Delinda walked past her, looked around, and wrinkled her nose at the messy living room. “I had a guest room made up for you at my house across town. Both your mother and father are staying with me. I’m surprised you chose not to.”
“Yeah.” Exhausted and suddenly nauseous, Nicolette closed the door and rubbed a hand over her face. She must have done something awful in her last life to deserve this hell. “I hadn’t seen Kiki since college. We had a lot to catch up on.”
“Is she here?” Delinda asked.
“No. She went out with—”
With a wave of her hand, Delinda cut her short. “I’d rather not know.” She walked farther into the apartment, moved Nicolette’s folded dress off a chair, and placed it on the table before taking a seat. “So how long are you staying in London?”
“I don’t know.” Nicolette sat on the couch, pulling a blanket up on her lap. “I just finished a project, so I’m not sure where I’ll go next.” How long is she going to pretend she’s here to see how I’m doing? We both know she’s itching to tell me what she thought of my behavior last night.
“You’re turning thirty, Nicolette—”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Exactly. It’s time for you to start thinking about what you want from your life.”
“Why are you here, Delinda?”
“Rachelle was upset after the two of you spoke.”
“The feeling was mutual.”
“She’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Delinda’s tone cut right through Nicolette’s confidence.
Flashes of the night before came back to Nicolette, and there wasn’t one of them she was proud of. She owed Eric and Sage an apology. Sorry I got drunk at your wedding. Sorry I made out with Bryant in front of your guests.
Just sorry.
“I believe you’ve already learned this, but grappa is a liquor that is meant to be sipped and savored. Not guzzled like a—”
“Don’t, Delinda.” Nicolette raised a hand. “Please don’t.” The mere mention of it was enough to flip her stomach.
Delinda looked around, and Nicolette followed her gaze. The clothing she’d tossed on the floor the night before had been folded and stowed back in her luggage. Had Bryant done that? The room spun a little. I know I didn’t do it.
Her stomach churned.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
Do. Not. Throw up.
Her grandmother had that oh-so-familiar tight, judgmental expression.
Nicolette squared her shoulders. Yeah, take a good look. I’m sure I’m a beautiful sight.
Delinda folded and unfolded her hands on her lap. “You used to call me Grandmother.”
“I used to know we were related.”
Delinda sighed. “Spencer felt the same way, but then he realized it doesn’t matter.”
Nicolette’s hands fisted, bunching the blanket inside them. “Doesn’t matter to who?”
“To whom,” Delinda corrected.
That little correction was enough to have Nicolette’s pride kick in. It brought back every visit she’d had with her grandmother—every time, despite hoping it would be different, she’d felt the sting of her disapproval. As a child, Nicolette had run to hug her, only to be reminded that children do not run indoors. Every achievement had been dismissed. Nothing was ever good enough. She was never right.
Maybe I don’t want to be a Westerly if this is what it feels like.
“Thank you for the lesson in grammar. Are you done, or would you like to critique anything else while you’re here? Don’t hold back. Say you hate where I’m staying. That I look horrible. Oh yes, and you think my behavior at the wedding yesterday was not up to your standards. Say it—I know you want to.”
Delinda’s small frame tensed—like a snake readying to strike. “There’s no need for rudeness, Nicolette. Don’t let your chosen surroundings negate your good upbringing.”
“You know nothing about my upbringing. So say your piece. And then, please—go. I’ll apologize to Eric later, smile politely regardless of how I feel, and pretend everything is fine. But know that the only perk of discovering I might not be Dereck’s daughter is that I also might not be related to you.”
It was an awful thing to say, but if Nicolette had hoped for an emotional response from her grandmother, she didn’t get one. Delinda’s composure didn’t even crack. If anything, she looked annoyed. “I am hard on you, but . . .” She stood and waved a hand in the air. “How could anyone be expected to condone this?”
Nicolette rose to her feet as well, walked to the door, and held it open. “Thankfully, you don’t have to.”
Delinda stepped just outside the door. Some of her arrogance fell away, but it was too late. “Nicolette, what I came here to say was that I—”
Nicolette closed the door in her face, and in a mockery of her grandmother’s voice, she muttered, “I’d rather not know.”
For several moments after the older woman left, Nicolette leaned back against the door. She’d always been the snarky one in her family, but she’d never said hurtful things or wished for anything but good for those around her. In her fantasy family, she could run after her grandmother, throw herself in her arms, and apologize.
In reality, if she did that, Delinda would probably chastise her for making a public display of herself and start another argument. It wasn’t just Delinda. Lately every conversation Nicolette had with her family was stuck in some kind of dysfunctional loop.
It’s me, isn’t it? There is no going back. I can keep banging my head on that wall, or I can figure out what else to do.
She stumbled to her suitcase, grabbed some clothing, and made her way to the shower. When she returned to the living room, she was dressed in her normal jeans and T-shirt. The messiness of the living room disgusted her, so she threw her hair up in a ponytail and began to clean it. That was the power of Delinda. Her disapproval not only stung but lingered, changing a person’s behavior. Once you saw your life through her eyes, it was impossible to go back to “good enough.”
Almost thirty and I’m couch surfing like someone in college.
I couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel room even if I wanted to.
She’s right—is this the life I want for myself?
One phone call to Dereck Westerly would significantly change her financial situation. She’d lost count of how many times he’d offered to give her an allowance. She continued to clean as she reminded herself why that wasn’t possible.
I don’t want to be taken care of—like I’m a child.
Like I’m his.
Nicolette paced Kiki’s immaculate apartment. She stopped in front of a mirror. Her transgressions from the night before were partially concealed by the miracle of makeup, but that didn’t make Nicolette like what she saw in the mirror.
I’ve become the woman who leaves a wedding with a man she doesn’t know and begs him to stay with her because she’s afraid of being alone. A woman so pathetic and so drunk that he doesn’t even want to fuck her.
That woman.
“How could anyone be expected to condone this?” Delinda’s cutting remark echoed within Nicolette, filling her with the same disgust toward herself that she’d felt when she’d looked around the living room earlier.
She squared her shoulders and told herself that all she had to do was make it through the rest of the weekend. Eric and Sage had postponed their honeymoon a day so the whole family could gather at their home for brunch.
I’ll apologize to everyone and just suck it up.
One more big family gathering, and I’m free.
She glanced down at her jeans. Were they suitable for brunch with this new version of her family? Probably not.
She hadn’t packed anything nicer. She’d shed so much of what she owned when she started moving around.
Her credit cards were maxed out, otherwise she’d go shopping.
There’d been a time not that long a
go when she would have turned to her sister, Rachelle, for advice. She might have even raided her closet, but not after last night.
I’ve made such a mess of everything.
Nicolette’s mother had always told her that doing the right thing meant putting aside one’s feelings for the greater good of the family. It was why they had gone to see Delinda even though they’d always left feeling worse for the experience. It was what kept Nicolette coming to these family events.
Now that her mother’s infidelity had come to light, so much of what she’d preached sounded hypocritical. Her mother certainly hadn’t let what would have been best for the family be her moral compass.
Eric had it right when he made his home an ocean away from the rest of us.
How much would he actually miss me if I skipped the brunch?
How much would anyone?
She searched her email on her phone until she found the message she’d received from a woman named Paisley Russo, who owned a bed-and-breakfast in MacAuley, Iowa. It was a small town with an uncertain future. The woman had seen an article about Nicolette’s photographs being included in an exhibit in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and had asked her if she’d photograph her town . . . help put it on the map again.
Iowa.
Nicolette needed to get away, and Iowa sounded as away as a person could get. The town would be the perfect place to hide. Safe. Isolated.
Paisley said people there didn’t have to lock their doors. It was a place where children still rode their bikes to school, people took care of their neighbors, and strangers were potential friends. They were an open community who wanted to be known as such.
It probably wasn’t the haven Paisley described, but what was the likelihood that Nicolette would run into anyone she knew there? Zero.
Nicolette laughed without humor. A number I’m becoming familiar with.
The email said the main income of the town had come from a factory that had closed a few years back, and now its population was dwindling. They needed to lure either a new business or more tourism into the area before the local government dissolved.
Paisley doesn’t know that the only reason my photos are in a museum is because Delinda is a generous benefactor. I should tell her she reached out to the only Westerly without connections or influence.
Or I could go and use this as a fresh start. I do know how to get the press interested in a story and how to build a social media platform.
Maybe I could help that town.
Worst case? They don’t pay me because they don’t like my work. I don’t have a lot of other options right now.
Nicolette sent a quick text to Eric that included an apology as well as a lie. She said she wished she could have made it to his house for brunch, but she had been called away early for a job.
She wrote to the woman in MacAuley to say that she would love to help the town. Despite the early hour in the US, the woman wrote back that she was thrilled and asked Nicolette when she should expect her.
Tonight, Nicolette texted.
Tonight? That’s fabulous. I’ll have a room made up for you. Tell me your flight information, and someone will pick you up from the airport.
Nicolette used a flight voucher to book one leaving a few hours later, then texted Kiki to thank her for letting her stay with her. She grabbed her luggage, called for a ride to the airport, and told herself she wasn’t running away—she was doing what was best for everyone involved.
It wasn’t until she was in the back of a car speeding toward the airport that she gave a thought to the man who had taken care of her the night before. She cringed as she remembered how he’d found her in the bathroom.
Then blushed as she relived their kisses. I am never drinking again.
Was he even as hot as I remember, or was I just that drunk?
She smiled with self-deprecation. He’s probably twice my age and bald. Grappa, tequila has nothing on you.
But he sure did know how to kiss.
On the heels of that memory came the one of Rachelle finding them together, and embarrassment filled Nicolette again. Stop.
I want off this ride.
All of it.
Iowa, here I come.
Later that day, in flight back to New York City, Bryant texted his friend and business partner Lonsdale Carver. They’d met during a robotics competition in high school and gotten such a kick out of each other’s entries that they’d stayed in touch afterward.
Lon was a self-made man. He’d put himself through college and fought for everything he had. His robot designs reflected his view of life being a battleground. Want a robot that could be hit by a car, pick itself up, and make emergency self-repairs if necessary? Lon was your man.
Bryant’s prototypes were more focused on improving the human condition. He’d seen up close how fragile a body could be in the end. His goal was to have a viable, affordable robotic caretaker that was strong enough to lift any body type while remaining gentle. His innovation would also create just enough AI communication skills to be a comfort to its user.
AI and robots already had a foothold in the health-care industry, but they weren’t yet where Bryant imagined them going. It wasn’t enough for AI to become commonplace; it needed to do so in a way that valued human dignity. Coding compassion was what Bryant was known for.
Lon: Got your notes. Sounds like the trip was worth it.
Bryant: It was. I did bring a translator, but I should have brought twenty. The meeting felt more like a conference where I was the guest speaker. They sent a crew of their top designers to meet me.
Lon: I told you that might happen. Did you at least leave with as much as you shared?
Bryant: I hope so. They’re beyond us in some aspects, but we’re ahead in others. Affordability will be their greatest hurdle. They want too much out of the gate. People don’t mind simple in the beginning as long as it’s reliable. What mattered to me was that they left knowing what I imagine will soon be possible.
Lon: You’re too generous with our competitors.
Bryant: We’re all going to get there, Lon. It’s only a matter of time. Riku MedTech is leading the industry over there. Their caretaking robots will show up in the US market—there’s no avoiding that. I can’t, in good conscience, not share what I know if, by doing so, we affect the quality of care the users will receive.
Lon: Touching sentiments, but not the best way to secure our own place in the market.
Bryant: We already have more money than we know what to do with.
Lon: Speak for yourself.
Bryant: We can’t take it with us. What do you want to be remembered for?
Lon: That’s the point. Giving your methods away will ensure someone else will be credited for your achievements.
Bryant: I’m fine with that.
They’d had this conversation before. Conversation, not argument. They’d long ago accepted that there were some things they’d never agree on, but unlike his relationship with his father, they respected each other more for their differences. There was no better wingman.
Lon: How was the wedding?
Bryant: Interesting.
Lon: You go to a Westerly shindig, survive it, and that’s all I get?
Bryant: It wasn’t at all the way I imagined it.
Lon: So they welcomed you with open arms?
Bryant: Not exactly.
Lon: They threw you out.
Bryant: No, but I don’t think I’ll be invited back anytime soon. Alessandro had it in his head that I’d be perfect for the youngest Westerly, Nicolette.
Lon: Wtf that family hates you.
Lon wasn’t wrong.
Bryant: You know how Alessandro is. He thinks everything is fixable.
Lon: Tell me you didn’t fuck her.
If anyone else had asked, Bryant would have said it was none of his business. Lon was different, though. He was the closest Bryant had to family. I didn’t fuck her.
Lon: Thank God. We’re doing too well to
invite trouble. You don’t want to be the third generation that family comes for.
Bryant: I’m not my father. He tangled with them and lost. I don’t care what happened before I was born. For all I know, my grandfather deserved it. God knows, my father’s a dick.
Lon: Okay. So you’ll be back tonight.
Bryant: Yeah.
Lon: Up for drinks?
Bryant: No. I’ve got a lot on my mind.
Lon: As long as it’s not Nicolette Westerly.
Bryant didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to lie to Lon. Nicolette was exactly what he couldn’t stop thinking about. He’d done the responsible thing—taken her home and left it at that. He had no doubt that Elise and Alessandro had stayed with her and that they wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. They considered her family as well.
She’d be fine.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have stayed. He’d slept like shit because his thoughts kept going back over everything she’d said and asking himself if he should have done more—or less.
Questions were driving him crazy, especially considering he could have had them answered by Alessandro. For all the good qualities that man had, keeping a secret wasn’t one of them.
He told himself he’d stopped Alessandro from spilling the details of Nicolette’s situation because he respected her privacy. The truth? That might have been part of it, but he couldn’t deny that he didn’t want to get pulled in deeper. Beautiful and troubled—might as well call her what she was—a successful man’s Kryptonite.
Lon: Pursuing anything with her would be business suicide. I’m just throwing that out there because I like being wealthy.
His friend’s seriousness belied the joke. And he was right. There were a lot of women in the world, and whatever Nicolette was dealing with, it wasn’t like she was alone. Especially now that Alessandro was involved. He’d watch out for her.
Lon: Come out tonight. We’ll find you someone who will wipe your little infatuation right out of your head.
Bryant: It’s not like that.
Lon: Not like what?
Bryant didn’t answer, because he couldn’t yet articulate how he felt. Yes, the first lure of her had been purely sexual, but the reason he’d had trouble leaving her apartment had been about more than that.
Runaway Heir Page 5
