Alec was probably a fucking liar.
It didn’t matter. He’d take the pain, make it his. Find a way to use it to do things differently, to help Kat become strong enough to take care of herself, to help Andrew adjust to the new world he was stuck in. To find a place in that world for himself, because hiding in between the two worlds hadn’t done jack or shit for him.
And maybe, maybe, if Nick found a way out of her political mess—don’t hope, don’t you dare hope—he’d be ready to meet her as a partner.
It might be breaking the spirit of his promise, but it was the best he could do. Because if Nick Peyton thought he could go on with his life as if she hadn’t left a gaping hole in it…
Alec is a fucking liar.
Nick pulled her patterned silk wrap more tightly around her bare arms and sighed with relief when she and Veronica stepped through the hotel’s revolving door and into the night. “That was horrible.”
“Moderately so, yes.” Veronica’s modest heels clicked against the sidewalk as she moved to the curb. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help much, but I doubt I would have caught anyone’s attention without stripping naked and climbing on my chair.”
The pleated hem of Nick’s dress fluttered around her legs, and she shivered. “One of the Ochoa boys said I’d lost weight and asked me if I make myself throw up after I eat.”
“Well, for an Ochoa, that was almost tactful. He must have been trying.”
They’d all been trying. “Way too hard,” Nick murmured. “Want to come back to the penthouse for a drink?”
Veronica smoothed her hand over her dress in a self-conscious gesture and shook her head. “Did you see my father’s face before he left? Riding home with you instead of him is all the reprieve I get. I need to let him yell at me for not being gorgeous and charming or whatever my crime is this week.”
Though the style of her dress was sedate, the expensive, pale gold fabric complemented Veronica’s dark skin beautifully. “He’s full of shit. You know that, right?”
“I do.” Veronica turned to watch the traffic zipping by. “I didn’t always. I thought I could be enough, and I tried for a long time. But the one thing that he wants is the one thing I’m never going to be—a nice, dominant son who can take over his empire. So fuck him.”
“I feel your pain.” There weren’t any empty cabs in sight, so Nick started walking. The words built up in her throat, choking her, and she blurted them out. “All I want to do is go home to New Orleans.”
Veronica caught her hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry, Nicky.”
She barked out a laugh. “I get maudlin and whiny when my father and Michelle aren’t around to hear me.”
“Good. Let’s walk a few blocks and you can whine at me. Tell me about him.”
“About Derek?” Even thinking his name scraped at the raw wounds inside her, and she steeled herself against flinching. “What do you want to know?”
Instead of answering, Veronica changed the subject. “There was a boy in Atlanta. No, not a boy. A man. A thirty-three-year-old bartender who was turned six years ago. The first time he touched my hand, I thought I was going to melt into the floor.”
It sounded too familiar. The first time she’d met Derek, he’d still been human. He hadn’t had a clue who she was, and he’d flirted shamelessly with her. Afterwards, after the attack and the hospital and Alec dragging him off to heal, things had been different. He was half-wild, almost twitchy, and something beyond flirtation had passed between them without a word. Something powerful, undeniable.
Goose bumps rose on Nick’s arms, and she rubbed them away. “Melting pretty much covers it, I think.” She’d wanted him to wrap around her, warm and strong and hard. “It’s…intense.”
“It’s intense,” Veronica agreed softly. “But it doesn’t last forever, I promise.”
If only. “It’s not just mating instinct.” She bit her lip. “I love him.”
“I loved Raul too. Or I convinced myself I did.”
“Yeah?” Nick tried to breathe through the pain. “Did you have to try to convince yourself it didn’t mean anything? That it was just sex? Stupid, instinctive sex?”
Silence stretched out too long, so the answer, when it came, was no surprise. “No.”
Nick closed her eyes. Even through the months she’d spent dropping the really blatant hints, waiting for Derek to take what she was offering, she’d known he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t ready or if he liked her too much or if the intensity of their attraction had scared him. “I tried to believe it was about sex because I couldn’t have him. Even if I could, it wouldn’t be for long.”
“Nicky.” They’d come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and Veronica coaxed her into the shadow of a nearby building. “God, I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She couldn’t stop shaking. “It was part of another life.”
Veronica’s arms closed around her shoulders. “The good things always are.”
Regardless of the pent-up anger and frustration clawing at her, having this conversation on the street was a bad idea. Anyone else leaving the party early would see them. Nick hugged her friend briefly and broke away. “Would you mind if we had that drink later? I think I need to be alone right now.”
Veronica studied her face. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Absolutely.” She didn’t bother trying to smile. “I’m just going to go home and try to forget tonight happened.”
“If you need anything…” The words trailed off. “Well, I won’t be able to do a damn thing, but I would if I could.”
“Yeah.” Nick lifted her arm to hail a cab. “I’ve felt that way for years. You, me, Michelle, Luciano… Is it really worth all this?”
“Maybe.” Veronica dropped her gaze to the ground. “When I was young and stupid, I thought that our generation would change everything. I wonder if they thought the same thing when they were our age.”
If they had, surely they knew better now. “Change is tough. People don’t like it.”
“I suppose they don’t.” A taxi pulled up to the curb, and Veronica squeezed her hand. “Call me if you need me.”
Nick held her hand for a few moments. “Thanks. I mean it.”
“You’re welcome, Nicky.”
The rest of the lone walk to her father’s co-op helped settle some of the pain and frustration roiling inside her, but her hands still trembled when she crossed the lobby and called the elevator. They didn’t stop until she made her way through the dark, quiet foyer and into her father’s study, where a quick search of the bar yielded an unopened twenty-seven-year-old bottle of Glen Albyn.
She poured herself a triple.
Mahalia appeared in the doorway, a kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder. “I thought I heard someone. How was dinner?”
“Uneventful.” Nick drained half the Scotch and shrugged. “Decent catering.”
“Mm-hmm. And the company?”
Horrific. “Acceptable.”
Mahalia fidgeted with the edge of the towel. “I wanted to apologize for the things I said the other day. I don’t know how things were between you and Gabriel, and I don’t know how you left them.”
“It’s all right.” Nick counted to three and felt a small sense of triumph when the burning in her eyes subsided. “I understand. The situation has everyone on edge.”
Instead of seeming pleased by the acceptance of her apology, Mahalia snorted. “That’s very kind of you. Very polite.”
The trembling returned, worse this time. “I try.”
The older woman’s dark gaze grew stormy, troubled. “Are you going to live this way forever? With little Nicky Peyton shoved in a box and some carefully groomed shapeshifter trophy wife in her place?”
Nick finished her Scotch and considered the alternatives. “Well, I could go back to New Orleans and ask Derek to abandon his family and friends and run away with me. Of course, he’d hate me for it, and I don’t think I’d like myself too much either, given what would happen to Michelle and Aaron.”