Chapter 7
I shrieked, spinning so fast that I nearly lost my footing.
Nicola was sitting up in my bed, one eyebrow raised. Like I’d invaded his privacy somehow.
I immediately crossed my arms over my chest. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
“I was waiting for you to come home.” His eyes lingered on my forearms banded across my breasts for an extra beat before they lifted to my eyes. “But you were taking forever, and I got sleepy.”
“And you decided to hang out in my bed? Go to your own house! How the hell did you get in here, anyway?”
Nicola smiled sweetly and gave a lazy flap of his hand. “Oh, Aubergine. A locked door won’t stop me.”
“Yeah, that’s something a psychopath would say.”
“A psychopath doesn’t give a shit about people,” he clarified with another charming smile. “And I brought you dinner, so clearly I do care. Sooo... what d’you say?”
“Get. Out.” I pointed emphatically toward the door.
“Okay, okay. Geeze.” He climbed out of bed and held up his hands innocently as he squeezed past me.
“I liked that bra,” he commented. With one arm still over my chest, I snatched it off the floor and threw it at him.
The sound of his soft laugh was cut off when I slammed the bedroom door behind him.
Alone, my body bent over while I inwardly screamed.
No. No more bullshit. He didn’t get to gloss over the finer points of this relationship by acting cute.
I yanked on a pair of leggings and dug through the back of my closet for the ugliest shirt I owned. Only seconds later, I found it.
It was neon orange and about five sizes too big for me. I caught it from a T-shirt cannon during a college party.
My favorite part was the hideous frog plastered across the front, with giant letters underneath:
HOPPIN’ AIN’T EASY
I pulled it over my head and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I think I actually looked better in the hazmat suit. And that was really saying something.
With the back of my hand, my lipstick was scrubbed away. I threw my hair into a messy bun that screamed ’I don’t plan on seducing anyone today’.
It was perfect.
Ready for a fight, I threw the bedroom door open and found Nicola in my kitchen.
He was playing music from his phone, and the apartment was filled with the lovely, enticing aroma of dinner.
Upon approach, my anger faltered for exactly one second as I noticed the two filled wine glasses sitting side by side on the countertop.
An old Italian love song drifted through the apartment. A man’s voice crooned softly as I stepped into the kitchen.
“My Nonna played this one all the time,” Nicola said. “It’s nostalgic.”
“I thought you listened to rap.”
“My tastes ebb and flow like the seasons, Aubergine.”
“Uh-huh. Does that carry across the board on all subjects, or just music?”
He shot me a dry look, even though the corners of his mouth curled upward. “I have a meeting with the head of the Ferraro family tomorrow.”
I frowned. “Territory disputes?”
“Among other things.”
“You’re going in with Mike and your guys, right?”
“No. Alone.”
“Oh, no.” Before I realized it, I had crossed over and was standing beside him. “Nicky, don’t do that. They’ll bash your pretty face in.”
Nicola laughed and handed me a filled glass of red wine.
A fresh bottle sat open on the counter. Judging by the label, it looked expensive. Not that I could ever tell the difference.
“If I don’t go in heavy, they won’t either,” he said. “Families play dirty, but there are some codes you don’t fuck with.”
“And you’re just going to sit there and… talk.”
“Yep.”
He nudged me back so he could open the oven. Using a tea towel, he pulled out two foil trays.
“Go sit down, Aubergine.”
As I took my seat, I tried to remember why I was mad.
“By the way, I didn’t see everything, you know,” he mused.
Oh, right. That was why.
“What the hell were you doing in my bedroom?”
“I swung by early to heat up the food so it would be ready when you got home. But I got sleepy, like I said. You had an empty bed.” He shrugged. “Beds are meant to be slept in.”
“Yeah, Nicky. In your own fucking home. Your bed. Not mine.”
When he shot me a withering look, I couldn’t help but smile. His eyes drifted down to my shirt. “What in God’s green earth is that atrocity you’re wearing?”
“A fun t-shirt.”
“It’s a form of contraceptive, is what it is.” His face scrunched in genuine disgust. He gestured down at his tailored suit. “Don’t suppose you want to change for the occasion?”
“No, thanks. I'm happy with my choice.”
Nicola scoffed as he turned to the foil containers again. My victorious smile faded. “You do a good job of avoiding real subjects.”
The soft music filled the silence between us while Nicola focused on plating food.
“I can talk real, Abby.”
He slid a white plate in front of me. Filet Mignon. Roasted potatoes. My mouth immediately watered.
“Oh yeah?” I picked up my wine glass. “I’d love to test that.”
“Fine. After dinner.” Nicola slid into the stool beside me.
“Right now, I just want to enjoy a nice meal with a beautiful...” His gaze traveled slowly down the neon-orange monstrosity hanging off my body. “...well, a pretty face, at least.”
I knew it was a good idea to keep that shirt. I lifted my drink. "Alla tua."
Our glasses clinked together.
“So.” Nicola carved into his steak. “How was work?”
“Good. I'm putting together some models for future investments when the company decides to expand mid-west.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Sounds like a lot of Excel sheets.”
“It is,” I replied, then nearly moaned as the steak melted in my mouth. “Where did you get this from?”
“My personal chef at the house. He packed it into foil containers, gave me instructions and everything.” He glanced over at me. “Pretty good, huh?”
I smiled. “You're like a little boy going to school with his lunchbox.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “How’s your dad? His chemo was yesterday, right?”
He always found the soft part of my armor.
“Yeah. He’s doing really well.” I shrugged. “Or... maybe he’s just lying to me to make me feel better.”
Nicola chewed thoughtfully before frowning. “Why would he do that?”
“Because my life is one unending shit show,” I answered, keeping my eyes down. “If you haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Hm.” He cut another bite of steak. “That does explain why you showed up to do cleaning again.”
“I did it for my dad.”
“I’m sure that’s part of it.” His eyes met mine. “But you need the cash, don’t you?”
“Before you even suggest it, I’m not taking out a loan from you,” I hissed. “And you better take that envelope with you, Nicola. I didn’t earn it, and I don’t want any lingering debts. I have enough of those as it is.”
His jaw tightened, failing to hide his annoyance. “Aubergine, you almost got shot. Consider it hazard pay. Just keep the fucking money.”
I glanced toward the envelope sitting on the counter.
No strings? No expectations... just help?
“I know you,” he continued quietly. “You’re not going to spend it on a Prada bag.”
I huffed a laugh despite myself. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
For a little while, neither of us spoke.
Music filled the apartment while we finished dinner, the old singer’s voice carried softly through the kitchen. Somehow, the silence wasn’t awkward.
It was actually... really nice.
Nicola and I faced each other while we shared a slice of cheesecake for dessert.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere doing something important right now?” I asked.
“I did all that already. I spent most of the day putting out fires from last night. And setting up tomorrow’s meeting was a miraculous feat in itself.”
“Sounds like you need a good night’s rest.”
He pointed his fork at me. “Couldn’t agree more.”
“So...” I leaned back. “Why are you here instead of being cozied up in your own bed?”
“Well, the strangest, most peculiar thing happened to me.” He set his fork down and wiped his hands on his napkin. His long, elegant legs crossed.
“I went home, I showered. Thought I’d catch a few hours of sleep. So, I laid down. My head went onto my pillow– my expensive one. It has a silk cover.”
“Very nice.”
“It is, thank you.” He nodded and I smiled into my wine.
“Anyway. I was in my bed. And I couldn’t fucking sleep.”
“Uh-huh.” I tipped my head. “So you’re saying you can only sleep when your head’s in my lap?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I watched his fingers tap absently against the stem of his wine glass before going still.
“No. It’s...” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”
For the first time since I’d met him, Nicola Moretti looked completely out of his depth.
“It’s the proximity," he continued.
“The proximity to what?”
He looked at me then, with intensity that made me terrified and hopeful in the same moment. My face burned the longer our gazes held.
“You." His brow pinched, like he was searching for a word he didn’t want to use. His gaze drifted away. “I'm at peace around you.”
Nicola's face softened at his own admission and my heart wanted to melt to the ground.
God, he made it so hard to be mad at him.
I leaned forward until our noses were almost touching. “I know for a fact that isn’t what friends say to each other.”
His eyes searched mine. “It’s not that simple, Abby.”
“I watched you bowl your way through every beautiful woman in Manhattan. And then suddenly, when it comes to me...” I threw my hands into the air. “I’m not good enough?”
“Good enough? You think the way I treated those women was good? I fucked them for a few weeks. Maybe a couple months. Then rinse and repeat.”
His eyes turned intense again and one of his black eyebrows arched in challenge. “You want that, Aubergine? You want to be fucked and then tossed aside?”
At least it would’ve been something real. Even if it was fleeting.
I wouldn't have to endure another vicarious experience, watching him pick every woman but me.
Not knowing how to answer that without humiliating myself, I rose from my stool and carried my plate to the sink.
Nicola followed. Close enough that I could feel warmth radiating from him.
“You want that?” He repeated as his hand closed around my shoulder. I was turned to face him.
His thumb shifted ever so slightly against my sleeve. “Let me answer for you. No, you don’t.”
He just... didn't fucking get it. A tear broke past my defenses and streaked down my cheek.
"Abs--"
My brain agreed with his sentiments. My heart absolutely fucking didn’t.
“I’m not afraid of being hurt by you, Nicola.”
His eyes closed and his shoulders heaved with a deep sigh.
Emboldened, I moved into him. My hands rested over his chest and my fingers spread over his shirt. His heartbeat pounded beneath my palms.
I slid them upward until they framed his face.
When his eyes opened, he looked worried. Petrified, actually. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
I scared a mafia don. Was that an insult or a compliment?
Slowly, I rose onto my toes. Nicola's breathing hitched.But his head dipped and my lips parted. Every muscle in his body tensed.
And then I was shoved away.
“I gotta go.” The words came out rough.
He snatched up his jacket, his tie, his shoes. Another world record set, probably.
The front door slammed behind him.
Like a clueless idiot, my fingertips rose and pressed against my lips he didn't touch.