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I open my mouth to respond—though I’m not quite sure what to say—but he beats me to it.
“So, what’s wrong with Maria?” he asks casually, dropping into my chair. He grabs the round crystal paperweight on my desk, slowly turning it around.
“Maria?” I repeat, confused. “I haven’t spoken to her, not since the phone call you already know about.”
“I mean, what’s wrong with her? Why was she coming to see you as a therapist?”
Okay, we’ve gone from exclusive sex, to grab bags, to clients. Pretty sure I’m going to end up with whiplash here, given Nico’s tendency to flit from one subject to another without warning.
“I can’t tell you that,” I say because even if it wasn’t a therapist-client thing, Maria has kept her condition secret her entire life. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me blabbing about it.
“Why not?” he asks. “You saw the news, didn’t you? Maria Ricci is dead.”
I roll my eyes. “But I know she isn’t, Nico.”
He looks at me for a moment, then nods. “I like that about you too.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “My argumentative side? Yeah, I hear it’s a fan favorite.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap. “Your integrity,” he says as he runs his fingers down the side of my face. The touch feels more than sexual; it feels intimate.
I scoff, brushing off his words and the touch at the same time. “I’m sleeping with a criminal after committing to rid that element from my life. I’m not sure my integrity counts for a whole lot at the moment.”
“I disagree,” he says. “You never really committed to such a thing. You only thought you did.” For emphasis, he pulls on my waist-length hair.
The reason I couldn’t cut my hair is the same reason I have kept my knife on me all the time since cutting ties with my home four years ago. But it’s a reason I refuse to let myself examine to any great depth. “I need a haircut.” A proper one this time, not just a trimming of split ends.
“You needed one two years ago, baby,” he smirks, looking far too smug. The glint in his eyes tells me that he knows why I haven’t touched my hair.
I roll my eyes, forcing my mind back onto the subject at hand. “Why are you even asking about Maria?”
He shrugs as he leans back against my chair. “Maria is very picky about those she trusts, but she trusts you. And it sounds like you know her very well.”
Something about his words doesn’t sit right, but I can’t put a finger on it. Nico seems worried about her. Is that why he’s tense today? “Are Maria and Victoria okay?”
“Sì, of course,” he says. It doesn’t sound like he’s lying, and nothing about his body language suggests otherwise.
“Where is she?”
“You shouldn’t really be asking me that.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. I’ll never fully understand his obsession with secrecy, even when there’s clearly no reason. “You do realize I could ask Maria this the next time she calls.”
“So, ask her, then,” he replies.
“I’m asking you, Nico.”
He narrows his gaze at me and grinds his molars, debating whether to answer my question. It’s just one location, one that shouldn’t mean anything to either of us, but somehow, it’s like crossing a significant line.
Finally, Nico says, “Cozumel, Mexico.”
I huff out a breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he grumbles.
I shrug. “Trusting me, I suppose. It seems like a little thing, but I know it’s a big deal for you, Nico.”
He grunts. “Do you really?”
