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It was still midday when I climbed into bed. It felt too large without Nico. I’d been sleeping with him for a week and now there was a big void on the mattress where he should be.
I wondered if he would let some other woman sleep in his bed. My chest tightened and burned at the thought. I hated any woman who got to touch him, to hear his voice in her ear and have his full attention. I hated her so much and she wasn’t even real yet.
If anything, I now understood why women stuck by the men in this world, no matter what they did or said. Love. Why couldn’t it work both ways?
I lay there and watched the sun drift behind the horizon until I finally fell asleep.
Red and yellow lights blurred through the floor-to-ceiling windows and into the dark room. I blinked at the alarm clock that read one a.m. and then rolled onto my back. Fear hit me in the chest, but it was quickly replaced with a relief so strong I felt breathless.
He sat on the side of the bed with his back toward me, his elbows on his knees, and his gaze out the window.
From his mere presence, my heart began to sew itself back together. I knew the stitches would tear once he walked away from me again.
“Start at the beginning,” he rasped.
Every cell in my body filled with desperation, longing, and hope.
I sat up. “Of today, or—?”
“Last winter, when you ran.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, I began to tell him about how and why I left. Everything from Oscar to the carousel to him. How I met him, how I had to watch my uncle kill him, and, wanting to get everything out in the open, that I slept with him.
His shoulders tensed. “You realize you gave him something that belongs to me, don’t you?”
I opened my mouth and closed it. How very Nico-like to claim ownership of my body before he’d even met me.
“How many?” he asked.
“How many what?”
“Men,” he growled.
I wanted to say, “You first,” for the sake of pointing out a double standard, but truthfully there wasn’t a tiny part of me that wanted to know how many women he’d been with. I pulled at a loose thread on the comforter.
“Two,” I whispered. “You and him. I haven’t even kissed another man. I swear it.”
A stillness settled over the room as I listened to my hopeful heartbeats and he stared straight ahead. He still wore the same clothes from earlier and I wondered what he’d done today, who he was with, and if he’d thought of me at all.
“Tell me why you were with Sebastian,” he said.
“I ran into him at the bank. I told him not to follow me but . . . he’s persistent.”
“He’s a fucking idiot,” was what Nico muttered.
Is. Present tense, meaning he was currently alive. Relief filled me.
I could see the lightest reflection of him in the window, smeared with yellow city lights. He glanced at his hands, asking, “Did you love him?” His tone was indifferent, but a hint of something raw bled through.
I knew he was no longer speaking of Sebastian.
“No,” I said. “I hardly even knew him.”
He let out a dry breath, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck before giving his head a shake. “Your sister seems to be under a different impression.”
I closed my eyes when I remembered our last conversation and her “Uh-oh.” After sawing my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment, I said, “Adriana assumed, nothing more.”
Sirens echoed up the walls of the building as silence swept back in. A heavy tension lay beneath.