by Lexie Ray
Nick entered me in one long, gentle thrust, and I gasped. This. It was this. This was it. This was everything. This was everything that we needed. We were together, sharing breath as we kissed each other, me breathing for him, then Nick returning the favor.
How could two human beings be so close? We were living proof, living examples. We moved in tandem, as if our time together had been choreographed. I’d had awkward hookups, bumped noses and heads, clashed teeth, laughed about it.
But neither of us were laughing about anything right now. This was serious. This was spiritual. This was something beyond words, in an emotional category of its own. Our hearts beat together. Our lungs sucked down air together. Our blood flowed in rhythm, building and building, quickening, and then I was sobbing against him, sobbing in pleasure, weeping with the blinding ecstasy, the ultimate pleasure, the crest of the wave and beyond it. Nick was there, surfing down it with me on the other side, muffling his cries into my hair, giving up, howling at the ceiling, pushing and pulling and holding on to me for dear life.
The silence was loud as we rested, still joined, still of one body as if it were just the most natural state of being for the two of us, and I had to smile. If the doctor had heard that cacophony of sex, I was sure that men were on their way to buckle us up into straitjackets and bus us away to some facility. There had simply been too many strong feelings and too much that had happened. Some things would still have to be unraveled — things that would have to wait until tomorrow or the next day or the next.
We had the time. It was time to sleep, now. Nick was my living blanket, connected, and I drifted off, secure, comfortable, home.
Chapter 15
I woke up unsure of where I was but sure that I’d been asleep for way too long, and alone. It was an uncomfortable way to exit slumber, but I quickly figured out that I was in the Mason family’s hotel suite in New York City, that it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon, and that I’d had sex with Nick last night, mere minutes after his father had died.
Was there a competition for the strangest day ever? I was pretty sure the one before would win it.
I searched my heart for doubt, for regret, for even a kernel of shame for sleeping with Nick last night, but there was nothing. I’d slept exceedingly well. My limbs felt long and loose and relaxed, not a kink in them.
For better or worse, Nick and I had excellent sex. It was puzzling. Neither of us had been drunk, our better sensibilities dulled, our decision-making shot. We’d been stone-cold sober, if maybe emotionally and physically exhausted, but had made a conscious decision to have sex.
I wondered where he was, then realized that, upon his father dying, the Mason Hotel empire was officially Nick’s. That made my stomach clench more than the knowledge that we’d had sex last night.
I rolled out of bed, realized I was naked, and cursed colorfully. I should’ve taken a moment to pack a bag, should’ve at least bought a couple of shirts at the airport or something. Now I had to deal with the consequences.
In my despair over my lack of preparedness, I almost missed the note on the bedside table.
I have some things to do this morning, it read in Nick’s bold cursive. Sleep as late as you like. I had some clothes and toiletries brought up for you. Give me a text when you’re up and about.
Well, I’d already slept as late as I liked, apparently. Had I slept so soundly that people had been in and out of here without me waking up? I frowned. I normally wasn’t a deep sleeper.
I opened one of the dresser drawers and found it full to the brim with panties — and not your Hanes value pack, either. These were nicer than the ones I had back in Miami, and they were all my size. I had a shameful image of Nick examining my discarded underwear to get my size, and quickly banished it from my mind.
The next drawer revealed bras — expensive, gorgeous concoctions in lace and bows — and the next had socks, stockings, a couple of pairs of elusive pajamas.
The closet yielded several pairs of nice jeans, all manner of trousers, dresses, and skirts, and suits, each more elegant than the next. There were no less than fifteen pairs of shoes — sneakers, sandals, heels, everything — arranged in a wooden shelving unit.
This was a whole new wardrobe. I could literally live in New York City with this kind of clothing. I had no idea what I might need a suit for during my stay here, but there it was, hanging there like it had belonged to me this entire time.
How long was Nick planning on having me stay in the Big Apple? He’d asked what kind of time I could spend here, and I’d told him as long as it took. Had he taken that at face value? Was he hunkering down for the long haul? The thought wasn’t as daunting as I thought it probably should be.
I picked out a fluttery top and one of the pairs of jeans and tossed them on the bed before showering off a plane ride and a full day and our nighttime activities. The bathroom was gorgeous and modern, and all of the products that had been arranged in there were top of the line, high-end shampoos and conditioners and mousses I would never buy for myself, no matter how much money I was pulling in.
There was even makeup — glorious makeup — from all the brands I lusted after. It was as if my fairy godmother had fluttered in here and granted my every wish, spreading different shades of lipstick and eye shadow across the countertop.
I got ready, my stomach fluttering with excitement until it broke into a long, loud growl. Okay, maybe it was hunger instead of excitement. I stopped primping and grabbed my phone only to see that Nick had already texted me.
Wake up, Pink, the message read, and I smiled.
Starving, I sent back. Can we grab a bite, or are you too busy?
There was a knock on my door. “Come in!” I called, a little uncertain, but I grinned when I saw it was Nick. There wasn’t an ounce of awkwardness in the way he smiled at me, and I had to wonder at that. Did he feel as unapologetic about last night as I did? That was incredibly refreshing. But then he opened his fool mouth and ruined everything.
“Thanks for being there for me last night,” he said. “I guess we both needed a little physical comfort.”
It was so cavalier, so dismissive that I was at a momentary loss for words. Of course, I couldn’t pretend to understand what last night had meant, either. It had felt life-affirming. Had I expected it to be something else, something more? Some kind of tenuous connection of affection between us? Something more than just friends?
I tried to shrug all of those doubts away as quickly as possible. If it wasn’t a big deal to Nick, then it couldn’t be a big deal to me.
“Sure thing,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “Now, lead me to the food. I’m about to eat my hand.”
We spent the day exploring the city, eating when we felt hungry, drinking when we felt like a beer. I saw things I didn’t know I’d ever see in my life, riding to the top of the Empire State building, taking the ferry out to take in the Statue of Liberty, exploring Times Square.
Neither of us talked about anything of any importance for a solid three days, instead preferring to let the Big Apple fill any silences. We delved into museum after museum, gallery after gallery, restaurant after restaurant. I had opportunities to wear the really nice dresses in my closet, and the heels that would’ve made Sol salivate.
It was like old times, only we were in New York City, Nick was a millionaire, and we’d had sex. There were many questions that still didn’t have answers.
We were sitting in Central Park one sunny afternoon, full from ice cream and nothing else, when our relationship turned serious again, out of the blue. It was almost as if Nick had been waiting for the moment when I was completely at ease with the idea of him again before he sprang the heavy stuff on me.
“Should I accept the yoke of Mason Hotels?” he asked, running his hands through the flowers that grew in the bed next to the bench we occupied.
“The yolk?” I asked, wrinkling my nose and misinterpreting his words on purpose.
“You heard me,” he said. “D
o you think I should embrace my family’s legacy? Be the face of Mason Hotels?”
“I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that for you,” I said, hesitating over my words. “You’re the only one who can make that decision, Nick.”
“I guess,” he said, shrugging. “I was just interested in your position. What would you do, if you were me?”
“If I stood to inherit one of the most lucrative companies on the planet?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Exactly,” Nick said, giving me a small smile. “It’s good to have an outside opinion.”
But I wasn’t an outside opinion. I was entrenched in the Mason family’s flagship hotel, wearing clothes that its profits had bequeathed to me, smelling of soaps and perfumes that the Masons had bought for me. I was tasting what it was to have endless stacks of money, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t amazing to be able to buy whatever you wanted whenever you wanted.
“Well, what would happen to Mason Hotels without you?” I asked. “It’s yours, right?”
“Mine if I keep it,” he said. “There are provisions in my father’s will — an asshole to the end — but it’s basically mine. If I keep it.”
“If you don’t keep it, then?” I was struggling to understand what he was saying — and what he wasn’t.
“Then I’m out,” he said. “I’ll be just a normal guy. No famous name, no lucrative legacy. Nothing to impress the ladies with.”
“You’ll do just fine,” I scoffed, but he made a skeptical sound in his throat that made me stop talking.
“But would you have accepted me if you’d known who I was — while we were still in Miami?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I don’t think you really gave me a chance, did you?” I shot back.
Nick was quiet for a long time, examining the flower he’d plucked from the flowerbed beside him, twisting the stem this way and that. Finally, he handed it to me. I didn’t know what the gesture might mean — didn’t know what anything might mean anymore, really — but I took it all the same. It smelled nice, at least.
“I realized that if another person I loved betrayed me because of my family, it would kill me,” he finally said. “I thought that if I could make you love me without you knowing about Mason Hotels and all of the mess I’d inherited, that someday maybe I’d see some kind of sign telling me that it was all right to let you in on my secret.”
“You think I’m a gold digger?” I asked, tears springing unexpectedly into my eyes. “Like the girl you knew in college? Like your mother?”
“No,” he said quickly, and then, “I don’t know, Jennet. I have a really hard time trusting people. You understand why. I liked being Nick Madison better. I always did. I could be sure that when people looked at me, they weren’t just seeing a great big dollar sign.”
“I’m looking at you now,” I said softly. “You look like the same old Nick to me. Just a little bit better groomed.”
He laughed at that, and I smiled, but a single tear still rolled down my face. I wished that I could’ve been better for him, that he could’ve known that he could trust me. It hurt, not to be trusted.
“What is this?” he asked, cupping my cheek in his hand and thumbing the tear away. “Please don’t cry. Please don’t say I’ve made you cry.”
“You haven’t made me cry,” I said, but then I was crying in earnest, sobbing like a fool on the park bench. Everything had finally caught up to me, I supposed: Greg’s betrayal, Nick being someone completely different from who I knew, and me, like an idiot, being here in New York. What was I going to do? What was I supposed to do? What was I doing here?
“I’m sorry, Jennet,” he said, his arms around me again. “I’m sorry for piling everything on top of you. It’s not fair of me. My shit is just too heavy.”
“It’s not too heavy,” I said, jerking away from him. “It just sucks that you don’t think I’m strong enough to take it. That you would doubt the quality of my character and think that I would want to take advantage of you for your money.”
“Jennet, I’ve tried to make you understand why I have trouble trusting people,” he said, but I wasn’t interested in listening anymore. It was time for me to talk, and I had a lot to get off my chest.
“Everyone has secrets, Nick,” I said. “You just have to find the right person who’ll keep them for you.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes in finding that right person that I just don’t believe it’s possible anymore,” he said, but I held my hands up, determined to continue.
“You and I are more alike than you know,” I said. “I ran away from my family, too. They wanted me to be someone I’m not. In fact, I ran away from every single person who tried to make me fit into a mold I didn’t believe in.”
My parents had wanted a sweet, normal daughter, and I’d had other plans. They tried to enroll me in an all-girls school when I first rebelled, but I continued to push administrators and teachers alike to the end of their patience. I’d dyed my hair every color of the rainbow only to have it forcibly washed out. One day, irritated that a very attractive shade of highlighter yellow had been dyed again to my natural state, I showed up at school with a completely shaved head. I broke the dress code often and with much glee. I did graffiti.
All the while, my parents would rail against me, demanding to know why they didn’t have a “normal” daughter. Every time they brought up that lament, I was filled with somewhere between rage and delight. I didn’t want to ever be normal. Normal was everyone else who cowed to teachers’ commands, who didn’t think for themselves. Normal was hateful and boring and stupid. I would never be normal.
Why couldn’t the two people who had created me understand that?
I’d listen to them argue at night over my behavior.
“She has to get it from your side of the family,” my mom would say. “No one on my side ever acted out like this. I was never like this — ever. I was a good girl.”
“Don’t try to lay this on me,” my dad would warn. “She’s just a black sheep, I guess. We could always try military school. They’d beat it out of her.”
Could someone beat a personality out of a human body? I didn’t stick around to find out, hitting the road shortly thereafter and never finishing high school.
“So you’re doing it all wrong, Nick,” I said. “This whole time, you’ve been twisted up about other people treating you badly because of who you were, or who you were trying to be, or who you were hiding from. This whole time, you should’ve only been concerned with yourself. Who is it you want to be, Nick? That’s the most important question.”
He blinked at me several times, and my heart broke for him. Had he really never considered being the person he actually wanted to be? He’d told me several times now that it was easier to be Nick Madison than it was Nicholas Mason.
“So that’s my answer to your question,” I said. “You asked me if you should keep Mason Hotels. You should do whatever helps you be true to yourself. Be Nick Madison. Be Nicholas Mason. Be somebody else. The only thing that matters is what makes you happy, what feeds your soul, what satisfies you.”
“I care about what you want,” he said. “I care about your feelings, too, Jennet.”
“Are you sure you just don’t want more physical comfort?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“I…I didn’t mean that, when I said it,” he stuttered. “That was cheap of me to call it that. I felt…I feel…so much for you. It’s hard for me to explain. I know you don’t think of me like that. I don’t know why we made love. It felt right at the time. It still feels right, when I think about it. It was…wonderful. Amazing. There aren’t words to describe how incredible it was. I just…tell me what to do, Jennet.”
“Do you still love me?” I asked, point blank. I felt that we had been dancing around this point for my entire tenure in New York, and it couldn’t be avoided any longer. All roads ended up here. We’d run out of detours to take.
Nick looked at me and nodded wordl
essly, appearing for all the world to be a man dying of thirst. Even after all this time, after all of this drama, after all of these fights and discussions and misunderstandings, he’d still loved me. I wished I could put him out of his misery, explain to him that the parts of me that decided I could love people were all broken up after Greg, and that I wasn’t worth loving anymore.
I didn’t understand it. Nick had everything a person could ever hope to have as a part of the Mason clan. He could’ve bought happiness — I didn’t care if everyone said that money couldn’t buy everything. With the kind of money his family did have, I felt that Nick could’ve been happy with anything and anyone he truly desired.
“Why?” I demanded, flummoxed. “I’m just some weirdo with pink hair, Nick.”
“Magenta,” he corrected quietly, but I was building up steam and couldn’t stop.
“You’re too good for me. I raised myself, more or less. I don’t even have a high school diploma, and you’re in line to head a major corporation. You could have anything, Nick, anyone. Why me?” My chest was heaving, and I was on the verge of tears. After all of our conversations, I still didn’t feel like I understood a single thing about our friendship — this confusing relationship.
“You have no idea how special you are to me, Jennet,” he said. “I was eager to be on my own, sure, once I first ran away from my legacy. But I was terrified when I first tried to settle down in Miami. I thought someone would recognize me, somehow, that first the media would come beating down my door, closely followed by my father’s goons. I didn’t leave my apartment for weeks. I’d order takeout and only barely crack the door open, wearing a baseball hat.”
“Really?” That was news to me — and something about Nick that I didn’t know. It was almost refreshing to take a break from learning facts about Nicholas Mason and keep getting to know my old friend, Nick.
“You were my very first friend,” he said, “the first friend in my new life. I loved that you weren’t afraid of who you were. I envied that freedom, and loved it so much that before I knew it, I loved you. And I still do. No matter what.”
