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I shift on my feet, unsure of what to do, as the tension from whatever history they share hangs in the air, thick and ready to snap at any moment.
“Okay, boys. Shall we go inside?” Eleanor suggests, trying to defuse the tension between them.
Alexander smirks, his hand outstretched. “Come on in, little brother.” I glance back at Nicholas, catching the tightness in his jaw.
The inside of the house is just as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, marble floors, and a sweeping staircase that leads to the second floor, the railings sleek and dark against the light colors of the foyer, with a long crystal chandelier hanging in the middle. The walls are filled with abstract art, paintings and sculptures I can’t even begin to name, and a grand piano tucked in the corner.
Eleanor leads us through the house, showing off room after room as we make our way toward the living room, where the fire crackles in a huge brick fireplace.
“So, tell me about the wedding.” Eleanor grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement as we finally sit down on her plush white couch. “Have you guys decided on a date yet? What’s the guest list look like?” She gasps. “Have you picked out a dress?”
I glance at Nicholas, anxiety twisting in my stomach. We haven’t planned a single thing because… this isn’t real. There won’t be a wedding. I won’t stand at the aisle, gazing into Nicholas’ eyes as I sayI do.
But before I can answer, Nicholas speaks up, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me a little closer to him.
“We’re still in the early stages of planning. But we want something small,” he begins, his arm curling around my waist. “Just close family and a few friends. In the fall, with the leaves falling and the warm breeze, crisp air. And of course there will be ducks.”
Ducks?
Oh my god. He’s describing the exact wedding I’ve always dreamed of; the intimate gathering I told him about months ago.
My brows furrow in confusion as I glance up at him, my heart thudding as I wait for an explanation, but Nicholas glances down at me with a smile.Right. Of course. He’s simply pretending we’ll have a future together. I manage a tight smile as I swallow back the rising ache.
Eleanor’s expression softens, her eyes glistening. “Your father would have loved to see that,” she adds. “He would have been so proud of you, Nicholas.”
Nicholas's hand flexes around my waist as his shoulders drop. I can only imagine how much that must have meant to him.
But then, Alexander’s voice cuts through the moment as he lets out a scoff. “Dad coddled you too much,” he says, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair.
I glance at Nicholas, watching the tension tighten in his jaw. “He gave me what he thought I deserved,” Nicholas replies, his tone colder than I’ve ever heard it. “I worked beside him day by day. You, however, did whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted.”
“Boys,” Eleanor interjects, trying to diffuse the brewing tension. “Let’s not do this now. We have company.”
Alexander rolls his eyes. “You always think you’re the one who worked the hardest. Always the golden boy, huh?” Alexander slaps his hand down on the table, the force making me jump. “I deserve that position.”
Nicholas stands up suddenly. “You deserve nothing,” he snaps. “You’re lucky I even gave you the position in L.A. Without me, you would have been on your own. I gave you a lifeline, and you’ve done nothing but disrespect me.”
There’s a beat of silence where neither of them says anything, but I can see the fury in their eyes.
Finally, Nicholas glances at his mother, his expression softening a little. “Excuse me, Mom. I’d like to show Amara upstairs.”
Eleanor gives a small nod, her smile apologetic. “Of course, darling.”
Nicholas takes my hand as we make our way to the stairs, his grip tightening. Once we reach the top, he pushes open a door and steps into what I assume is his childhood bedroom.
I follow him inside, my eyes widening when I glance around. His room is different than I expected. Expensive, sure, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. A few soccer jerseys hang on the walls, trophies are lined up neatly on a shelf, and posters cover every inch of space above his bed.
I wander over to the shelf, running my fingers lightly over a framed photo of a younger Nicholas, grinning with a group of boys, all wearing the same soccer jersey.
“I didn’t know you played soccer,” I say, trying to fill the silence.
Nicholas lets out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps closer, his eyes following mine. “I told you,” he says quietly. “You don’t really know me.”
I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “I know you a little,” I tease, though curiosity bubbles inside me. There’s still so much I don’t know about him, about his past, the person he used to be.
He groans, and then, before I even have a chance to react, his forehead presses against mine. His eyes are dark and unreadable as his pulse thumps against mine.
“If I wasn’t so messed up over my brother…” A rumble erupts in his throat. “I’d bend you over my bed and fuck you.”