Page 89 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
Nico hadn’t worn a condom. At the last minute he’d pulled out. “Oh, shit. That’s my dress, isn’t it?”
“’Fraid so, baby.”
Monica Lewinsky and I suddenly had something in common. “Tremendous. You think anyone will notice?”
“Nah.” He paused, looking me over. “Might notice that big hickey on your neck, though. And that just-been-righteously-fucked hair. And I probably shouldn’t mention what’s happenin’ with your makeup. Raccoon eyes are the least of your worries in that department.”
I’d applied a deep berry-pink lipstick earlier today. I wondered how far away it had migrated from my mouth. I sighed, defeated. “Well, then. I’m hiding in the pool house until after everyone’s gone.”
Nico’s eyes darkened. “Probably not a bad idea, considerin’.”
Considering his brother, the new monkey wrench in the clockworks. As if we didn’t already have our fill of those.
I stroked his cheek, wiping away a bead of blood on the small cut beneath his eye. The area was bruised and beginning to swell. Damn him and his hair-trigger temper. No man was perfect, but this particular character flaw of his had me seeing an alarming number of stupid fights in our future.
At least the make-up sex would be amazing. As would the make-up sweet talk.
Those alone were practically worth a fight.
“Tell me you know I didn’t . . . Michael. I didn’t start that. I would never do something like that to you.”
He whispered, “I know, baby. And I’m sorry for bein’ an idiot. But walkin’ in, seein’ that, today of all fuckin’ days . . . I just lost my shit.” He sighed deeply. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I should’ve known how it happened.”
“I actually don’t know exactly how it happened.” As an afterthought, I added, “I’m not even sure he meant anything by it.”
Nico gathered my hand in his and kissed my fingertips. The gesture was gentle, but his eyes were still dark, and his lips had thinned to a line. “You don’t know Michael. He doesn’t do anything without a reason. But it doesn’t matter what he meant. He put his hands on you. He’s lucky he’s still breathin’. Does it again, he won’t be.”
I thought it smart to avoid further discussion in that area for the moment. We’d had enough death for one day. “Come and get me when it’s over?”
Nico stood, lifted me to the sofa, draped a throw over me, and quickly dressed. Turning his gaze to the main house, visible through the windows, he muttered, “Yeah. When it’s over.”
He kissed me, then he was gone.
I didn’t see Michael again. When Nico came back to the pool house, and I asked what had happened, Nico only said that Michael wouldn’t be a problem for us again. Judging by the look of cold resolution on his face, I believed him.
Then, as it does, life went on.
After a few weeks, Avery’s death took a backseat to other stories in the news, and Nico and I settled into something resembling normalcy. I worked. He recorded songs for Bad Habit’s upcoming album. I hung out with Chloe and Grace, he hung out with the band. I spent most nights at his house, he pestered me about when we could announce our engagement.
“It’s still too soon,” I’d always answer gently. “Really, there’s no rush. Let’s just enjoy this time together.”
Every time I said that, his mouth thin
ned to a hard line.
But I knew as soon as we announced the engagement, life as I’d known it would be over. For now we existed in a private little bubble, under the media’s radar, evading the paparazzi by laying low at the Shack. When I needed to leave the house, Barney drove me. Even with the blackout windows on the Escalade, and Barney’s expert ability to lose a tail, I still felt exposed. I wanted to put off life in the fishbowl as long as possible.
On this particular day, Chloe and I were lying on chaise longues by the pool, enjoying the warm September sun. Nico and the band were in the recording studio downstairs, where they’d been for hours. I had a day off from work, and Chloe was playing hooky from the flower shop.
“So what’s the 411 on you and Officer Cox? Is it loooove?” I asked, munching on a potato chip.
Chloe blushed at my teasing. She and the good officer had been on multiple dates over the past few weeks. It looked like her ex–douche bag, Miles, was finally out of the picture.
“Something like that,” Chloe muttered, glancing away.
I sat up, shading my eyes from the glare of the sun. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Everything’s great, silly!” She laughed, waving a hand, but I sensed something behind her dismissal. Like me, she’d always been a terrible liar.
