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Things seemed…genuine between them. Not quite like a real relationship, but something better than mere tolerance. A burgeoning friendship. Marianna was happy with the progress, but Dion’s words rang in her ears, like a little voice telling her to watch her step: it ends with you leaving.
What the hell did Dion know? He’d grown up in a similar environment to Nico, and just because he didn’t have the same lonesome, moody reputation didn’t mean that he wasn’t damaged by it. Growing up without parents was tough; Marianna knew that better than anyone. Growing up without love…well, she could only imagine what that would do to a person.
“Marianna?” Nico’s voice rumbled in the depths of the house. An edge of annoyance tinted his words, meaning he could only be calling her name for one thing.
“I’m here.” She came out into the living room and wrapped a soft cotton shawl around her shoulders. It was a pretty, pale cream and embroidered with small red flowers and green leaves. It had belonged to her mother, and she always wore it whenever she wanted to pretend her mother was with her.
Nico stood in the middle of the room, wearing a mock irritated frown and holding a tiny ornament in his hands. “What have I told you about this?”
She eyed the porcelain cat and stifled a laugh, trying—and failing—to appear innocent. “What on earth makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
They’d made quite the game of “hide and seek” with it over the past two weeks. Marianna could barely go a day without plucking the cat from its home on the bedside table and finding new and funny places to leave it. So far, Nico had found the cat in his underwear drawer, on the banana lounge beside the pool, inside a pair of rolled-up socks, and guarding the TV remote. One day she’d even hid it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and he hadn’t noticed until he got to work.
It was like the “traveling garden gnome” prank, and now she’d started leaving little hand-written notes signed with a drawing of a paw print.
Nico opened the note and cleared this throat. “Dear Nico. I need to roam free like my feline ancestors. I refuse to be confined by your rules. Sincerely, Gáta.”
“Sounds like he has a mind of his own,” she replied.
“You couldn’t think of a better name for him than the Greek word for cat? That’s not very creative.” Nico’s lips tugged up into a smirk.
“I wouldn’t have to make up a name if you told me why the cat was so important to you.”
Marianna was curious as hell about it. For a man who seemed to have no outwardly sentimental emotions—he never joked with the staff, never seemed to get personal calls from anyone except Dion—it made the collection of items beside his bed even more fascinating. She’d confirmed the other boy in the photo was, in fact, Dion, but no further information about where it had been taken or the origin of the cat had been forthcoming.
“Stop touching my things,” he said, without any hardness to his voice. Once again, her prodding for more information went unanswered. “Oh, and something arrived for you today.”
He placed the cat and the note down on the table and handed her a package. The postage stamp brought an immediate smile to her lips. It was of a rosella, the colorful birds she’d loved back home. “I know who this is from!”
She broke the seal of the box and pulled the lid up. Inside, nestled among some shredded cardboard, were two packets of Tim Tams—original and double-coated—as well as a jar of Vegemite.
“Who’s it from?” Nico asked.
“Jules. My best friend.” She grinned and tore open one of the packets of biscuits, cheekily slipping one out and biting into the end with a moan. “I said I was feeling a little homesick and missing some of the treats I used to like. Isn’t that a sweet gesture?”
“Sounds like a good friend.” He watched her eat, his gaze locked onto her mouth. “Ready to go?”
“Mmhrmph.” She nodded, her mouth full of the chocolate treat.
Nico’s eyes brushed over her, the dark depths simmering with something new. It wasn’t the lusty look he’d given her their first—and only—time together, but it was softer than the distrusting gaze he’d used on her that first day.
“Are you driving?” she asked, brushing an errant crumb from her lips.
“Yeah, I told Lukas to go home.” He smiled, and it was like a lazy ray of sunshine. His work suit was inky dark, and his white shirt sat open at the collar, showing off the deepened tan he’d acquired over the weekend. Holy hell, the sight was enough to set her hair on fire. “It’s just us tonight.”
Why did it sound so weighted when he said it like that? They were home alone every night because the staff didn’t live with them. They lay side by side, not touching. Not even whispering.
But her body had been craving more with each passing night. Her fingers desperate to become bold and reach for him in the dark.
“I was thinking…” She sucked in a breath and tried to act like she wasn’t poring over his every word, trying to dissect its meaning. “We should probably start thinking about names for the baby.”
