Chapter 63
2064words
The elevator doors opened to a deserted lobby.
Oh no. No, no, no!
A cheerful building attendant caught my eye, and I hurried over, the clatter of my high heels echoing on the marble tile.
'Excuse me—have you seen Nicholas Huntington? He was supposed to wait for me here."
The man nodded calmly.
'He did, miss. He waited for about a minute, then he left."
Of course he did.
'Okay," I panted, looking around frantically, 'do you know where he went? Does he have a favorite bar, or maybe that downtown gym with the boxing ring—"
'I don't need to guess," the man said with a smile. 'When I called for his car, I asked where he was headed. He told me."
That caught my attention.
'He...he did?" I stopped scrolling through mental possibilities and focused on the attendant. 'Where did he go?"
He patted me on the shoulder cheerfully and dropped the bombshell.
'He went to Spain."
--
Spain. Nicholas got angry, so instead of waiting another minute, he jetted off to Spain.
...To be fair, I should have expected it.
Our first meeting, the day his father arrived unannounced at his penthouse to inform him he now had a publicist, had been somewhat rocky.
After Mitchell left, Nicholas and I stared at each other for five minutes. Neither of us moved or spoke—just appraised each other, weighed our options.
Then, with a charm and ease I hadn't yet learned to be wary of, he smiled and said he was going to grab a water from the kitchen. He promised we'd reconvene in the living room to plan the next few months.
Instead of the kitchen, he went to Rome.
It was his trademark.
Some people drank when upset. Others called friends in tears. Me? I drowned in ice cream while watching old Sex and the City reruns until 4 a.m.
Nicholas? He booked the next available flight to a random destination.
Girlfriend dumped him for cheating? Iceland. Reconciled and then re-dumped for cheating again? Bulgaria. Father yelled at him for spending? Off to Argentina. Soccer team lost? Minsk.
Worst by far was the day he found out his favorite bike messenger had fallen in love and married the woman of his dreams (inadvertently moving him away to California). That time, Nicholas had vanished to Lebanese sheep farm for a month and threatened to never return.
In other words...I guess I was lucky it was just Spain.
By the time I landed in Barcelona (according to the travel itinerary I hacked into, I at least knew where he was going t
o touch down), it was coming up on ten at night. My Spanish was broken, at best, but I got into a cab and managed to have him drop me at the closest of three locations from which I'd start my search. You see, as unpredictable as Nicholas could be, in some ways, he was actually quite traditional.
The first thing he always did in a new city, was get ice cream.
Because Nicholas was twelve.
While he wasn't at the first location I tried, or the second, the gods threw me down a bit of luck—he was at the third. I paid the cabbie, got out, and started walking slowly towards him across the cobblestone streets.
I couldn't help but smile as I approached. You had never seen a sadder sight, and yet, there was an air of whimsy about it that made the whole thing utterly adorable.
Nicholas was sitting by himself at an outdoor table. A look of childlike devastation on his face. A melting ice cream cone in his hand. Every now and then, he would glance down and consider eating it, before resting his cheek on his hand again with a small sigh.
I pursed my lips and shook my head. All the money and power in the world, but if only all those people could see him now. There wouldn't be a dry eye in the house.
He saw me coming and made a compulsive movement, like he was going to stand. Either to bolt back to the airport with his magical eight ball of destinations, or simply to greet me—I'd never know. Instead, all he did was kick out the chair across from him, and gesture for me to sit.
I did so with a fond smile, gazing at him sympathetically.
'So Nicholas...what are we into now?"
He stared down at the soggy cone, giving away nothing.
'Rocky Road."
I nodded and sat there quietly, keeping my face as serious as his. He wasn't the kind of man who would give in to something just because he was pressed. I had to let him get there on his own time.
And that time didn't seem to be any time soon.
For the next hour or so, we simply sat there in comfortable silence. Eating our ice cream, drinking our espresso. Watching the sights and sounds of Barcelona as they hurried by.
It wasn't until the nightclub across the street opened with a distant cheer, that he cast me a sideways glance. Fixing me in those sky-blue eyes.
'I went out for a run this morning. Got back to see Elisia and Bradley fucking in my apartment. Things...escalated from there."
I nodded quietly. My expression never changed.
From the bits of information I was able to gather between the screaming threats and shards of flying porcelain, I had assumed as much. The thing I didn't quite understand, was why it had gotten so strong of a reaction. Nicholas didn't care about Elisia. I didn't understand the ‘sad.'
'And...that's when she threw your coffee stuff out the window?" I asked hesitantly. One wrong word, and I'd be chasing him off to Guam. I had to tread carefully. 'She was lucky they were doing construction down below—the whole sidewalk was roped off."
Nicholas shook his head, staring unblinkingly at the nightclub.
'Elisia didn't throw that stuff. That was me." He picked up his espresso and took a sip. 'I knew about the construction," he added as an afterthought.
I didn't give a damn about that. I couldn't get past the coffee.
Nicholas's baby. His one true love. He was the one who threw it out the window?
But before I could even ask, he added one final thing.
'They were in Sarah's room."
All at once, the whole thing made sense. The hole in the window. The screaming. The flight to Spain—all of it.
You see, there was one room in Nicholas's house that was never opened. One room that had remained shut for almost five years now, when its occupant was wheeled out forever, and taken to the hospital to die.
Sarah Terrell. Nicholas's mother.
'Oh, Nicholas..." I hung my head, setting down my cup with a sudden chill. 'I'm so sorry."
To come home and see Elisia Campbell and the bellboy fucking on your dead mother's bed? To be honest, I was surprised screaming and Spain were the worst of it.
His face tightened for a moment, before he shook his head dismissively. Taking a lick of his ice cream like it couldn't have bothered him less.
But I knew the truth.
Nicholas had been just nineteen when his mother was diagnosed with cancer. It was fast-moving and aggressive, and no matter what they tried, it wasn't enough.
She passed away just three months later.
Before she did, Nicholas had moved her from the suburbs into his own penthouse. The home she'd gotten in the divorce from his father was more than adequate, but he wanted her close so he could care for her himself. A room was made up across the hall from his, and for the next three months—day and night—he never left her bedside.
I hadn't known him then, but knowing him now—I'm sure he thought that he could somehow save her. That if he tried hard enough, was somehow good enough, she wouldn't die and leave him all alone.
When Mitchell failed to attend the funeral, the two of them stopped talking. For the first time. It was then that the first true seeds of hate were planted.
Of course, this was one of the best kept secrets on the Upper East Side. People might have guessed it, of course. The general neglect Manhattan's elite showed for their offspring tended to breed resentment. But no one had any idea how deep it went. Of the sheer animosity between father and son.
Mitchell saw Nicholas exactly like his mother. Beautiful, carefree, distractible, with a streak of whimsical adventure. Absolutely uninterested in anything to do with his precious company.
And Nicholas saw Mitchell for what he really was. A snake. A cold, heartless suit who had abandoned his son the only time in his life that Nicholas had ever actually needed him.
Why Nicholas called her Sarah, not mother, I never knew. He'd never told me. And as far as I knew, the door to her room had never been opened since that final day. I myself had never seen inside. It was strictly forbidden. Locked at all times.
I had no idea how Elisia and Bradley had managed to get inside.
'I can't do it, Avy," he murmured, his eyes still locked on the club. 'I can't go back there and see her again. I can't pretend to...I won't."
My heart seized up again with that fiercely protective instinct. The one that had taken over the second I saw he was no longer willing to fight for himself. Only to flee.
'You don't have to," I said with a bit more passion than was necessary. He glanced over at me, and without thinking, I placed my hand on his. 'You will never see her again, I promise."
He looked down at our hands for a moment, before offering me a weak smile.
'That's going to be difficult. Manhattan's a small island. She lives five minutes away."
A faint blush rose up in my cheeks, and I turned my eyes quickly to the club.
'...not anymore."
He looked up in surprise.
'What?"
'What?" I echoed, hoping to divert the conversation.
For the first time since landing in Spain, a genuine smile brightened his face.
'You know that's like, a fifth-grade defense, right?"
I shrugged stiffly.
'They say children are our future."
He snorted and turned towards me, angling his body in the chair.
'I'm serious, Avy—what did you do to her?"
I simply studied my nails.
He raised his eyebrows and tried again.
'Avery—I went to Barcelona for the ice cream. Did you, by chance, flee here? Hoping to escape one of those pesky little murder charges?"
'Oh, Nicholas," I laughed, patting him indulgently on the hand. Then I sobered suddenly and leveled him with my eyes. 'You think there's even a chance that I would get caught?"
He held my gaze for a moment, before a sudden chill rippled down his arms. Followed by a twinkling smile as he slowly shook his head.
'Remind me never to fire you."
'Done."
'So what really happened to her?" he asked.
'She's moving to California for her new modeling contract, that's all."
'You used your contacts to get her out of here, didn't you?"
I smiled. 'Maybe."
We continued people watching for a while longer—ordering another hot espresso when the air began to get cold. The nightclub across the street was starting to hit its stride. Flashing lights and a pulsing bass vibrated through the cobblestones—flickering in our eyes and shaking up through our shoes. Before long, we were both nodding our heads to the beat.
After a few more minutes, Nicholas caught my eye with a sideways smile.
'You wanna check it out?"
I glanced in surprise from him to the club, my eyes glowing with the neon fluorescence. I did want to go. Very much. But professionally speaking, it wasn't the best idea.
'Hey," he leaned over, guessing my thoughts, 'this is Spain. What happens here..."
He offered out a hand, hovering it in the air in front of me. After a moment's consideration, I took it with a mischievous grin.
'...stays here."
