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“I don’t want to sell,” I say, making that decision as I speak the words. This place is stability for me. I need it, but what I say to him is also true. “I will protect this place, just like my father wanted to protect it. And I have a good team. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? Because I could buy it and protect it for you. And heck, I’ll do some improvements and get a tax write-off.”
He says it so lightheartedly that it feels innocent, but I don’t know. He does like money, and he, too, might find a hundred million dollars appealing. “I’m not selling. More now than ever, I know that’s the right decision.” A thought hits me. “You know, you sent me that Vegas photo with a note.”
“I just wanted you to know that yes, your father did some things with—and for—your mother that went against his grain, but he loved her deeply. And she loved him, too. She just had issues. And as much as I hated to see him hurt, I often thought that few people love like he loved.” He knocks on the counter. “I forgot a meeting I have this morning, but I wanted to see you. I am going to leave you to enjoy your Saturday on your own. If you need me, I’m here. I’ll show myself out.” I stare at his spot for several moments, remembering a conversation with my father. It had been just him and me at the kitchen table:
“I want to go to Vegas for my twenty-first birthday, and I want you to come,” I’d said.
“Honey, I hate that place. I went once when I was twenty-five, and bad stuff we won’t talk about happened. It’s bad luck. I won’t go back. Ever.”
“But Mom loves Vegas.”
“Yeah,” he’d said tightly. “I know.”
He’d gotten up and given me his back as he walked to the sink.
I grab my cellphone and tab through the photos Bill sent me, and there is only one of my mother and my father, and that’s the Vegas shot. I study it now, and I can’t be sure that’s my father and not Bill. Did Bill send me a photo of him and my mother cheating on my father as a way to lure me into meeting him?
Nick’s words come back to me:Nothing your uncle told you about me is the truth.Was Nick telling the truth? I shut my eyes in frustration. He’s Nathan Marks’s son. That is the absolute truth, and Bill told me that truth. I shove a hand through my hair. “Stop, Faith. Stop looking for a reason to forgive Nick.”No matter what, I add silently. I remind myself that Nick lied to me. I know he knew that his father was my enemy. So the bottom line is that Nick feels right and good while Bill still feels bad and even a little scary. But Nick is the one who carved out my heart.
Chapter Forty-Two
Faith
Nick haunts me the rest of the day.
I can’t get him out of my head, but I try. I spend most of the day packing up the house, even though there really isn’t much of what I pack that I want to take with me. I don’t go to my studio, but once I’ve thrown on dressy jeans and a sweater for dinner with Kasey, I am ready early. I walk upstairs and stand in my studio. And I see Nick everywhere. I painted him here. I got naked with him here. I fought with him here. God, I love him. This is gutting me. I need to understand. Maybe then I can move on.
I sit down against the wall and unblock Nick’s number on my phone. I sit there, trying to decide if I really want to do this, and the answer is yes. I’m ready now to do this. I dial Nick.
“Faith. Sweetheart.”
I love his deep, rich voice, and I love when he calls me sweetheart. “I need to understand.”
“Let me come to you.”
“No. Because when you touch me I forget everything else, and don’t tell me that’s a good thing. It’s not. Not right now.”
“I need you to look into my eyes and see the truth.”
“Please just tell me.”
“My father was giving your mother large sums of money. It made no sense. And then he was dead, and he’d never had a heart problem in his life. It didn’t add up. I thought your mother killed my father, but then she was dead of the same cause.”
“Oh God. You thought I did it, and yet you fucked me?”
“I knew you didn’t do it as soon as I met you.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. I felt it. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but I know now that I felt it from the beginning.”
“YouthoughtI was a killer,” I press, still stunned by this news.
“For a hiccup of a moment, Faith. But no more lies. I didn’t come to you with good intentions, and I damn sure didn’t come to you planning to fall in love. But I did. I love you, Faith Winter. So fucking much. Which is why I couldn’t tell you.”
“Lies are not love,” I say, unable to even try and mask the anger and pain in those words.
