by Nikki Winter
“Oh I did.” Nyssa laughed and the sound of it hurt. “You really didn’t hold back.”
“What I told Luc…I wasn’t really thinking, baby. Just talking. Blowing off steam.” He exhaled and tried for reason. “There are certain things I just can’t say to you, so I say them to him instead. I’m sure you’ve had to do the same with Sammie.”
“No, no,” she responded, holding up a finger. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to justify or rationalize this in comparison to me whining that you leave your purse in the hallway.”
“It’s not a—” Sansone stopped his argument when she slowly shook her head in warning.
“I’m your wife,” she finally proceeded after a stretch of quiet. “And you didn’t talk to me.”
“You mean the same way you don’t talk to me?” he queried, annoyance beginning to prickle at him.
She glared. “I talk to you.”
“Do you? Or do you perform verbal gymnastics and wiggle free?” He pointed towards the front door. “Not too long ago you had one foot outside, ready to go screaming into the night because you didn’t get the answer you wanted from the great and powerful wizard of fertility.”
“Wow,” Nyssa breathed, her eyes rounded. “Just…wow.” She gave a sharp nod and started around him.
Sansone took hold of her wrist to pull her back, only to find his hands empty. “Nyssa, that came out all wrong—”
“I can be incredibly fucking bad at expressing myself when necessary,” she cut in, swinging around before she reached the stairs. “But I’ve always, always expressed myself to you before anyone else the moment that I could. You didn’t do that, Sunny and I thought…” Stopping for a moment, she closed her eyes as if she couldn’t even stomach looking at him. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. With a wave of her hand at the couch, Nyssa told him, “Enjoy yourself in Moorea. A week without fear should do you some good, right?”
Not another word was exchanged as she trotted up the steps. He flinched, waiting for the inevitable slam of their bedroom door, only to receive an audible, but soft click. That was much, much worse.
Three
The quiet bothered her the most. The lack of Sansone’s low, rumbling voice combined with hers as they went over the events of their workday. There was no laughter at ridiculous, but entertaining, reality television. None of his singing from the bathroom as he went about showering in between complaining that she’d taken his favorite conditioner off the rack again. There was nothing. And it was killing her, because at least with the incessant, nonsensical patterns of everyday noise and chatter, she wasn’t left alone with her thoughts; thoughts that centered on her husband. Skewered was too melodramatic of a word. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to use it. And yet, it felt right in terms of what Nyssa had experienced while listening to him lay out all of his woes with Luciano.
“Sex in my household has become a chore, Luc.”
Masochism was the only thing that had kept her on the line after that statement. She sat through every gritty word of Sansone’s diatribe on what their life had become. It…hurt. Not to mention the embarrassment. Had she become that ridiculous? Despite what he seemed to think, she cared about his comfort. But he was a man. And most men lived in a world where “no” was never an answer to a possible scenario involving them naked. At least her man did. Then again, it begged the question as to whether they’d been having sex for the fun of it or because she was concerned with how quickly they could get along with the life creating process. She thought he’d been enjoying the constant flow of action. Apparently she was terribly, terribly wrong.
Nyssa couldn’t even decipher what bothered her the most—that he hadn’t come to her with his problems or that he’d been suffering in this silent martyrdom for months on end. It may have been a combination of both. She couldn’t be sure. What she did know was that sleeping without him had become impossible. How she’d done it for eight entire years, she didn’t know. A solid mass of warm, inked up muscle was missing from where it normally laid at her left side; something that she’d become accustomed to snaking herself around. The familiar scent of saffron and cardamom hovered on his pillow, but it wasn’t quite enough.
There were no hard thighs to push her knee in between or a shoulder to press her nose against. It was the same torment she had to endure while on out of town trips. The only difference was that this time it was self-inflicted. Remaining at a distance with Sansone—staying angry with Sansone—was a nearly impossible task. Mostly because of his doing. Her spouse was…persistent. Patience wasn’t a friend of his and he had no desire to simply allow what he called, “your disregard for my might” to run wild in his presence. Door slamming? Throwing things? He laughed at that. Found it amusing. Why? Because he could see through those displays quite easily, had always been able to really. It was disconcerting to say the least. From the moment she’d been forced to shake his hand as he was introduced to her, Nyssa had been rankled by his incredibly coolheaded nature…
Caffeine. She needed it. She needed it now. There were a few things standing between the bumbling noise of her office and a Monday morning meltdown of indescribable proportions on Nyssa’s part. A lightning bolt of rage was pulsing up the base of her spine and spreading with each indrawn breath. Her hands vibrated as she took down a disposable cup from the edge of a cabinet off to the left of the break room’s sink. The paper mug slipped from her fingertips and hit the floor.
Cursing, she bent to pick it up and found a shiny pair of wingtips in her view. His wingtips. The usurper. The interloper. The instrument used for her destruction. And no, she didn’t think any of those were dramatic or unnecessary descriptions for the man that had rocked up to the doorstep of her career choice and snatched it from her. He was the enemy. She’d more than likely see him that way until the day that some power beyond her control changed it.
“Wonderful, aren’t they?” he asked her, his voice expanding the shocks of fury as he tilted his foot and wiggled his ankle. “Gucci. Fall collection. I wasn’t so fond of the price tag and then I thought to myself, ‘Sunny, you’re a lovely man and you deserve lovely things. Be good to you.’”
She barely refrained from spitting on them as she stood fully and muted her instinctual sneer to a barely perceptible resting bitch face. He’d taken the job she’d toiled away for and he wanted to discuss his goddamn shoes?! She narrowed her eyes on his perfectly combed hair and the well-coordinated arrangement of his double-knotted tie and suit pocket square. One neatly manicured hand, that she’d been made to touch based off of social etiquette alone, was tucked into his right pocket while the other hung loosely at his side. He stood almost as if posing, his full mouth ripe in color and closed over perfect, gleaming teeth. A literal fucking advertisement for Macy’s, he was. Nyssa tilted her head a fraction. Perhaps he was gay. She snuck a glance at his shoes again and her brows lifted slightly. Yes, gay was a definite option.
Her smile was bland and short. “Good for you,” she commented before returning her attention to the coffee maker, silently praying he would simply go away. Far, far, far away.
Instead, he moved to her left and leaned against the counter top, folding his arms across his wide, muscled chest. Gay or no, he was built like a carnal god and she hated him even more for that. Standing at what she guessed to be at least six-four with broad shoulders and tree trunkish thighs, he had a face that incubi probably envied. Carnal demon would have been a more apt description. The son of a bitch even smelled like sin. Her sneer returned as she watched the coffee percolate, mentally rushing it along.
“James tells me you’ve been here for about three years now. Graduated locally.”
She felt her hand crumbling the cup, so she quickly sat it down and nodded. “Almost four years and yes, you could call it local if you consider New York to be that.”
James. Fucking James. Narcissistic, betraying, petty James. The next time Nyssa decided to bang one of her superiors on a regular basis, she’d reconsider and settle
for a V8 instead. She could have done that sooner and saved herself a trough of trouble. Instead here she stood, dumbfounded as to how she could share a bed with someone for the length of time she’d been with him and still not be aware of the depths of his egomania. A rejection to his marriage proposal and he did this to her?
Nyssa’s fingers curled over the counter restlessly and she dropped her head back on her shoulders, attempting to breathe through the utterly hopeless swell of emotion flinging her heart around. Her eyes shut momentarily and she opened them again upon remembering that she wasn’t alone. She flicked a glance at the clock on the microwave and found her gaze focused on the reflection of the almost transparent door. That was where she found the usurper’s molten, penetrating stare trained firmly on her ass. Or it could have been her shoes. She hadn’t completely ruled out the theory that he may have been wearing neon pink briefs with the words “Yes, Daddy?” under his tailored slacks.
The bottom rim of that ripe mouth found itself caught between the top row of those gleaming teeth in a look that was decidedly hetero. Nyssa abruptly swung around, totally uncomfortable with how her breath shuddered out at the slow, incredibly predatory look. His head jerked up and in typical male fashion he wore an expression of complete innocence.
“So what’s your story?” she blurted, tapping the right heel of her stiletto against the linoleum floor in an effort to quiet the drumming in her ears. “Where’d Woodard dig you up?”
Her now sworn nemesis rolled his shoulders and ran a hand across that pretty, caramel colored hair. “I was in a transitional phase. Looking for a bit of permanence. I met Woodard a few months ago and he told me to keep his card if I ever got curious about a position here.” Raising his arms, he waved them in a motion as if presenting something and smiled. “I got curious. Called a few days ago. He said that he had the perfect position for me. Luckily it hadn’t been occupied as of yet.”
Yes, her position. One that he’d suddenly decided to fill after she made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she had no intention of marrying him anytime soon. What a coincidence that her announcement had taken place just less than 72 hours ago. The dick.
The rock and hard place were smothering her. If she left, she could get the position she wanted just about anywhere else, but that would mean uprooting her roster along with allowing James to think that he’d won his little game. Self-disgust rolled her stomach. How had she allowed herself to get here?
“As I’ve come to learn, you’re one of the best,” her enemy continued on, delivering what she felt might have been a sincere grin. “I’ve taken a look at some of your clientele. I’m very impressed.”
Something about that just crumbled the little bit of control she had over her mouth. “I’m happy I’ve met your approval,” Nyssa dryly stated, turning back to the coffee maker. “Make sure to leave a list with my assistant on how I can keep doing so.”
The sound of steps echoed on the floor and suddenly, she felt him a hair’s breadth away. He pressed one large palm to the granite counter and Nyssa’s eyes widened tad at the peek of ink she could see coiling up his arm from just an inch or so below where his shirt and jacket cuffs stopped. How far did those run, she wondered.
“I’m beginning to get the gut feeling that you’re not too fond of my presence, Ms. Blackwell.”
Turning her head, she allowed her eyes to roam his face, looking for imperfections. There were none and it made her lip curl. “I live by one solid principle in this business, Mr. Sultana.”
“And what is that?” he queried, smirking.
“Go with your gut,” Nyssa softly stated in response.
His lips twitched. “Advice or a warning?”
She didn’t get the chance to answer. The man responsible for this entire encounter came strolling into the lounge. “Sultana, maintenance took care of the lighting in your office so you’re all…” his voice trailed off and he eyed them. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all,” Sansone answered, smoothing down his jacket and stepping away from Nyssa. “Ms. Blackwell was simply giving me a word of advice.”
James grunted, but some of the skepticism disappeared. “All right.”
The other man nodded towards her and started out of the lounge. “I appreciate your gracious nature.”
She watched him momentarily. “Please…don’t.”
His laughter left with him.
James approached cautiously then. “I—”
Nyssa held up a finger and shook her head. “You have absolutely nothing to say to me right now. I highly doubt you ever will again. And in the same sense that I just gave a bit of advice to your new team member, I’m going to deliver some to you—unless it pertains to business and business alone stay. Away. From. Me.”
“Nyssa—”
“We’re in a room with knives and several other sharp objects,” she cut in. “Do you want to venture down this road or turn right at the fork and go in the opposite direction?”
He was gone in seconds and she was left with the weight that she’d been fucked over. Along with this came the horrifying thought that at some point she may just want to be fucked…period. By a man whom she despised. Who had enough sexual magnetism to turn her nipples into bullets. God hated her.
A power beyond her control had, indeed, changed the way she saw Sansone Sultana. Perhaps that power could now convince her that it wasn’t a good idea to concuss him. Nyssa was in the throes of a fantasy about that very thing when a quick tap sounded at the bedroom door.
Knowing it could be no one other than the potential victim of her imagined assault she called out, “Yeah?”
The door cracked open and that pretty face was suddenly in view. “I need something out of here before I can sleep.”
Nyssa tucked in her lips and waved a hand at the bedroom. Folding her arms across her chest, she waited for him to get whatever it was he was in search of. When he didn’t move, she arched a brow. “Well?”
Sansone stepped into the room and stopped inches away from the bed. He peered at her for a moment and quietly admitted, “I need my wife.”
She swallowed and looked away. “Sunny…”
“Just…hear me for a moment, yeah?” he requested. “Because if I don’t get this out, you won’t understand. I need you to understand.”
With a nod in his direction, she gave him her attention.
Folding his hands in a praying motion, he gestured to her. “I spent the majority of my life, my career, feeling as though I was sitting on the very edge of my seat; feeling like I was waiting for a reason to get to my feet, to move. That’s the best way I know how to describe it. This gut clenching anticipation that something was coming and I needed to be prepared.” He freed one of his hands to fist it and tap his belly. “There was a ball of anxiety that I never thought would disappear. But then came you.” His smile was so pure, so exceptionally full of adoration that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to fend off emotions that she had no desire to examine at the moment.
“And I knew the moment I heard your name that this was it. This was the something. This was my reason to get to my feet and move.” Sansone straightened his shoulders and stood taller. “I didn’t see how I could fight or argue with that. I didn’t see how I could run. Because I loved you instantly. It was such an insane, horrifying reaction to simply shaking your hand; a span of seconds that should have been insignificant. But it wasn’t. No moment has been insignificant with you. Nothing too small. Nothing has been meaningless.” He pointed towards the hall. “Before I even reach the driveway when I return home my hands tremble because I remember that they can touch you freely now. I don’t have to curl my fingers into my palms and shove them into my pockets with you. I don’t have to make sure I don’t stare for too long when we’re in the same room. I can look at you,”—Sansone shook his head and laughed softly—“I can look at you.” Stopping, he speared her with that stare and held her eyes. “That was all I’d ever wanted. You’re all I’ve eve
r wanted.”
He lifted his arms in a shrug and spread them wide. “You’re enough for me. You’re more than enough. If you’re to be the only blessing my unfaithful Catholic heart experiences in this life and the one following, I know now that I was not cheated. Ti amo più di quanto si potrà mai comprendere. And you need to know that it won’t change twenty years from now. Or forty. Or sixty. Or seventy. It won’t shift when I can’t stand anymore. It won’t be forgotten when breathing is hard. Or when my grip on your hand isn’t as strong as it used to be. I am so ridiculously, terrifyingly, exhaustingly in love with you Nyssa Sidra Blackwell-Sultana and it will be that way until the end of time; baby or no.”
She gazed at him, silent and still, for the longest stretch. When Nyssa finally opened her mouth to speak, a sob came out.
Er…not his first choice of a reaction but since there was no cursing following the flow of tears, or things being thrown at his head, Sansone considered himself safe enough to venture into dangerous territory. A quick shuffle of his feet took him to the edge of the bed where he slid his arms beneath and around his wife, shifting her onto his lap.
“Dimmi,” he demanded quietly.
She shook her head.
“Nyssa—”
“Just…stay here?” she asked in a small voice. “Stay here with me?”
She sounded almost broken and it made him pull her in closer, hold her tighter. He pressed his face to her hair and nodded. “Whatever you want.”
“I want you,” his wife told him. “I want you and I want to go to Moorea. I want normalcy again. I want to stop feeling like…” She abruptly cut the sentence off.
Sansone lifted his head. “You want to stop feeling like what?”
Nyssa buried her face into his chest and hid from him. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
She wasn’t talking to him again. “Cara—”
“When do we leave?” she questioned. There was no doubt that she was trying to distract him.
