“Vividly.”
She’d made him spell out what he did. She would offer the same. “Because Marco is a lying asshole, who didn’t want the world to know he and his pretty little socialite wife had an alternate lifestyle. He cut me off from it. He lied about his reasons. He continued to fuck around. And then he sicced a private investigator on me, because if he was cheating, I must be doing the same.”
“But you weren’t.”
“And you saw how hard it was for me to deal with that. You put up with me through the aftermath. Lived with my insecurities, and said you understood as I learned how to trust again.” Now that she was talking, she couldn’t stop. “We don’t have to worry about cheating, because that’s not a thing in our relationship. And all I ask for is honesty. Because it was so hard for me to learn that I deserved that. And you’ve taken that from me.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, searching for strength. “Sounds like a running theme with you.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. He looked sincere.
That didn’t take back the lie.
“It’s going to take more than that to forgive you.” This could be worked through. As far as she knew, he’d never done anything like this before. She hated the doubt that said but are there other lies you don’t know about?
She’d been willing to work with Marco, until he turned the media against her. And this wasn’t even on the same level as what Marco did.
But it hurt so much more. “I need to deal with this. To process. I can’t talk to you right now. You had your chance. I’ll call you when—” if?“—I’m ready.”
Nathan knelt in front of her and grabbed her hand.
She jerked away from his touch. Away from the sympathy that clawed through her, begging her not to walk away. “Don’t do this theatrical bullshit. Not now. Not for this.” She grabbed her bags, shoved some stray items into them, and walked out of the room.
Is she going to go back to him at some point? Probably.
Would they make things better? Could they?
Probably, but she couldn’t dwell in that space right now. It hurt too much.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS DARK OUTSIDE when Nick woke up. Not unusual in the middle of winter, but according to his phone, it was just after midnight.
He spent yesterday morning catching up with Fiona and Parker. Wyatt even joined in after breakfast. It turned out when Nick wasn’t hating him for corrupting his sister, Wyatt was a decent guy. A little cocky, but that was what made him a good sales manager.
Nick danced around any details of his relationship with Tara and Nathan.
A little after noon, he’d been unable to stop yawning. He begged off to get some sleep and said they’d get more done tomorrow... Later today?
He hadn’t meant to sleep almost twelve hours. He was wide awake now. It would take a few days to adjust to the switch in time zones again.
Tara and Nathan were probably up. It was after seven in the morning there. Was it too early to call? Was it appropriate?
He’d deal with the consequences if it wasn’t. He wanted to talk to Tara, and if she wasn’t in the mood, she’d let him know.
The phone rang several times. No one was around. He’d leave a message and then go work.
“Hello?” Tara’s greeting was a dry croak.
His chest ached. Did he miss something after he left? “What’s wrong?”
“So much. It doesn’t matter. How are things there?” She sounded forlorn.
“Fiona will insist on working, despite her broken arm, and we’ll work on putting other pieces together once she’s awake. I’ll deal with that when it gets here. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t... I can’t.” Tara let out a strangled laugh. “Which is ironic, or at least morbidly funny, given the situation.”
Nick’s concern grew. “Are you at least talking to Nathan about it?”
“No. Christ, no. That’s so very low on my list of options. I don’t even know where he is.” This time her laugh ended in a sob.
That sounded worse than really bad. “I’m listening. Whatever it is, whatever’s going on, you can tell me.”
“He lied to me. And it wasn’t a big thing, but it was, because the fallout caused so many problems, and I don’t know why he couldn’t just tell me the truth, and what if I overreacted, but it hurts that I can’t trust him—” She let out a shaky sob. “And please don’t say I’m sorry, because Christ I’ve heard that enough today.”
“Do you want me to hunt him down and punch him in the face?” Nick was half joking. Fury pulsed through his veins, that anyone would be treated this way, but especially Tara.
She chuckled dryly. “No. But maybe. But no.”
He wanted to hop the next plane back to Italy, so he could hold and comfort her. It was an impractical impulse, but if it would help, even a little, and not get in the way of anything else, he’d do it.
Fuck responsibility.
It was tempting to listen to the irrational thought. He’d already proven he could work from Milan. Parker and Wyatt would make sure Fiona didn’t work too hard here, and she could take care of finding a new building...
No. Nick needed to stay. “I won’t say I’m sorry, since you don’t want to hear it. Tell me what will make this better, instead.”
“I don’t know. Marco used to tell me all the time that I was overreacting. I keep hearing it in my head. I overreacted. It’s even in his voice. And it won’t shut up. Nathan didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Do you want me to add a second voice to your side of the argument?” Nick could that without hesitation.
“It might help.”
“You’re not overreacting. Even if Nathan didn’t do it to hurt you, he saw that it was. I would have come down on him a lot harder than you did.”
“I’m so upset I can’t even twist the innuendo out of that and make it a joke.” Tara sounded a little better.
“I wish I could be there with you.” He winced. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but there was no desire to take it back.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” The fist around his heart loosened a little more with each lift in her voice.
“Are you coming back? I get that you have a lot to do at home, and I don’t mean later today or anything, but will I see you in the future?”
Nick hoped so. Fuck hope, he would make it happen. “Yes.” He and Antonio needed to revisit the contract, but Nick would make the trip even without the excuse. He’d been away from Tara for less than two days, and he missed her already. The notion was odd, but the realization felt right.
“We don’t get a lot of snow here in the winter... okay, we don’t really get anything notable. But it’s pretty here in December and January. Speaking of, you promised me pictures of your temple, and I understand they go all out with the Christmas decorations.”
Nick smiled. “It’s still not my temple. But I’ll send you pictures. I might make Parker take them. He’s more gifted with the camera than I am.”
“Good.” Tara sounded so much better than when she’d answered. “Then you can be in the photos too. What time is it there? One?”
Nick glanced at the clock. “About.”
“I won’t keep you up. Try to sleep.”
“Will you be all right?” Nick didn’t want to fall asleep alone. Not that he had a choice, but the desire was still there to wrap around her.
“Long term? I suspect. Right now, I hurt.”
“Imagine me there?”
“No.”
The abrupt refusal caught him off-guard. How was he supposed to reply?
“Because you’re not here,” Tara said. “And pretending otherwise will make it hurt worse.”
Nick fumbled for a response. How was he so hooked on this woman? And why did he care that she make things right with Nathan? Did he actually feel bad for the guy?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
&nb
sp; NATHAN WAS WILLING to give Tara her space, but it was a reluctant decision. Videos aired on their channel, but they all came from standby footage, that was meant for emergencies.
He couldn’t think of a better word for this. Their relationship had an iceberg-sized crack running through it, and he was desperate to fix it.
He waited two days before calling. It didn’t matter that he was staying in a hotel. Accommodations weren’t an issue. He was worried about her. He needed to make things right.
The phone rang and went to voice mail. Leaving a message wasn’t ideal, but he had to do something. “Tara, it’s Nathan. I’m sorry. More than sorry. Talk to me, please?”
He disconnected and sank back onto his temporary bed. This sucked. He was such an idiot. Why didn’t he tell her the truth up front? The excuses made sense at the time, but hindsight was a bitch.
His phone chimed with a new text, and he scrambled to read it. A tiny spark of hope glowed inside at Tara’s name.
The note said, Not yet. I need time.
Well, fuck. How much time? He hated the idea of waiting for her to reach out again. He’d grovel at her feet to make this right.
But it was an answer. If she was still talking to him, even tersely, there was hope. That didn’t fill the empty pit where his heart should sit.
His phone rang in his hand, startling him. His pulse sped up, until he saw the US phone number on screen. Chicago area code. Maybe it was a coincidence. Someone in his home city mis-dialed an international number.
He swiped Answer. “Hello?”
“Nathan? It’s Aunt Christine.”
His stomach turned inside-out. He hadn’t heard from his family in a decade. “Yes?” Any other response escaped him.
“Your father is sick.”
So? Fuck that bastard. Kicking Nathan out at sixteen. Calling him a demon and a sinner. Telling him it was his fault his mother left his father for another woman. “And?”
“Pancreatic cancer. He probably only has a week or two to live. I thought... I know you two weren’t close, but I thought you’d like to know.”
“I...” Why couldn’t he find the right words? Venom over the past churned with potential regret. “When was he diagnosed? Did he just find out?”
The long silence that stretched over the line was more telling than any words. “He’s known for about nine months. He asked me not to reach out to you. But you needed to hear it from me, and not stumble on an obituary a year down the road.”
“I see.” He was suddenly numb. Anything else would devour him with conflict from the inside out.
“I’m sorry this had to be the way we spoke again. I won’t tell you what to do, but if you want any chance of making things right, you don’t have much time.”
What was he supposed to say? I’ll be on the next plane home? Or ask Dad to reach out if he wanted to talk? Sure. Have her put a sick man on the phone to help Nathan make up his mind. “Where’s he staying?”
“He’s in hospice. Alexian Brothers. I can—”
“Thank you. For letting me know.” Nathan disconnected. He shouldn’t have cut her off. This wasn’t her fault. Except for the part where she’d stood by when it happened. Refused to take him in for fear of making his father angry. Cut off all communications for so long.
So did I.
It hadn’t been his choice. He tried.
The question was, did he go? Was this a bridge worth trying to mend?
If I don’t, I’ll always wonder what could have been.
The only answer he had was that he didn’t want to leave while things were a mess with Tara. They needed to mend themselves. She was more important than anything.
How long did he need to give her?
He needed to pass the time. To take his mind off life. Maybe if he could focus on something else for a few hours, solutions would work themselves out at the back of his mind.
He flipped through every movie and TV show he had access to. Hundreds at his fingertips, and they all looked trite, or too emotional, or just plain stupid.
That was what he needed, wasn’t it? A little of mindless entertainment to distract him. He picked one with robots and monsters and huge explosions.
Half an hour in, he realized he hadn’t paid attention any of it. Did he want to go back home? Should he?
He tried to play a game... Read a book... Listen to music... Draw.
His mind drifted every time.
It was almost midnight. Sleep would offer a respite from his wandering thoughts.
Nathan tossed and turned, dozing occasionally, to wake up five, or ten, or thirty minutes later. Around six in the morning he gave up.
He had to see Tara. Talk this through and make things right. He’d been wrong to lie. To keep this secret for so long. Had he said that? He’d apologized, but did he use those words?
He would now. Dropping by first thing was a bad idea. Odds were high she’d be awake, but she was friendlier if she had a little time away from the world in the morning.
The hotel had an American breakfast on the menu. The waffles were sweeter than in the States, and the bacon wasn’t cooked to a rectangular crisp. It was close enough to summon a pang of homesickness he hadn’t felt in years.
The food might as well have been sawdust for as much as he tasted. He rinsed it down with too hot, too bitter coffee.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake he did with the list. Putting this off would be worse. For his heart and for their relationship.
Nathan strolled down the street. The sunlight crept over the top of buildings, but it didn’t take the chill out of the air.
His phone rang, the same number as yesterday. Aunt Christine could go to voicemail.
It seemed like an eternity before he reached the apartment, but it was only about ten minutes. This was home. Or it should be. He didn’t feel right walking in though. That was too much presumption.
He knocked and waited. There was no answer.
The curtains shifted in the upstairs window. With the sun rising, he couldn’t see inside, but it was enough to tell him Tara was home.
She didn’t come to the door.
Fuck. Nathan wandered to a coffee shop a few doors down, and ordered Tara’s favorite. He should have done this before he knocked. A vase of fresh flowers sat near the front register. Every day there was a different bloom, delivered from a local greenhouse.
He paid for the drink. No reason to get one for himself. The last thing he needed was more caffeine coursing through his veins.
The girl behind the register was the youngest daughter of the family who owned the bistro. She smiled at Nathan and nodded at the arrangement of daffodils. “They represent new beginnings.”
“They’re beautiful.” And as corny a sign as he’d ever seen. “May I have one?”
She nodded.
He took the coffee and flower to an empty table, and settled in to dial Tara. His call went to voicemail, and he left her a message similar to last night. There was no follow-up text from her after.
What now? Go back and pound on the door until she let him in? Let himself in and risk making her angrier?
His New Voicemail icon glared at him. Might as well see what Aunt Christine had to say.
“Nathan, I’m sorry to bother you again. Whatever you’ve decided, this will be the last time I reach out. Your father’s condition has been downgraded. He’s not expected to live for more than forty-eight hours.”
Fuuuuuck. Nathan wanted to scream, but he swallowed his frustration. He had to go home. If he didn’t try this one last time to make amends with his dad, he’d wonder what if for the rest of his life.
He walked back to Tara’s and knocked one more time. He waited several minutes, but she didn’t come to the door.
Nathan didn’t want to do things this way, but time was limited. He typed her a quick text, hit Send, then left the flower and coffee on the front step. Fuck the city council if they had a problem with it.
There was no reply to his messag
e. Not in the time it took him to walk back to his hotel, pack, and catch a taxi to the airport.
He’d been wrong earlier. There wasn’t an empty pit where his heart should be. There was a gaping chasm of pain, and he was responsible.
TARA HAD CHECKED OUT of the room as soon as Nathan was gone after their fight, but she couldn’t go home. She wasn’t ready to face their life again. The fact that he’d lied hurt too much.
She stayed in Rome for two more days. It took a couple of hours to get some of their emergency footage scheduled for the next few days of the competition. She didn’t even want to do that. Curling up in bed and staring at the wall until her emotions settled seemed like a better idea.
This moment wouldn’t take everything they’d worked for away from her. But spite still had her temporarily lock Nathan out of their account.
Was she upset or grateful that he hadn’t tried to call or come back begging for forgiveness? She’d probably snap at him if he tried to apologize again now. Especially if he still hadn’t figured out why she was upset.
She took the train home and sank into memories of other half of the trip. Of Nick’s awe, and Nathan’s carefree joy. Of the night after, in the hotel, when the men clicked on a new level.
That was a painful path to go down. It was filled with arguments of You’re overreacting followed by this is too much like Marco. The circular mental feud threatened to make her pull her hair out.
When she got home, she took a car to her parents’ house. Her own place would be empty, but littered with reminders of Nathan, and hints of Nick. She couldn’t face it yet. She needed to eventually. Human interaction with loving people would help ease her back into reality.
Her phone rang on the ride. She let the call from Nathan go to voicemail. She couldn’t talk to him right now. Not yet. She couldn’t completely ignore him, either. Her reply was brief, but would give him something. Not yet. I need time.
Tara walked through the front door and was greeted by the familiar scent of fresh bread. Her mother was probably making Sally Lunn—she liked to keep a fresh loaf in the house. The warmth and memories wrapped around her and squeezed, and tears stung her eyes.
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