29. Zinnia
ZINNIA
N ick and I basically spend the next two weeks in bed. He goes to campus twice, I check in with Gran every few days, and we go to life-drawing class as expected, but other than that, we barely leave his apartment.
And it’s heaven .
When we’re not having sex in Nick’s bed—or sofa, or shower, or kitchen counter—we’re eating takeout and watching documentaries, or talking about art, about the city, about life.
He tells me about his own trips to Italy, about childhood trips to Maine where his brother taught him how to fish. I tell him about the jobs I’ve had over the years, the places I lived growing up. The ones I can remember, at least.
He sketches me while I nap, then shows me his beautiful drawings when I wake.
When he’s not doing that, he’s working on his syllabus for the upcoming semester, and I find myself wishing desperately that I could take his class again for the first time.
Even more so as I watch him annotate his notes shirtless, in sweats.
Fuck me.
While he works, I read his art books, poring over chapters on everything from Byzantine art to surrealism. With each book I read, I ache to learn more.
And all the while, we’re aware of the growing question between us: when I’m leaving town.
If I’m leaving town.
I’m still unsure about taking that fall class. Clearly, I didn’t think it through when I enrolled and then hooked up with Nick. If I did stick around, how would that even work, dating a professor on campus? Can you do that?
And then there’s Gran. I text her frequently, and pop home every few days to make sure she’s okay—and, let’s be honest, grab clean underwear—and every time I do, guilt engulfs me.
She knows I’ve been seeing someone, and has even encouraged it, telling me how delighted she is and that it’s a good reason to stay in the city.
But I can’t help but think she wouldn’t feel that way if she knew who it was. I’ve never lied to Gran before, and my stomach roils every time I think about it. Especially when I know it would only add more stress and worry to whatever else she’s dealing with.
Because she’s definitely dealing with something.
Since arriving, I’ve watched Gran carefully, and as much as it pains me to admit it, Poppy’s right.
Something is off. The tulips, the milk, forgetting Poppy and her friends had visited.
On their own they aren’t a big deal, but when I put them together, when I combine them with what Poppy told me, when I force myself to acknowledge the appointments Gran won’t let me attend, what her friend at the Met said about her being away too long, and the way she seems more insistent than ever that I stick around…
I know something is off, and I can’t keep hiding from it. If anything, I should sit Gran down and talk to her, even if I know she won’t like it.
It’s not only Gran who’s got me worried; June hasn’t recovered from her cold, and on Tuesday evening when I arrived to find her looking like she was at death’s door, I told her I’d lock up again and sent her home.
I don’t know what she did for Wednesday night’s class—I think it’s printmaking on Wednesdays—but Nick and I are opening and locking up tonight.
I’m glad we’re able to keep life drawing going, but it’s unsettling that June is still unwell.
On Thursday night, we ride the subway from Nick’s apartment to Brooklyn Heights in separate subway cars.
Nick is very careful about anyone from NYU seeing us together, and I understand, but it only reinforces what I’m already thinking.
That if I did decide to stay in the city for a while, it would be a choice between classes or Nick.
A choice I’m not sure I could make.
He’s a little more relaxed when we exit the subway at Clark Street, and while he doesn’t hold my hand or kiss me, we walk side by side.
It’s Nick’s suggestion to stop in for a to-go coffee at Joe’s, a suggestion he appears to regret instantly when, the minute we’ve placed our order, a guy waves to him from a table across the room.
“Shit.” Nick glances at me in panic as the guy rises to cross to us. He’s familiar—I recognize him from the bar that night Nick was out—and as he approaches, I notice he looks a lot like Nick.
“Want me to go?” I ask quietly, one eye on the door, but Nick shakes his head just as the other man pulls him into a hug.
“Nick!” he says, clapping him heartily on the back. “What are you doing in my neighborhood?”
“I teach a class nearby,” Nick says. “Remember?”
“Ah, yes.” The guy looks at me with a pair of oddly familiar blue eyes. “And you are…”
“Zinnia.” I smile, deciding the easiest course of action here is to be honest. Well, mostly honest. “I’m the model for the life-drawing class.”
Nick bristles.
“Life drawing?” the guy asks, regarding Nick with interest. “I didn’t know you did that stuff anymore.” He’s being perfectly pleasant, but his words make something protective ripple through me. I keep my smile in place, but it’s an effort not to reach for Nick’s hand.
“Nick is a brilliant artist,” I say defensively.
I feel the tension ease from him beside me. He adjusts his glasses, then surprises me by taking my hand. The guy’s gaze falls to it, his brows rising.
“Zinnia,” Nick says calmly, “this is my brother, Marcus.”
Oh.
My smile falters. This is Nick’s brother? The brother who found his private sketchbooks, rifled through them, then laughed so hard Nick quit drawing altogether? He’s the reason Nick is so tightly wound?
I bite my tongue as all the things I want to say to him clamor up my throat at once. It’s not my place, and I’m sure Nick wouldn’t want me to.
But goddamn, I want to put him in his place.
Marcus’s gaze lingers on our joined hands, and he smirks. “What’s going on here?”
“We’ve been seeing each other,” Nick says carefully. Then adds, almost to himself, “Just for the summer.”
Marcus’s brows hit the roof. I open my mouth to say… I don’t even know what, when our coffee order is called.
Probably just as well.
“We need to get to class,” Nick mutters.
I turn to find Daisy holding out our drinks with a grin. She hands them over, gaze moving curiously between me, Nick, and Marcus, and I mouth, “Tell you later,” before Nick and I slip out the door.
Nick is pensive as we walk along Fruit Street to the arts center. I’m not sure if it’s from running into Marcus or from the fact that someone he knows saw us together. But then, Marcus was probably none the wiser until Nick took my hand.
“You didn’t have to tell him we’re…” I trail off, unsure how to phrase it. Not when I’m supposed to leave town in a couple days.
“Yes, I did.”
I glance at Nick. “Why?”
He stares straight ahead with a furrowed brow, saying nothing, and I exhale.
“He seems… nice.” I take a sip of coffee, adding, “Although I have to admit, I kind of wanted to punch him.”
A wry smile lifts one side of Nick’s mouth. “ That’s why.”
“What?”
He stops, still two blocks from the arts center, and turns to me. “You stood up for me before you even knew who he was.”
“Well, yeah.” I frown. “And believe me, once I knew he was your brother, I wanted to do a lot more than that.”
Nick’s eyes penetrate mine, swimming with something I can’t name.
Then he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close to cover my mouth with his, kissing me deeply.
I soften against him, forgetting where we are, losing myself in this moment with him.
When we finally part, Nick drops his forehead to mine.
“You’re amazing, Zinnia.” His rough exhale is sweet against my lips. “God, I wish…” But he doesn’t let himself finish the sentence, shaking his head and forcing himself to step back. “Come on.”
And I spend the rest of the evening wondering what, exactly, he wished for.
Life drawing is tenser than usual. Nick’s eyes never leave me, unless to help a student, and even then it’s with great reluctance. I’ve been nude in this room many times before, completely exposed and on display, but tonight is the first time I blush under the intensity of his gaze.
I don’t know if anyone else notices.
After class, he packs down with stiff, agitated movements, but it’s different from the Nick I met. Instead of his body language signaling control and restraint, it feels more… despondent. Defeated, almost.
My heart sinks as I tighten my robe, stepping forward to help him.
We’ve spent the most amazing two weeks together.
I still can’t believe how willingly Nick fucked me in front of that mirror, how well it worked to help his walls come crumbling down.
Since then I’ve felt closer to him than ever, but seeing Marcus seems to have set him back.
And I’m furious.
I know he’s Nick’s brother. It’s probably far more complicated than I realize, but it crushes me to see Nick hurting like this.
“Thinking about Marcus?” I ask cautiously, as Nick snaps an easel shut with far more force than necessary.
He looks at me from under low brows. “Yes.”
“You know he was wrong, don’t you?”
His forehead creases in confusion. “About what?”
“Your drawing. He probably laughed because he was jealous.”
“That’s not…” Nick begins, but I plow on, determination rising hot inside me. He needs to hear this, because my guess is no one ever told him.
“You’re so fucking talented, Nick,” I say fiercely. “And I won’t let you give it up again.”
He stares at me, unblinking. His chest rises and falls with his rapid breathing, and he swallows loud enough for me to hear.
“Zinnia…” His voice comes out choked, full of grit.
I expect him to push back, to argue with me about his brother, but instead he steps forward, hauling me into his arms. I yelp in surprise as he tugs me onto the sofa, and I straddle his lap, just like the last time I tried to have sex with him here.
Only this time, Nick isn’t stopping.