“But how?”
“Because I know what love looks like. I had to watch Ma and Dad love each other, then lose each other. Your parents have the most money of anyone I’ve ever met, but mine are the richest people I’ve ever known.” He tore off his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and folded his cuffs midway up his arms, stopping just when the penance tattoo peeked out. “If I tell you anything worth learning, it’s this. Love is the most expensive thing you’ll ever own. You pay for it with grief, tears, and a piece of your soul, but in return, you receive happiness, memories, and life.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Words matter to you, yet you throw the most important one around without understanding what it means.”
Yes, but why does that matter to you? Why does it bother you enough to correct me? Why, why, why? I don’t understand you, Nash Prescott. Do you even understand yourself?
“It was fierce loyalty that tricked you into thinking you were in love with Reed,” he added.
“Because you know me so well.”
“I do. Let’s cut the shit and stop pretending that we’re strangers. You never belonged with Reed, Little Tiger. He is domesticated. You are wild. To tame you would be a travesty. The sooner you get that, the sooner you can move on.”
He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact, I almost didn’t process the weight of his words.
Almost.
If that was how Nash saw me, why—fucking why—were we always at each other’s throats?
If Reed was the prince of peaceful forests and snowless mountains, Nash was the king of smoke, and ashes, and lies. He was the fire that ravaged those forests and the ashes that rained down on those mountains. I wanted to inhale his smoke, coat my tongue with his ashes, and bury myself in his lies.
But smoke ruined lungs.
Ashes tasted like death.
And lies blinded dreamers.
I was a dreamer.
He was a nightmare.
War brewed within me, fueled by envy.
I blinked at Nash, wondering how he could stand there with a fucking Turkey & Ruffles sandwich held out to me like this was normal. He arched a brow as if to tell me my opinion of myself was built on a lie.
We stared at one another until he brought the sandwich to my lips again.
I let him continue feeding me, accepting another bite. It gave me time to hide my uncertainty. Handling our proximity shook me, but handling his words crippled me.
After I finished the sandwich, he washed and cut strawberries, then set a bowl of them on the counter. Sliding the freezer open, he scooped vanilla bean ice cream into the bowl and finished it off with Torani white chocolate and marshmallow syrups.
Fucking hell, I felt like the Eastridge princess I used to be as I brought a spoonful of bliss to my mouth.
The same ice cream flavor and toppings I would eat when a busted-up Nash broke into the mansion for ice.
His eyes remained on my lips as I chewed. They followed a path down the column of my neck when I swallowed. I was a zoo animal, on display for a feeding show. Or maybe I was the prey getting prepped to be fed to the predator.
“What about the question you owe me?” My voice sounded hoarse. Dry despite the ice cream that coated it.
“This isn’t Twenty Questions.” Disdain dripped from him like the ice cream melting from the side of the bowl. “You overestimate my generosity. You already got a favor and free life advice. I’m neither a Magic 8 ball, nor Oprah.”
Thumbing the falling liquid from the ceramic, I sucked it into my mouth, stopping when I caught his intensity.
“Humor me…” I thrust the bowl out, hoping he wouldn't take it. “Or I’m suddenly feeling very full and would appreciate it if you could finish this. We wouldn’t want to waste this food, would we?”
“Why does this feel like a fucking mistake?” he muttered, but he stepped closer with each word, his movements pressing the bowl back to my chest. His breath grazed my forehead, tickling my cheek. “What’s the damn question, Little Tiger?”
“Singapore.”
“Surely, that overpriced education did better than this.” Nash toyed with a strand of my hair. I wonder if he realized he was doing it. It might’ve been the first time he’d initiated contact with me. “That’s not a question. Ask an actual question.” His fingers paused. “Last chance.”
“Why Singapore?”
“Why not?”
Slipping my hair from his fingers, I spooned more ice cream into my mouth. “An honest answer or I’m never eating another sandwich from you.”
I hadn’t intended to, despite my stomach’s protests, but the trade-off was worth it.
Nash shelved the syrups and faced me. “I like Singapore.”
I realized my mistake too late. I’d asked the wrong question. Irritation blossomed in my chest, but I tamped it when I realized his redirects meant there was a lie to unravel here, a secret to be fleeced.
I wanted it.
I needed to own all his secrets.
Craved it.
If not for proprietorship, then for the sake of leveling the playing field.
“Why that property?” I pressed, setting the finished bowl onto the counter. My breath tasted like strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, and marshmallows. I wondered what his tasted like.
He rinsed the bowl in the sink and deposited it into an industrial dishwasher. “That’s a second question.”
“It’s an add-on to the original question.”
Nash shook his head and returned to me with a napkin in his hand. “Always breaking the fucking rules.”
When he offered it to me, I ignored it, darted my tongue to the corner of my lips, and swiped off the white chocolate. He tracked the movement, whereas I tracked him.
His throat bobbed. The napkin crumbled in his grip. I imagined he wanted to loosen his collar or run his hand through his hair. Three times, because I made him uncomfortable. I made him want to leave.
“Always trying to make the fucking rules,” I volleyed back and cleared my throat, unsure how to feel about our proximity. The laps my blood raced didn’t feel very healthy. “No one made you king, Nash.”
He spread his arms like an eagle in flight, taking up so much space he consumed me. “You’re standing in my kingdom, Winthrop. I own the air you breathe, the land you walk on, the company you work for. I own North Carolina.”
I didn’t doubt his words for a second. It struck me how much the tables had turned. The fallen Winthrop princess. The unrelenting king who had taken her place. My heart rattled my chest as our fairy tale sunk in.
Not Disney.
Brothers Grimm.
In which a cruel king rules over a stolen kingdom, and a poor servant lives in the tyrant’s line of fire.
Only, I knew how those fairy tales ended.
When the people ended.
“All I’m standing on is a bed of false promises.” I begged my stomach to steady. It churned, full of favorite foods and lies. “You like Singapore, sure. That’s not an answer. Not all of it.”
Nash leaned against the counter, hands shoved into his dress slacks pockets. “It’s the one you’re getting.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” I edged forward until we stood toe-to-toe. I needed him to look at me—really look at me—and understand I was dead serious. “I’m not going to judge you, Nash. We push each other’s buttons. I say you’re cruel. You say my name like it’s a curse and a sin. But have I ever, for a single second, made you feel like I thought of you as anything less than you are?”