20. Nicholas
Nicholas
Nicholas threw himself into work the way he always did when something was eating at him—late nights, long hours, tasks stacked deliberately close together so there were no gaps for his mind to drift into.
It didn't work.
When the office went quiet, Tampa came back. Flashes of her laughing. The echo of their last conversation. The hollow ache that had taken up residence in his chest showed no signs of leaving. He kept circling the same questions: Had she found an apartment? Was she safe? Was she alright?
He wanted to call. He held back. She was still married.
She needed time and space to find her footing, and the last thing he wanted was to make her situation harder.
So he stayed where he was—missing her, feeling the particular guilt of a man who cared about someone he technically had no claim to, and waiting.
Monday arrived with a useful distraction.
Lilly walked Vince into the office, and Nicholas stood to shake his hand, sizing him up in the first few seconds, the way he sized up everyone. Family, he thought. It landed differently than he expected.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Vince."
"I feel the same," Vince said. "Thank you for letting me join your team. I'm excited to learn. Uncle Michael is a legend in real estate, and from what I've heard, you're not far behind."
Nicholas let out a short laugh. "Thanks, but I have a long way to go to catch up to him."
He laid out the plan—construction first, working under Richard for a few months to learn the foundation of how things actually get built, then rotating through sales and marketing, and finally the rest of the business from the inside out.
"How does that sound?"
"Perfect," Vince said. "I really want to learn, and I appreciate this opportunity."
"I have a lot on my plate right now. I know I will probably see you on Sunday at the family dinner, but let's plan on dinner soon. Just the two of us."
"I would like that," Vince said.
Nicholas watched him leave with Lilly and felt something settle in his chest—the specific satisfaction of a right thing done.
Tuesday morning arrived ordinarily enough.
Then his phone buzzed, and Olivia's name appeared on the screen, and the ordinary part ended.
He grabbed the phone and read the text.
Hi Nicholas, I'm sure you're busy, but I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk today or tonight?
His thumb moved before he'd consciously decided anything.
Yes, absolutely. Call me whenever you can talk.
He leaned back in his chair. The Miami sun through the window seemed sharper than it had a minute ago. Just knowing she wanted to talk changed something in the quality of the morning.
An hour later, he was in the conference room, half-listening to the marketing team walk through their rental occupancy projections, when his phone buzzed on the table, and her name appeared again.
He was standing before he'd thought about it. "Excuse me—I need to take this." His voice came out sharper than he intended. He picked up the phone and walked out.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Nicholas." Her voice was small. A little breathless. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I know you're probably busy."
He went to his office, closed the door, and turned his chair toward the window. "It's fine, Olivia. Honestly, I could use a break. I'd much rather be talking to you. How are things going?"
A heavy pause.
"They could be better," she admitted. "I feel confused. Afraid. I thought maybe if I talked to you, it would help me sort things out."
He didn't hesitate. "That's a great idea. Why don't we do it over dinner tonight?"
"But Nicholas, you're in Miami."
He smiled at his reflection in the glass. "Yes, but I'll be in Tampa tonight if you're free for dinner."
"I don't want you to drive four hours just for dinner. That's too much."
"You're not making me do anything. You sound like you need to talk, and there's no better way to do that than in person. Let's meet at the Market at Edition bar at five-thirty."
"Thank you, Nicholas. I think I really need your shoulder. I'll be there."
He ended the call and immediately thought: movers, the lawyer, the apartment, the logistics of her whole situation.
He knew how to handle it all. One call and he could have everything arranged before she'd finished her morning coffee.
That was the easy part—taking over. It was what he did. It was what he was good at.
But even as the instinct fired, he caught it and held it still.
This wasn't his problem to solve. It was her life, and she needed to be the one building it. He could be beside her. He couldn't be in front of her. That distinction mattered more than he'd expected, and recognizing it felt like its own kind of growth.
Let her lead, he told himself. Just be there and support her.
He called Virginia. "I'm heading back to Tampa. I'll be in the satellite office tomorrow morning for the final phase of the rollout."
"Nicholas—what's the sudden rush? We just did the briefing."
"I want to stay on top of things personally. No room for errors."
"What time will you be in?"
"Sometime in the morning."
He called Lilly next. "Book me a suite at The Tampa Edition for tonight. Get me on a chopper from the Miami heliport around two and a car to the hotel when I land."
Driving four hours each way wasn't an option. He wasn't wasting time.
He walked back to the conference room. "Sorry—we'll have to reschedule for later this week."
Someone looked up. "You look happy. Good news?"
Nicholas smiled. "Maybe."
He turned and walked out.
Lilly caught him in the hallway with a motherly look that saw more than he would have preferred. "Nicholas, it's not like you to leave in the middle of the day. Is everything okay?"
"I'm not disappearing. I'm heading to Tampa."
"You know I'm on your side," she said. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
His expression softened. Lilly was much older and had motherly experience. She had been with him long enough to have earned the concern. "I know you are, and I appreciate it. Just give me a little space right now."
"I'll call you with anything important," she said.
He was already moving.
By 4:00 PM, the helicopter was down at Peter O. Knight Airport, and a car was waiting. He was at The Tampa Edition by 4:30, showered and changed by 5:00, and in the bar at 5:15—Olivia had not yet arrived, the room quiet and low-lit around him.
He didn't wait long.
At the far end of the bar, two men sat up straighter at the same moment—the involuntary, instinctive response of men who have just noticed someone worth noticing. Nicholas turned to see what they'd seen.
Olivia was walking in.
The olive-green wrap dress moved with her, falling just above her knees, and the four-inch Louboutins made her legs look like they went on forever. He understood completely why the men were staring. He felt the same pull—the same recognition of something rare walking into an ordinary room.
She came straight to him and wrapped her arms around his neck with a force that surprised him—tight and genuine, holding on for a second longer than a greeting required. He returned it fully. When she pulled back, he kissed her gently.
"Wow. You look amazing."
Her eyes were bright, but he could see the weight behind them. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."
"Should we start here or head up to Lilac?"
She looked at him with something fragile at the edges of her expression. "Nicholas, I really need to just sit and talk with you. Wherever we can do that would be wonderful."
He took her hand—her skin was cold—and led her to the private elevator without another word.
The gentleman in the tux with the iPad at the private elevator looked up and nodded. He hit the elevator button, and they were on their way up.
Upstairs, the ma?tre d' came forward immediately. "Welcome, Mr. Moretti, Ma'am. So nice to see you both again."
Nicholas felt Olivia's hand relax slightly in his, her shoulders dropping a fraction. She seemed to find something steadying in being recognized here, in being part of a world that received her this way. He noticed it and said nothing—just guided her forward.
"A private table," Nicholas said. "Out of the way. We need some privacy."
They were seated in a corner, the bay a dark mirror beyond the windows, the nearest other table far enough away to be irrelevant.
Nicholas waited for her to settle. "Is this good?"
Olivia managed a small smile. "Perfect."
Nicholas ordered wine without looking at the menu and waited for it to be poured.
"Give us a few minutes," Nicholas told the waiter, his tone firm yet polite.
"Yes, sir." The man vanished.
He then reached across and took her hand again. Her fingers trembled with anxiety.
"Tell me what's going on, Olivia."
She took a shaky breath. "So much. I don't know where to begin."
"We have time. Start wherever you want."
"I'm living at Lauren's now, so I don't have a curfew."
Something dark moved through him—protective and certain. "Then we have all night."
She started quietly, unevenly, and he listened. She described last Saturday, and his jaw tightened until it ached. He felt the cold arrive first, then the anger underneath it—clean and specific, the kind directed at a particular man. He wanted to find Mark. He wanted to break something.
He sat still. He held her hand. He said nothing.
She told him about the years of feeling small and dismissed.
The bedroom—his refusals, his cruelty, the word he'd used that had landed like a verdict she'd been carrying ever since.
The retreat into her own world. The romance novels.
The vibrator. The quiet, private life she'd built inside herself because the one she shared with him had offered nothing worth living in.
She cried. He kept her anchored with steady, silent pressure on her hand and let her go until she'd emptied it out.
Finally, she looked up, her eyes raw and shining.
Her hands twisted in her lap. "I know this sounds crazy, asking you—but am I being unreasonable in wanting a divorce?
" Her voice cracked slightly. "I was always taught loyalty to a spouse.
But I don't feel that anymore with Mark. I haven’t felt it for a long time. "
He leaned in without hesitation. "Olivia, no. You are not being unreasonable. I'm biased, I know that—but no woman should ever be forced to do something she doesn't want to do. That's a line too far."
He let it settle before he continued.
"But you're the only one who knows what's right for you. No one else can make that choice. It sounds like you've already decided—and guilt is making you question yourself."
She exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her shoulders in a visible release. She squeezed his hand. "You're right. That's exactly how I feel. I don't even know why I feel guilty. I really tried to make the marriage work." She paused. "Now that it's all out in the open, guilt is what's left."
Nicholas watched her and spoke carefully. "You have to ask yourself—what exactly are you guilty about? Is it me? Does being with me make you feel guilty?"
She hesitated. Then looked up, something conflicted and searching moving across her face.
"No. I don't feel guilty being with you.
It's strange—I've never cheated, not even close.
I dreamed about finding the right person, but I never went looking for them.
With you, I don't feel like I'm cheating.
I can't fully explain why. Maybe because I know it's been over with Mark for years. The only thing left is the paperwork."
She smiled—small and real and reaching her eyes for the first time all evening. "See why I needed to talk to you? You always help me think more clearly."
Nicholas felt the room lighten around them. The weight of the last hour lifting, leaving something cleaner in its place.
He grinned. "Let's order. I'm starving."