Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol)

by Fiona Cole

  I said thank you to the driver and made my way to the glass doors, my heart thudding a million miles a minute. As fast as my heart raced, my legs slowed.

  This was stupid. I should hail a cab and run.

  He probably just wanted me to come over so he could fire me in private. He wanted to let me know he was sorry, but last night had been a mistake, and he wanted to let me down softly.

  Because it was a mistake, right?

  I shook my head in the middle of the sidewalk, not caring of the looks I got from passersby. This was crazy.

  I took one step back when the memory of Camden’s cruel words, and my father’s harsh slap had me standing still.

  Even if the whole thing blew up in my face, and I walked away without a job, still set on a path to marry Camden, I had to at least try. I had to know I’d at least listened to all my options.

  With my chin high, I walked through the glass doors into the exquisite lobby. The concierge sent me to the top floor, of course. The doors slid open to a small lobby with one door behind a round table holding flowers. The lobby looked like an illusion to the man I knew resided behind the door. The soothing creams and soft, warm lights hid the cold man who lived here.

  Leaving it behind, I knocked on the door and held my breath, waiting.

  The door opened to a version of Nicholas I’d never seen. He still wore his pants and shirt from work but stood barefoot on the soft gray wood floors, his tie long gone, and top buttons undone, revealing a smattering of dark hair.

  Had I ever found chest hair so sexy?

  All of a sudden, my fitted black slacks and starched white shirt screamed overdressed.

  “Verana. Welcome,” he said when I stood there even after he stepped back.

  I swallowed and snapped into action, taking the final steps over the threshold, leaving the illusion behind.

  “Vera. You can call me Vera.”

  “Vera, then. It suits you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took my purse and set it aside on the entryway table before leading me further into the apartment. Surprisingly, while the colors weren’t warm, it didn’t have the chill I’d expected. The gray couch begged to be slept on with its fluffy pillows and throw blanket. I wanted to slip out of my pumps and dig my toes into the cream area rug designating the living room in the open space.

  All of it said comfort, even if it did look impersonal.

  To top it all off, the sun going down over Central Park made everything else almost irrelevant.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “Not a bad view. I’d offer to eat outside, but it rained earlier, and humidity is making the summer heat close to unbearable.”

  “Of course.”

  “The dining room’s view isn’t bad, though.”

  The wall of glass extended the entire length of the open room, encompassing the living room, dining room, and modern kitchen.

  I followed him to the long wooden table. “Do you have many guests?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. It’s just a big table.”

  “I didn’t pick much of this out. I had a say in the bedroom, office, and living room since I spend most of my time there. Otherwise, I left it to the designer.”

  “Oh.”

  So eloquent, I scolded myself, fighting to keep from rolling my eyes.

  “Wine?”

  My lingering headache almost had me saying no, but my tight shoulders and tingling nerves had me nodding my head.

  Dinner melted on my tongue. By far, one of the best risottos I’d ever had.

  “This is phenomenal.”

  “Thank you. My grandmother loved to cook and made sure I knew all her recipes.”

  “You made this?” I almost spit my food out.

  “I’m a grown man in his thirties. I know how to feed myself.”

  “I kind of just assumed you ordered out.”

  “I do, for the most part, but it’s mostly for convenience. I don’t have time to cook like I want to.”

  “Well, thank you for this. It really is amazing. My mother made an amazing risotto, but she never taught me.”

  “Maybe I can show you one day.”

  My eyes lifted to his across the table, the first hint of our conversation to come settling between us. His full lips slid across his fork, and his sharp jaw flexed under the thick scruff he wore so well.

  With the sunset behind him, his dark eyes held none of the glints of hazel I’d seen before. They looked so deep I could get lost in them if I went too far.

  I dropped my gaze back to my plate, trying to ignore the warm rush in my chest. He may have been relaxed, but we met on his turf. I needed to treat this like a business meeting on enemy territory. If the last day taught me anything, it was that I needed to stand on my own. I needed to let go of the fairy tales and hope that it’d all work out.

  Conversation died a quick death after his comment. I avoided eye contact, and the longer the meal dragged on, the more worried I became that he really would say he’d made a mistake and fire me. Maybe I read his comment wrong.

  From the corner of my eyes, I watched him calmly set his napkin across his plate and lean back in his chair. I didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were on me. I felt them, like a burning touch—like a whisper urging me to look up and face the truth.

  Shit. He was going to fire me. Why couldn’t he have just let me walk out last night?

  I held my breath, but when spots danced in front of my eyes, I let it all rush out and sat up, lifting my chin, ready to conquer the situation no matter what it held. “Look, if you’re going to fire me, then just do it. I was drunk, and you were shocked. I understand if you changed your mind. You don’t need to soften the blow with dinner and wine.”

  His lips tipped softly as if he found my rant amusing.

  When he still didn’t say anything, I slapped my napkin down and waited. “Well?”

  “I wasn’t wining and dining you to soften a blow. I was just hungry and thought we could eat before talking about anything too serious.”

  “Oh…” Back to being the eloquent graduate from Wharton. Awesome. “So, you still mean what you offered?”

  “Yes.”

  Our eyes locked as if waiting for the other to flinch first. In the end, it was me because one question burned that I couldn’t figure out in all of it.

  “Why? Obviously, I get out of a marriage to a monster. But, then again…” I hesitated, considering something for the first time. “What if I’m just jumping from the frying pan into the fire, aligning myself with another monster?”

  “I assure you, I’m not. Camden is…” The muscle in his jaw ticked as he assessed his words before speaking. “Less than savory in this world.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah. So, back to my question. What do you get?”

  His tongue slid across his lips, and I became dazed with the simple action. “For one, I don’t like Camden. I can admit taking you from him has its own appeal.” He shrugged, unapologetic. But then he sat taller and ran a hand through his hair like that was the simplest of reasons. Prickling awareness tickled down my spine and whispered that maybe he got more out of this than he was admitting. However, it quickly dashed away when he shrugged again, his shoulders softening. “Also, it’s convenient. My grandfather is ill, and my only living family. It could do him good to see me with someone—he’s asked for it enough. I want to make him happy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It still seems like not enough reason to marry someone,” I said slowly. I didn’t want to talk him out of it, but I couldn’t believe someone like Nico would marry a woman out of the kindness of his heart.

  He worked his jaw back and forth, taking a deep breath. “There are many events, and having a wife at my side makes me look more stable.”

  “And there’s no other woman you could offer to marry to be by your side?”

  He smirked, looking down to where he twisted his wine glass
by the base. “I’m sure there are, but having one who understands the business adds a tally in your column.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Also, as you know, this industry can be small, despite being so large. I can admit that having a Mariano as my wife would open K. Rush to a lot more opportunities.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The conversation dwindled again, and we entered into another pseudo staring contest. Again, I caved first.

  I could have won, but the longer I looked, the more heat flooded my veins, and I didn’t want to confront the way he made me feel. He was my boss, the asshole who doubted me at every turn. The one who questioned my morals and work ethic. The one who tried to take my ideas from me.

  “So, what’s next?”

  He got up and walked to the kitchen island, pulling a stack of papers. “I had a contract drawn up. Kind of like a prenup.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” Rules were good. It kept us in line. It made it clear where we stood.

  “We stay married for at least five years. If it suits us to stay together longer at the end of five years, we can discuss it then. If at any point in the five years you feel unsafe, you may leave.”

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  He nodded and kept going. “In that time, no children will be brought into the situation. When it ends, we will leave with the assets we brought into the marriage. If we acquire anything together in those five years, we will do our best to split it evenly.”

  “This all seems straight forward.”

  “One last thing. We will both remain faithful to each other. There will be no affairs, quiet or otherwise.”

  I scoffed, giving him my most dubious stare when all he did was raise an arrogant brow. Nicholas oozed sex. Not wanting to touch that subject with a ten-foot pole, I returned to scanning other portions of the contract. “What’s this? The marriage needs to be consummated?” I shrieked. My eyes shot up, waiting for him to elaborate because surely it didn’t mean what I thought.

  “I want this marriage to be true in every sense of the word. We may be going into this because of the convenience for both of us, but I want us to be partners. This is five years of our lives with a commitment to one another—a commitment that will only be solidified if we’re both…satisfied. You will be my wife.”

  “You don’t own me,” I stated, but the words came out weak. Something about him calling me his wife hit me harder than anything else that had been discussed. It brought reality crashing through my thin bubble, masking this with a veneer of business. What stole my breath the most was how much I liked hearing him say it.

  “I never said I owned you. Your choices are your own. You’re free to work and continue with your life as normal—just with me as your husband.”

  “I—I’m not sleeping with you. You can’t legally put that in a contract.” Could he?

  Would he be Camden and think he had a right to me however and whenever he wanted?

  Nicholas smirked, the look shooting straight to my core, making a liar out of me. “Again, I need to remind you. You seemed to have enjoyed it the last time. Why not do it again? And again.”

  “I didn’t know it was you.”

  Why wasn’t my voice working like I wanted it to? Why was it so breathless?

  “Well, have no fear. I won’t force you.”

  He stood. His broad shoulders and hard body towered over me as he walked close, the words a façade for a lion amusing itself with its prey.

  By the time he reached my side, my chest worked overtime, heaving from my panting breaths. One arm rested on the table and the other on the back of my chair. He caged me in, leaning into my personal space. Everything stopped when he dragged his nose along my cheekbone to my ear.

  “Tell me, Vera. Will you kiss me on our wedding day? Or only offer your cheek?”

  I opened my mouth, not knowing what would come out, when he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek and stood back, grabbing the dishes with him.

  I glared at his retreating back, hating how much he affected me. His stupid smile left no doubt that he knew it too. I grabbed the other dishes and brought them to the island, sliding them across to the sink, barely managing to set them down softly and not shatter them at his feet.

  “I want an actual wedding,” he said without looking up from washing dishes.

  “Why?”

  He paused for only a moment before easily answering, “Appearances.”

  That made sense. Especially if he hoped marrying a Mariano would garner him more recognition—a big event would only add to that.

  “Seeing as we’re going against some opposition, we should hurry the process along. I’m thinking in a month or so. I’ll contact someone and make it all happen per our timeline. Money isn’t an issue.”

  I fell back against one of the stools at the island. He talked about it all so easily like it was a done deal. He didn’t appear to be struggling with any of this, while my body twisted with indecision and heat.

  He spoke as if planning a New York wedding in a month was as simple as grabbing a bite to eat.

  For the first time, I really considered Nicholas’s wealth. Between his apartment and being able to pay whatever it took, maybe his company was more successful than I’d originally thought. Maybe it was more than a company on the brink of success. Looking back at the view of Central Park, I’d say a lot more.

  “So? Are you in?”

  He rested his hands on the counter, bunching his strong shoulders under his shirt, the opening shifting to give me a better view of his chest.

  “I never thought my fairy tale wedding would be discussed over a contract and granite.”

  “It’s marble.”

  “Of course, it is,” I muttered.

  “If you wait for a fairy tale, you’ll never be happy. I may not be the prince charming you imagined, but I am here offering you what you need.”

  My eyes shot from where they ogled his chest to meet his, the setting sun bringing out the hints of green.

  “What did you just say?” I asked, barely over a whisper.

  Blood rushed through my ears, blending with the memory of my mom’s favorite thing to say when I watched all the Disney princesses.

  If you wait for a fairy tale, mia bambina, then you’ll never find happiness. Sometimes Prince Charming is everything you need when you didn’t know you needed it.”

  “I’m just saying that it may not be perfect, but you can make it what you need. At the very least, a stepping stone,” he said, shrugging. “So, what will it be, Verana? Will you marry me?”

  I didn’t believe in signs, but if I ever did, this had to be it.

  I grabbed the contract and slapped it on the counter between us, crossing off the part about consummating the marriage. “Yes. I’m in.”

  He merely smiled at my act of defiance as if he didn’t need a contract to make it happen.

  “Good. We’ll have an engagement party next weekend.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “Does that not work for you? If you have other obligations, we can reschedule. I just have to redraft the contract with your…corrections, then we’ll be good to go.”

  To my utter horror, fire burned up my throat to my eyes, and I quickly looked away to hide it. He actually meant it. He really wanted my opinion on our engagement. And after what happened with Camden, and my father, and the last few months in general, it was the most valued I’d felt in a while.

  Swallowing my emotions back, I lifted my head with a smile. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

  “Good. Now, let me show you around the apartment. You can move in once we’re married.”

  “But what about my place?”

  “Do you own it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, in your name. Not your father’s.”

  “Oh. No. He bought it.”

  “I’m assuming he won’t be thrilled to have me living there with you. Besides, I’d rather live in a box in an alley than be inside anythin
g owned by Lorenzo. Also, this is close to the office.”

  The sneer in his tone made me wonder if there was a bigger reason he disliked my father beyond his abuse and associating with Camden, but he turned away, starting the tour before I could think more about it.

  “Good point,” I muttered, looking around—another blast of reality on how my life would change within the month. The comfy gray couch would be mine. The sunsets over Central Park would be my view every night. The sleek kitchen in the fancy apartment in the expensive neighborhood, would be mine.

  “What about your place in Charleston?”

  “I’ll obviously have to keep it for when I travel to that office. But New York has taken more of my time in the last few years, so it’s not a huge change to make it my home base for the next five years. When things settle down, I’ll take you to Charleston to show you around.”

  “I’ve never been.”

  “It’s a beautiful city.”

  “Will you be happy here? Full time?”

  He looked over his shoulder, slowing his pace. “I think I will.”

  I couldn’t help but think he meant with me. He thought he’d be happy with me. The idea was crazy. We barely knew each other—barely liked each other. Actually, we didn’t. I’d say we tolerated each other. But still, the way he looked at me now, I couldn’t help but hope our future was the one Mama described.

  Of course, he dashed all that by opening his mouth as he turned back to lead the way down the hall. “By the way, don’t be late to work tomorrow. Just because I can take care of you, doesn’t mean I will.”

  “Of course,” I muttered, giving in to the eye roll.

  Fifteen

  Nico

  Meeting after meeting kept me busy all morning. At least that was the excuse I created. I took on meetings and pushed up others, so I had no reason to leave my office.

  Leaning back in my chair, I set the tiny black box on my desk, flipping it open and closed, a pinch of anxiety and doubt hitting my chest with each glint of the two-carat oval diamond. I’d made a special trip to my bank as soon as the ink dried on our contract.

  I imagined the rose gold against the tan skin of her finger. I imagined her in nothing else but the ring, a stamp of my ownership, the only thing against her soft flesh.