Page 58 of Bossy Wicked Prince
I remember every word. They bounce around my brain, tormenting me. The worst thing I’ve ever said, repeated over and over until it almost breaks me. Even with Nate’s soft gaze and reassuring hand, I can’t repeat that outloud. It feels like a curse.
“I thought it was the only way to help him. I thought that if I was cruel, maybe it would shock him out of his haze. Then he disappeared,” I whisper. “I don’t know what happened to him. Nobody knew where he went—if he was even still alive. I was wrong about tough love. I think what he really needed was kindness and understanding. For one person to remind him how worthy he was of living a good, happy life.”
“You did the best you could, Kitten.” His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them. “Maybe there never was a better way to help him.”
“Maybe. It just hurts so much sometimes.”
Suddenly, I remember what Susie said earlier.
I worked under his father, before he passed.
The blood drains from my face. Here I am going on about grieving my father when Nate actually lost his. At least Dad could still be alive out there, when Nate’s situation is permanent.
“Oh Nate, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be complaining, not when your dad is…”
I trail off. Saying the word “dead” just feels too final.
“It’s okay,” Nate says. “Having a parent leave you like that is probably just as painful, even if it’s a different way. Anyway, myDad was no saint. Not at all like he looked in the media and to his business partners. He was a whole other person?—”
He clears his throat and glances away, and I can tell he’s done talking about this. I have a thousand questions I want to ask. What exactly did his father do? How does Nate feel about it? Does his grief hit him sometimes in the middle of the day, surprising him with how intense it is—the way I grieve my own Dad, even though he’s still alive?
But I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable by prying. He’s already opened up to me so much more than he ever has. I caught a glimpse of the Nate behind his grumpy exterior, and I’m already craving more. I’m not going to get that if I push too hard, before he’s ready.
“I could go for some dessert,” he says. “Should I order something, or do you want me to get some cookies from the break room?”
I—don’t know. My mind goes blank. It’s the same stupid decision paralysis I got when he asked what I wanted for dinner in the first place.
Do I want a cookie? Am I already too full? What kind did they even have in the break room, today? If he got me one could I even finish it? I don’t want to waste it.
Say something.
Say something.
“Um, I’m…”
His eyes narrow with concern. He must think I’m having a stroke or something.
“No. I’m fine,” I blurt.
He cocks his head, studying my expression.
“I just…look, it’s hard to explain. But I’ve basically got three jobs, and I’m constantly having to make all these choices. Little things, like when to give a table a check, or whether to put a callthrough to you. It all adds up and I get overwhelmed and I just can’t make any more decisions. Does that make any sense?”
He nods. “It does.”
“But it never happens to you.”
Nate chuckles. “No, it doesn’t. But I’m starting to get that your mind is busier than mine.”
His voice is warm and teasing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before. At ease and unguarded. Some people clam up when you admit your weaknesses to them, like they’re scared that you’ll expect them to take care of you. Nate’s the opposite. The more I let him into my head, the more open he seems to reciprocate.
Well, I might as well give him full access to it.
“It’s like a whirlwind up there.” I point at my forehead. “At work, I’m fine. It’s just making my own decisions that seems to be affected. Sometimes it takes me an hour just to pick a book I want to read before bed.” I laugh nervously. “And some mornings I feel overwhelmed just picking out an outfit.”
“Really?”
“Yesterday, I actually called Pippa to pick out my clothes for me,” I admit. “I know, it’s pathetic.”
