Page 48 of Fair Trade (New York Monarchs #2)
forty-four
“I’m not sick.”
I try to hold in my laugh and fail. “Nick, you’ve been blowing your nose all morning. And it looks like you’re trying to compete in a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer competition.”
“Am not.” He harrumphs, running a hand over his shirtless chest.
“You need to take some cold medicine and get back in bed.” I try to steer him out of the kitchen, but he won’t budge.
“I am perfectly fine. It’s probably allergies.”
I narrowly escape the danger zone of his sudden sneeze attack.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m staying home today. With my luck, you’ll hit a counter while sneezing and I’ll have to explain to detectives that my stubborn husband accidentally killed himself and that I swear I didn’t do it for the life insurance policy.”
He’s shaking his head while blowing his nose.
“Absolutely not. You have that call with Julian Vega and his agent. You’ve been preparing all week.
” He tosses the napkin into the trash, then straightens, suddenly seeming more alert.
“You wouldn’t call out of work if you were on death’s doorstep, so why would you call out for me?
” His brows raise subtly when I don’t have an immediate answer.
This is how it’s been for the past few weeks.
Nick doesn’t outright say it, but I know what he’s aiming for.
He wants me to admit my real feelings about him, about us.
And while we’ve continued to fool around every night in bed, he’s kept true to his promise of not going any further until I’m ready to treat this marriage like the real deal. Not the arrangement we signed up for, but with boundaries so blurred, it’s laughable to believe they were ever even there.
He’s right, though. I wouldn’t take a sick day for myself, even on the worst days of my PCOS struggles, yet I was ready to stay home and tend to him because he has a simple cold.
Because I know him. I remember him slipping me the details of how much of a baby he turns into when he gets a “man cold.”
And I remember Daisy telling us a few months back, before Mateo and Isabella officially got together, that their mother died when Nick was eleven.
His late Dominican mother. The other fact that Daisy accidentally let slip on the night she had a little too much to drink. The night we now refer to as “strikeout,” since Mateo came barreling into that bar to whisk Isa away and finally have his wicked way with her.
Nick has slowly slipped in details about his mom here and there, but I know that it’s not an easy subject for him to broach, so I haven’t pushed for more.
But now, as he stares down at me, his gaze a swirl of suspicion and hope, I wonder if I could actually do it.
Let myself be truly loved by this man. Put my heart in his hands and hope that he doesn’t decide to toss it aside the second he gets his hands on his coveted asset, the same one he’s yet to fill me in on.
Because even though I trust Nick’s words and actions, I can’t shake the knowledge of how our marriage came to be. The reason he kept his role as owner of the Monarchs this long, when he had no prior interest in baseball.
Some weird tug-of-war between him and his estranged father for this unnamed thing that is the reason for the ring on my finger.
How am I supposed to let myself fall when I don’t know what’s going to happen once the year is up and Nick has satisfied the terms of the will?
I’m no stranger to being loved by someone, only to have to question if they truly mean it. As a child, my mother would tell me she loved me but could barely make it out of bed most days to walk me to school.
There were times I believed that her depression was stronger than her love for me. Because, in my adolescent mind, I thought that maybe people loved you because they had to, not because they actually felt it.
The same distorted thoughts swirl in my mind now, making me worry that Nick thinks he’s developed feelings for me because I’m his wife and his brain has convinced him he has to.
But my heart fights against that idea. I know the feelings I have, the ones I’ve worked tirelessly to keep below the surface. And if Nick feels a fraction of that for me, then maybe this thing between us can be real.
I have more questions than answers.
So I turn and leave Nick without another word and do what any responsible adult would do in this position.
I call my mom.
“Luisa, you’re going to be late,” Nick says grumpily as I slowly move through the living room.
The doorbell rings, and Nick takes out his phone to check the security cameras. “No need to check. I know who it is.” I walk past the foyer quickly and open the door for my mother.
“Mija, you look so pretty dressed for work. I love when you wear a pink blazer. You pull it off so well.” She gives me a big kiss on the cheek as I move around her to take off her coat.
She takes me by surprise when she pulls me in for a tight hug.
“And thank you for letting me help. I’m so glad I can do this for you.
And for Nick.” Her eyes beam with unshed happy tears.
This is my mom. The woman who never gave up on me, and, more importantly, never gave up on herself. As much as I told myself I was calling her to help Nick feel better while I’m at work, I know I also needed a reminder as to how far she’s come.
She still has her moments, but for the most part, with a combination of therapy and medication, my mom has reclaimed her life and has spent every second I allow showing me how much she loves me.
I let out a slow breath, and the tension I’ve been holding in my body since my conversation with Nick in the kitchen slowly starts to dissipate.
The sounds of clanking pots and pans have me looking over her shoulder and smiling. Looks like she brought reinforcements.
“Ay Dios mío. Where is the patient?” Tía Marisol dramatically yells.
“I’m making sancocho for him but needed my caldero because I wasn’t sure if your fancy pots would get the job done.” Tía Gloria brushes past us without a second glance, rushing off to the kitchen to start chopping like a madwoman, I assume.
Nick’s look of confusion is endearing. I’m sure his cold medicine–addled brain is trying to catch on to what’s happening, so I move over to him and tug on his hand. “I’m going to work, but I called in the troops to help you feel better.”
His eyes scan the main level of our home. One aunt in the kitchen creating beautiful chaos. Another in the living room, plugging in a humidifier that’s older than me but surely trusted and true. And my mother unloading an oversized tote bag filled with wellness goodies.
“What’s going on?” His voice sounds clogged with emotion.
I frame his face with my hands and see the longing written across his features. I place a soft kiss on his cheek and lean back. “We’re taking care of you, Nick.”
I swear his eyes glisten as he wraps me in a fierce hug, trapping the laughter in my chest. “Release me at once, you ogre. I don’t want to get sick.” I start to squirm when he rains down kisses along my neck.
“You kissed me first. And besides, we’re married. My germs are your germs.”
I finally wiggle free just as Tía Marisol comes barreling toward Nick. “Okay, time for the vivaporu .”
“For the what now?” He panics.
I giggle. “Vicks VapoRub. Cures all. Oh, incoming…”
My aunt slathers a generous amount on Nick’s chest, turning his eyes into saucers.
“Wife, help. I don’t know what’s happening here. Is she lubing me up?”
My giggles turn into unrestrained laughter.
“Ay, tranquilo. I’m being thorough. Got to get rid of this big, bad cold.” She emphasizes the last three words by slapping his chest with both hands. “Toma, take the rest.” She hands him the brand-new container. “Stick a bit up your nose.”
“Is that what the instructions say to do? Because I don’t think this should be going into any body parts.”
She clicks her tongue. “Ay, you’ll be fine. Let me know when you need me to reapply.” She smiles as she walks off to the kitchen.
“No, I think I’ll have it handled from here,” he yells after her.
My poor husband seems so scared. Standing shirtless with a glistening chest, holding onto a small Vicks as he mouths, “Help me.”
I wiggle my fingers at him before I close the door behind me.
This should be fun.