It’s all I had, yet the memories are vivid, every single one right up to the day she died.
How Scarlet continues to stay there baffles me. As I said, I’m selfish.
I park the Bentley at the curb and make my way to Nina’s building, taking her steps two at a time, not bothering to think past the need to see her, to hold her.
She pulls open the door after letting me up, her eyes red and blotchy. Shit. Was that because of me? Her shoulders drop when she sees it’s me, and I worry she will push me away.
She steps into me, her arms wrapping around my waist as her head nestles into my chest. Her body visibly relaxes, growing heavier in my arms. The weight of the world settling between us.
I drop my nose to her hair, breathing her in.
Unexplainable calmness. It seeps into me, a deep sense of belonging only she seems to bring.
She pulls me into her apartment, bypassing the tiny living space and walking me through to a small double bedroom.
She climbs on the bed, pulling me with her, her head dipping under my arm when I lift it so she can lay herself across my chest. And just like that, with not a single word spoken, we take from each other.
Healing the parts we aren’t ready to bare.