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‘Hey, come on, I was kidding.’ He didn’t really think he was boring, did he? ‘I love to hear you talk. If I’ve got a complaint, it’s that you don’t do it enough. Which is why I’m determined to squeeze information out of you while I’ve got you on a roll. So, other women who’ve cried on you.’
* * *
Nick cast his eyes over the remaining slice of pizza, but his stomach didn’t fancy it any more. Lizzie was right — he didn’t like talking about himself. Compared to a lot of people he led a pretty dull life. But compared to Lizzie? He was, as she’d so eloquently put it, like flaming Cinderella. As for this topic — women who’d cried on him? — he bet she didn’t discuss this type of crap with any of her showbiz men. ‘Well, I guess we’d have to include your mother,’ he told her, taking peevish pleasure from her shock. Well, she had asked.
‘My mother?’
Of course now he wished he’d kept his gobby mouth shut. ‘It was soon after you’d left to go to New York. She’d just had a letter from you when I came to visit. I guess I was handy.’
‘Wow. That must have been a moment for you.’
‘Actually, it was one of the only times I’ve been pleased to have a woman cry over me. She wasn’t really upset, just missing you. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to let me hug her, well, it made me feel like I was really part of the family.’ Now he sounded pathetic, yet when he dared to glance at Lizzie, her eyes were full of understanding.
‘You never really talked about your other life when we were kids. You know, the one you spent in your real home with your aunt and uncle. I always got the impression from Mum that you didn’t get on with them much. Was that right?’
How the blazes had he got onto this subject? ‘They preferred my sister, if that’s what you mean.’ Only eighteen months old when their parents had died, Charlotte had been the apple of their aunt and uncle’s eye. Nick, a rapidly growing boy, old enough to remember his real parents, had been a complication his guardians hadn’t bothered to try and understand.
‘Mum always looked upon you as her second son, Nick,’ she told him softly. ‘I know she did.’
He felt his eyes prick and bit the inside of his cheek. He was not going to make a fool of himself in front of her. ‘I miss them more than I thought I would,’ he finally confessed. ‘To lose one set of parents is bad luck. To lose two.’ Shit, he was choking up. Swiftly he rose to his feet and legged it into the kitchen. There he grabbed at the tea towel, wiped his eyes and took a quick slug of water.
When he returned she eyed him watchfully but thankfully didn’t comment on what she could read in his face. ‘Do you remember much of your real parents?’ she asked instead.
Wearily he collapsed back onto the sofa. He wanted to tell her he’d had enough of this conversation, but he’d probed into her private life enough over the last few days. He couldn’t object now the tables were turned. ‘Not as much as I’d like. Dad was a giant of a man, but soft-hearted. I don’t remember him ever raising his voice to me. Mum was a typical mum, I guess. She liked to cook, maybe that’s where I get it from, and hugged a lot.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I missed that, more than anything. Aunt Sarah didn’t hug me once. I think she thought I was too big for that sort of thing.’
Before he knew it, Lizzie had climbed off the armchair and was sitting next to him, wrapping him in her slender arms. ‘That’s to help make up for what you missed out on,’ she told him, squeezing him firmly. ‘Perhaps that’s why you’re such a great hugger. You know how much it really means. So, any more women who’ve cried on you?’
Nick had stopped listening. His mind was back in that cold, sparsely furnished house he’d lived in with his aunt and uncle. Childless themselves, they were older than his parents had been, and set in their ways. Clearly having a pair of kids dumped on them had meant a lot of adjustments. He guessed he should be grateful they’d taken to Charlotte, at least. Still, the lack of love, support, even affection, had made life pretty bleak. Even worse had been the snide remarks, the continuous undermining of anything he’d ever achieved. If he’d come second, why wasn’t he first? If he was first, why had he dropped those three marks? He wasn’t trying hard enough. God, it was no wonder at times he was an insecure screw up. And then, to top it all, when his uncle had become aware of his obsession with Lizzie, there had been the incredulous laughter. What are you thinking, boy? You’ve got no hope there. Just look at yourself. Nothing his uncle had ever said had hurt more than that. Probably because, even then, he’d been aware of the truth in the words.
Amazingly though, that very same girl, now a stunning young woman, was at this moment holding onto him as if she’d never let him go. She smelt so wonderful, like blossom in the spring, and she felt even better. Nestled against him, soft and warm, she felt so bloody fantastic he’d happily freeze the moment and stay like this forever. But he couldn’t, and any minute now his body was going to betray the far from brotherly feelings he was experiencing.
On the pretext of clearing up the pizza boxes, he reluctantly eased her away. ‘I think it’s your turn,’ he countered when he’d deposited them by the front door and filled up both their wine glasses. ‘Men you’ve cried on, or men who’ve cried on you. Take your pick.’
Lizzie curled her feet up under her and stared at the rim of the wine glass. ‘I’ve not had any men cry on me, not unless you count Tommy Potter in the second year of primary school.’
‘What did you do to him? Break his heart because you wouldn’t kiss him?’
‘Nope. I accidentally broke his Action Man. He wouldn’t stop blubbering and I felt so guilty I tried to console him. It was like hugging a toad.’
Nick laughed. ‘Okay, how about men you’ve cried on?’
‘My dad, countless times. Robert, when Dad wasn’t around.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Sorry, but the only other man I’ve cried on has been you.’
‘You must be really happy then, living the American dream,’ he replied quietly.
‘I didn’t say there hadn’t been tears. Just that I hadn’t cried on anyone else.’ Before he had a chance to wonder why not, she was talking again. ‘But to answer your question, yes, I am happy. At least I was. I enjoy my work. I know it sounds shallow to someone like you, but I get a buzz from being in front of a camera. One I couldn’t possibly begin to explain.’
‘What do you mean, someone like me?’
She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Wow, you’re really going to make me say this? I mean someone intelligent.’
‘A degree doesn’t make me more intelligent than you, Lizzie. It just means I went on to study, while you went out to work.’
‘If you can call what I do work, eh?’ He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. ‘It’s okay, it doesn’t feel like work to me, either, which is what I love about it. I get paid silly sums of money to travel the world, meet amazing people from all walks of life and work with hugely talented designers, making their creations come alive for them. It’s an incredible feeling. I’m also starting to toy with acting.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘But you don’t want to start me on that subject, not at this time of night. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to hit the sack. I’m shattered.’
Nick watched her go upstairs but stayed where he was, gazing broodingly into the flames that flickered through the window of the stove. When she’d spoken of her modelling, her eyes had lit up for the first time since she’d been here. A stark reminder that as soon as her name was cleared, she’d be off. Back to where she belonged in the glitz and glamour of LA.
Lurching to his feet, he went to take his disappointment and frustration out on the fire.
