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I believe he would. The truth is both soul-stirring and petrifying. Nico’s only ever come to me with open arms, speaking a language hummed in my veins better than anyone I’ve ever met.
It’s everything about him.
The damn grin that sings to me like my favorite song, his morning wake-up calls with steaming cups of tea, carrying me to bed when I stay up too late, or when I catch him simply watching mebe.
He’s so quickly become a dear friend.
Because it’s what we are.
Just friends.
Nico and I. Me and him.
“Lil.” The squeeze of his hand on my thigh jolts me back to the present. “You don’t have to tell me anything tonight, no explanations, and no juicy details. Only know I support you, and I’m proud of you. Let’s celebrate, no strings attached. What do you say?”
His face is creased with a smile so beautiful, it almost makes me want to skip over my place setting and lock my mouth to his.
“Okay.” I lift my champagne glass between us. He mirrors me, peeking at me through the bubbly liquid.
“To Lily ‘Zoe Mona’ Rodin, a bestselling author. Cheers,princesa.”
And for the first time, I allow myself to celebrate my win.
Chapter26
Lily
The past fewdays have gone by in a blur. Nico’s haunted house app didn’t pan out since the idea he thought up already exists.
Following the initial shock at dinner, it actually feels pretty good that someone finally knows about Zoe Mona. I’ve been dragging my feet about telling him the origin story, but it already feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest.
Nico roused me at an ungodly hour this morning, insisting the spontaneous trip to Amsterdam would be worth every minute. But the pitch-black windows and swaying train car as we pass through the Channel Tunnel are making me nauseous.
“This is underwhelming,” I sigh. “I don’t know why I expected to see fish.”
“Comfy chairs, beautiful sights, lack of sea creatures. I give it three stars.” His eyes connect to mine from the seat opposite me, creasing at the edges. “But I may have to disagree with you. I think I have a pretty good view.”
I gaze at him and can’t help but agree.
He looks exceptionally good today, wearing baggy blue denim jeans, a tee that hugs his chest oh-so-nicely, and the sneakers I bought him.
Several people turned their heads as we sleepily walked to the train this morning.
I wanted to hang an off-limits sign on him.
Things between Nico and me are different than they were in Brazil.
There are moments when we hold hands, both of us pretending not to notice how our fingers hook around each other when we’re walking around London, or when our fingers brush while he forces me to endure another scary movie. Of course, there are the forehead kisses Nico refuses to stop giving me, and one time, I huffed his shirt after he worked out.
I don’t want to speak about it.
Ever.
Maybe the spell of romantic fog isn’t so bad.
I know my heart is—under lock, chain, barbed wire, electric fencing, and a long, rusted, forgotten key. Why not enjoy sporadic moments of affection from a man who wants nothing out of me other than the time we spend together?
Almost four hours later, we disembark our train and take a cab to a park outside the city center where we rent a tandem bike for the afternoon.
