Chapter 47
1891words
Nicholas, contemplating the ocean and all its wonders.
Me, contemplating how on earth I was going to convince him to agree to a fake girlfriend.
In the end, I decided relentless persistence was my best shot. Nicholas was stubborn, but he also had a short attention span. If I kept bringing up the conversation, even when he just wanted to move on with his day, there was a slim chance—though not a great one—that he might cave and give me what I needed.
(That part of the plan was crucial: framing it as a favor he was doing for me, rather than a demand from his father.)
'You know," I started casually, tapping my bare feet against the counter, 'before I had to rush out of the restaurant last night to help you and your lobsters, I was actually having a pretty good time on my date."
'Oh yeah?" Nicholas perched on the counter, awakening before my eyes as the caffeine kicked in. 'Better than that Swedish guy? The one with the mustache that made him look like a pedophile?"
I snorted into my coffee, taking a moment to compose myself.
'Yeah—way better than that." I blew away a wisp of steam. 'I think you'd actually like him. He started by ordering a bottle of Margaux."
This peeked a bit of interest.
'What year?"
I avoided the question and moved swiftly forward.
'Good conversation, nice smile...speaks about nine different languages." At this point, I was just making things up. Filling in the gaps as I built up momentum. 'Drives a Maserati."
This time, it was Nicholas's turn to laugh.
I had a well-known habit of judging people badly for driving exorbitantly over-priced cars. It had made one of our first outings in his own Aston Martin rather memorable.
'Does this Romeo have a name? Or did you already forget?" His eyes twinkled playfully as he took another swig of coffee. 'You didn't write it on your hand, did you?"
I hesitated, then shook my head with a self-righteous sneer. No—I most certainly had not written his name on my hand. I only thought I had. Instead, I'd written the name of this Brian...
'He has a name. I did not write it on my hand."
Nicholas lowered his mug, forcing me to make eye contact.
'What is it then? Fast—don't think."
I panicked. Whenever he did this—I panicked. He had a piercing focus and commanding intensity (curtesy of the Oxford debate team) that was specifically designed to off-balance his opponent. In a different life, he would have made an incredible lawyer.
'His NAME, Winchester."
'Brian!" I blurted. Then blanched. 'Wait—Camden! No, Brian!"
Son of a bitch.
His lips curled up in a victorious smirk, a clear winner once again.
'Brian, was it?" He cocked his head condescendingly. 'Was his name really Brian?"
Please don't talk about him in the past tense already, it doesn't bode well for my love life.
I held his gaze only for a moment, before dropping my eyes with a scowl.
'No, it was Camden."
He returned to his coffee in triumph, as I stewed in defeat.
'Brian's my new brother's name," I added petulantly.
His mug came down.
'What was that?"
Fortunately, at that moment, we were interrupted by Louise—Nicholas's housekeeper. Aside from myself and Max, she was the only person in the world with the elevator access code to get up to the penthouse. Originally, these things were supposed to be monitored carefully, and in all likelihood—they would probably all go through me. But after the second week of her buzzing my phone every ten minutes, I had surrendered the information without a moment's pause.
It was a good thing too. If I hadn't given up the numbers, there was a good chance she would have simply taken them for herself.
Of all the people that flitted in and out of Nicholas's world, she was hands-down the most formidable. On her bad days, she might even give dear old Mitchell a run for his money.
Louise Müller had been a supply-runner and French patriot before marrying her fourth husband after the Second World War. The rigid stringencies of the reconstruction had found a permanent and willing host in dear Louise. Upon moving to Bavaria, she campaigned long and hard against the wearing of brightly colored fabric and the performance of lively music. She was a devout believer in hard work, and fiercely detested any of the superfluous frills society had to offer. (In Louise's opinion, these ‘frills' included consistent electricity and heated water. After facing jail, the third time for performing a citizen's arrest at Oktoberfest (her favorite annual tradition), Mitchell Huntington had scooped her up and sent her here—to reform his wayward son.
At a first glance, you might think that two such extreme opposites would have destroyed each other sometime within the first week, but strangely enough—Louise and Nicholas had found an odd sort of balance. She was the authoritative female presence he'd never had, and I think she saw him as her life's greatest challenge. Over the years, they'd developed a precarious truce.
If she was surprised to see us up and about at such an early hour, she certainly didn't say so. She merely stared pointedly at Nicholas's feet, until he lowered them slowly off the counter.
I hid my grin in my coffee. The bastard might be able to best me at a cross-examination, but at least I wasn't the one taking subliminal orders from their own house staff.
'Did you make a pile of all clothes for the dry cleaners like I asked you?" she snapped in a thick accept, her eyebrows congealing into a single, threatening point.
My head swiveled to Nicholas with a wide smile.
Apparently, he was taking direct orders now too.
He flushed slightly and avoided my gaze.
'Not yet, I had a really busy..." He faltered under the force of her glare. 'I was planning on going to..." Faltered again. 'I was actually planning on doing it right now."
With that, he downed the rest of his coffee in a single swig and hurried upstairs. After placing both our mugs carefully in the sink (under Louise's watchful eye), I skipped up after him, ready to put my plan into action. I found him in the linen closet.
'So you know what's so great about this guy? Camden?"
I leaned against the doorway, watching as he haphazardly threw things into two separate piles on the floor. He seemed to have a system, but there was no rhyme or reason to it.
'The fact that you've finally remembered his name?"
I ignored this.
'The fact that I actually want to see him again." Not exactly true, but it would work for now. 'He's not like all the rest—I think there might actually be something there."
Nicholas picked up a sweater, glanced between the piles uncertainly, and ended up simply throwing it in the trash. I fished it out calmly, and he glanced up for the first time.
'Really." He didn't even phrase it as a question. 'You named the guy after, who I'm only assuming is a fictitious brother, but you think this one's got relationship potential."
I nodded with wide, innocent eyes.
'There's only one problem...he wants to double date."
Nicholas paused a moment, then burst out laughing. A tuxedo vest fell from his hands as he turned to me with a rueful smile. 'You're really subtle today, you know that?"
I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, eyes as wide as saucers.
'It's true! So what am I supposed to do here, Nicholas?" My self-righteous act dropped for a moment as a muscle flared in the back of my neck. Served me right for falling asleep in a hard-backed chair. 'Should I just break it off? Walk away from my future happiness?"
Another spasm of pain, and I rolled my head from side to side, trying to stretch it out.
'What are you doing?" Nicholas asked curiously.
'Or maybe there's another way," I continued, kneading the base of my skull with my fingers. 'Maybe I can find another couple to come with us. People I know. People I trust. People who owe me for a little incident involving a lobster."
'Okay, come here." He laughed, dropping his clothes and pulling me towards him. 'This ploy is getting you nowhere, and you look like you're having a fit or something." Before I could stop him, he spun me around and starting working on my neck with a set of skilled hands.
My body stiffened up and words failed me, as all of a sudden, we were a lot closer than we usually were. Ironic, I know. Seeing as he'd fallen asleep on my shoulder just a night before.
But somehow...this wasn't really the same.
'You can try to relax, you know," he teased softly, fingers rubbing in gentle circles over my skin. 'It kind of defies the point when you tense up."
My cheeks flushed, and I was suddenly relieved we weren't facing so he couldn't see.
'Sorry, it's just..." I tried to squirm away. 'You don't have to do that."
'Nonsense." He caught me by the shoulders and pulled me back, slapping away my hand when I tried to intervene. 'Now I'm serious—relax."
I tried. It wasn't the easiest thing.
'Relax," he commanded again, using that same authoritative tone.
A moment later, I didn't have a choice.
A warm tingling sensation radiated out from my neck, shivering down the rest of my skin. Like there were little magical lights coming out of his hands. His body—much warmer than mine, and still only wearing a towel from his shower—hovered just an inch or two behind my back. I could feel the heat from it on my bare shoulders as he leaned in to press harder.
'Oh my gosh," a little moan escaped my lips as my head fell forward, 'how the hell are you doing this? Did you take a class or something I don't know about?"
His fingers laced up through my hair and I could practically hear the smile.
'Ayla."
Of course. His flawless, visa-less, statuesque ‘Pilates' instructor. The one who'd showed up out of nowhere on his doorstep—hailing from somewhere in Eastern Ukraine. Her accent was so thick, that for the life of me, I couldn't understand what she was saying. But she and Nicholas had always found a way to see...eye to eye. A minute after meeting her, he put her on the payroll.
'Ah yes, Ayla." A little smile snaked up my face as his hands continued working. 'Is this one of those Pilates moves you two have been working on? Taking the hands-on approach?"
'Practice makes perfect. I intend to be a Pilates master one day."
I snorted. 'I'm sure you do."
We didn't talk for a while, simply stood there in silence as his skillful hands effectively erased all the tension from my fretful neck. An occasional shiver would rocket down my spine whenever he leaned in too close, but other than that, it was remarkably soothing.
But no matter how skilled his magical fingers might be...there was some tension they couldn't coax away.
'Nicholas...we really do have to talk about what your dad said."
