Chapter Eight #2
His gaze lifts to mine. “I’ll be here. I have a few things I want to get started on.” The weight in his tone feels final. Like I don’t get a say in it.
Fine.
Without another word, I turn and step onto the deck, the wood creaking slightly beneath my feet as I make my way down the short set of stairs, my sandals sinking slightly in the sand.
. . .
By the time I get back, the sun is higher, the heat thick in the air. The house is exactly how I left it—but something feels different.
Through the open glass doors, I spot him immediately.
Nikolai is on the couch now, laptop open on the coffee table, one elbow braced on his knee. His jaw is tight, brows drawn slightly as he scrolls through something.
He’s frustrated.
I pause in the door. “Rough day?”
“Always.” His tone is clipped, almost distracted. But the second he looks up to me, something in his expression shifts.
Not quite irritation. Not quite relief.
Something… in between.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” his voice is even again, composed. But there’s an edge to it.
I nod. “Yeah. It’s beautiful out there.”
His fingers tap against the laptop, but his focus is on me. “Good.” He closes it and sets it on the coffee table.
I blink, watching as he leans back into the couch, stretching one arm lazily over the back and leaning into the side. “Sit with me.” He says, his tone smooth but expectant.
I hesitate only for a second before stepping forward, sinking onto the opposite end of the couch. There’s a respectable amount of space between us.
For a moment, the only sound is the rhythmic crash of waves outside the open glass doors. The salty breeze drifts in, light and warm.
He studies me, head tilted slightly. “You seem comfortable.”
I glance at him. “Should I not be?”
His lips quirk at the edges. “I’m not used to people feeling at ease around me.”
I scoff softly, “Maybe that’s a you problem, then.”
He chuckles, low and rich.
I tuck my legs beneath me after slipping off my sandals, finally allowing my body to relax into the plush material. “So… how many places like this do you own?”
His brows lift slightly, amused. “Private, hideaway beach-houses? Just this one. But I have a couple of penthouses throughout L.A. county, a few vacation spots around the world, and obviously I have my actual home.”
I hum. “How often do you come here?”
He smiles again, this time looking out to the ocean. “Whenever I need an escape.” He brings his gaze back to me. “Are you going to be asking a lot of questions now, then?” he huffs with a smile.
I laugh lightly. “If it’s the only time I can get a real answer out of you, then yes.”
He grins, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Alright, then. How about we take turns. You’ve already asked two, so now it’s my turn.”
I smile and angle my body more towards him. “Shoot.”
Nikolai watches me for a second before speaking. “Photography,” he says, like he’s making an observation rather than asking a question.
I nod. “What about it?”
He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s clearly important to you. I’m wondering if you’ve ever considered going back to school and finishing that degree.”
The question takes me off guard.
I blink at him, fingers idly tracing a loose thread on the couch. “I mean… I have, sure. But it’s expensive, and I don’t have the luxury of just going back whenever I feel like it.”
His gaze sharpens slightly, but he doesn’t comment on that. Instead, he just nods. “Do you still take pictures?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “Not as much as I used to. Life got in the way, I guess.”
“Life tends to do that.” He muses.
I glance up at him. “What about you?”
His brows lift slightly, “What about me?”
“Any hobbies? Anything you can do just because you like it, not because you have to?”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “You assume I have time for things like that.”
“You have all the money in the world. You could make the time.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I prefer to keep myself occupied in ways that serve me.”
“So, you have no hobbies.”
He shrugs. “It depends on what you define as a hobby.”
I huff. “You’re impossible.”
His smile grows. “Your turn, Miss Carter.”
I roll my eyes but humor him anyway. My gaze flickers down his arm, remembering something I’ve been meaning to ask. “Your tattoo,” I say. “You never actually told me about it.”
His eyes glint slightly, like he’s amused. He shifts, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “What about it?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t play coy. I asked about it my first day, and you avoided answering.”
His lips press together, but he doesn’t immediately shut me down. Instead, he takes his shirt off, so that all of the dark ink wrapping from his mid forearm, up and around his bicep, and slightly onto his shoulder and chest, is visible. “It’s a family thing. A symbol of sorts.”
“Of what?”
His smirk is lazy. “Strength. Endurance. Danger.” He sighs. “My father has it. My grandfather. His father. My son will, too, one day. Blackthorn vines to mark the heir to the name of Blackthorn.”
“Ah,” I breathe. “I see. Thank you for telling me.” My voice is quiet.
“What about yours?” he chimes.
My brows furrow. “What?”
“You have a small tattoo of a rose on your shoulder. What’s that about?” He questions.
“How did you know?” My confusion must be entertaining for him, because he can’t hide the tug of a grin on his lips.
“Your clothing isn’t always the most, shall we say, modest, Miss Carter.”
I blush at the remark. “Well,” I start, taking a breath. “It’s for my mom. Her name was Rose. She passed away when I was 7 years old.” I look down into my lap, playing with the couch fibers again.
“How did she pass?” His voice is calm, gentle. Almost kind.
“There was a car accident. A drunk driver hit her. Her car went off the road and down the side of one of the little cliffs into the water. She didn’t really stand a chance.” I try to speak some more, but I can’t manage it.
His voice breaks the silence after a few beats. “I believe it’s your turn, Miss Carter.”
I ponder, thinking of what I should ask him. Shifting slightly on the couch, I glance at him. “Is there anything you’d rather be doing?”
His brow lifts, just a flicker of amusement before it smooths away. “Than sitting here with you?”
I roll my eyes. “Than running Blackthorn.”
There’s a pause. His fingers skim idly over each other, slow and absentminded, like he’s thinking through his answer. “Does it matter?”
I frown. “Of course it matters.”
He exhales, tilting his head side to side, as if to ease the tension growing in his neck. “What I want doesn’t change anything.” I watch him, his fingers stilling before he continues. “I’ve never thought about it too much,” he admits. “There was never a point. My life has always been mapped out.”
I hesitate, then press. “But if you had the choice?”
His gaze flickers to mine, sharp and unreadable. Then, after a long beat— “I don’t waste time on things that will never be.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten, but it passes quickly.
A comfortable silence settles between us for just a moment before he speaks again. “My turn.” Nikolai watches me for a moment, then shifts slightly in his seat. “Do you miss Colorado?”
I let out a soft breath, staring at the rolling waves beyond the window.
“I miss certain things about it. The mountains, the way the air feels fresher. But I couldn’t stay there after my dad passed.
” My voice tightens just a little, but I keep going.
“Everything reminded me of him. Our house, his chair, the diner we used to go to every Saturday. It was unbearable.”
His gaze doesn’t waver, but he says nothing, letting me speak.
“I missed my brother, too,” I admit, a small, sad smile pulling at my lips.
“We became kind of distant after he moved back here.
And besides—" I exhale and shake my head slightly, trying to lighten the weight pressing against my chest. “I’ve always been more of a summer girl anyway.” I gesture vaguely toward the open windows, where the ocean breeze is warm and inviting. “This is more my style.”
Silence follows.
Not an uncomfortable one. Just… quiet.
I stare at the ocean, focusing on the waves cresting and breaking along the shore, but something thick settles in my throat, something I can’t swallow down.
My chest constricts, the pressure rising fast, too fast.
And then—my vision blurs.
Shit.
I suck in a shaky breath, willing myself to stop, to shove it down, but the moment one tear slips free, the rest follow like a dam breaking loose. A sob rattles through me, and suddenly, I’m gasping, shoulders shaking as the grief I’ve kept locked up for so long crashes over me.
I haven’t let myself cry since the funeral. Not even once.
And now, it’s like everything is spilling out at once, and I can’t stop it.
I press my palms over my face, mortified, but the tears won’t stop.
“I—” I choke out a breath, trying to laugh it off, but my voice is wrecked. “I don’t know why—"
Strong hands are on me before I can finish, pulling me forward, and I don’t resist as I’m guided into the warmth of Nikolai’s chest.
I just let go.