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A laugh bursts out of me. “I know, right? God, it was terrible. You really didn’t have to drink it, you know.”
“No, but if I hadn’t, I would’ve insulted my host.” Another shrug, but this one is accompanied by one of his crooked, boyish smiles that makes my insides melt. “I’ll survive. For the record, I’ve been offered worse in the name of hospitality.”
“Really? I can’t imagine.”
He grunts in acknowledgment. “Did you know there’s a beer in Japan that’s made with milk?”
Repulsed, I wrinkle my nose. “No, I did not know that.”
“I wish I could say the same. Do yourself a favor and stay away from it.”
My mouth curves wryly. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
I relax into my seat as Nick navigates the BMW into the fast lane and speeds ahead of the other cars. I’m nursing a small glimmer of relief as I watch him drive. Maybe we can end the evening on a lighter mood than it began. I hope so. I’m praying I still have a chance to build a bridge across the crevasse I dug between us back at the apartment. The kindness he showed my friends tonight seems like a promising start.
/> “Thank you for being here with me, Nick. And for what you’re doing for Tasha too. I mean, buying Vendange? Getting rid of Joel? That’s an incredibly generous thing for you to do. You’re a good man.”
“No, Avery. I’m not a good man.” He’s quiet for a moment, then he glances at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “What I am is a good businessman. The restaurant is a solid investment. If Tasha is as competent as you and Tony believe, then hiring her to manage the place only seems sensible.”
I nod, but inside I’m deflated. “Well, you made a good decision where she’s concerned. Tasha won’t let you down.”
Unlike me, I can’t help thinking, as the silence between us stretches long again.
I gaze out the car window, seeing none of the zooming traffic or the glow of the city that surrounds us. I see sunny blue skies and miles of crystalline water. I see Nick smiling at me on the deck of the Icarus, looking at me with the same kind of insatiable hunger that I have for him.
I see the long strand of creamy pearls coiled around my wrists while he shows me pleasures I never dared dream I could want.
Trust, he told me as he presented his extravagant gift to me.
Honesty.
The only way they’ll break is if you pull away from me . . .
Nick’s words are still echoing in my mind after we make the rest of the drive into Manhattan. We ride up in the elevator together, not to the penthouse, but to the fifth floor. He steps out with me and walks me to the apartment, hanging behind me as I fumble the key into the lock. My hands are not cooperating, probably because of the mist of tears threatening to fill my eyes.
I flinch when Nick’s large hand closes over my fingers, warm and strong. “Here. I’ve got it.”
Reaching around me, he opens the door, but neither one of us makes a move to go inside.
“Nick,” I murmur, uncertain what I mean to say to him. There is so much I want him to know right now, but the words all jam in my tightening throat.
I’m sorry.
I’m scared.
I’m sick with the thought that we might be over. If not here and now, then very soon. When Claire comes home and I have to tell Nick that I’m homeless, jobless . . . a liar who’s strung him along this whole time, pretending I belonged in his world.
And I’m damaged. Not only from my stepfather’s abuse, but from the violent aftermath of that horrific, explosive night nine years ago. The consequences of those final hours he was alive will stay with me forever—even if my mother finally does get her freedom one day. My shame and my secret are scars I’ll never lose.
Nick needs to know that I’m a coward. This is the confession I truly need to give him. It’s the only one I might be able to make him understand.
“Nick,” I say again, my voice a threadbare whisper as I turn around to face him in the threshold. His eyes burn into me, unblinking, expectant. It’s a struggle to hold his gaze, but I force myself not to look away. “Nick . . . I’ve been basically on my own since I was sixteen years old. It’s not easy for me to trust. It’s not . . . it’s not easy for me to let someone in.”
“What happened when you were sixteen?” His eyes hold me, both tender and demanding. “Tell me.”
I swallow, wishing I could glance away, but his gaze won’t release me.
“Why were you on your own that young?”
