Ruthless Heart
“I figured, it could be nice to get out, away from the apartment for a while,” he continues, leading me onboard. “Are you hungry?”
My stomach is rolling from my anxiety, but I nod anyway. “Always!” I lie.
The corner of Nero’s mouth ticks up in a grin. “Let me guess, you snacked on the ride over.”
“Ha. Yeah. You got me,” I lie, feeling out of place and awkward. Whatever it is that he’s planned, it’s all wrong for the way I’m feeling right now.
We settle at the table. It’s a lovely scene, bobbing gently on the evening tide with the lights of the city reflecting off the dark water. There’s candles and silverware, and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. Even roses arranged in a crystal vase. The picture of romance.
But all I can think, is ‘what is he playing at?’
Is this a genuine gesture, or another twisted game? Nero always has an agenda, and whisking me off for a night of romance after all the tension we’ve been through? It doesn’t add up.
What if Chase was lying, and the two of them are working together? Some way to make me drop my defenses and be lulled into trusting him?
I don’t know what to believe any more. All I know is that romance is the last thing on my mind.
I pull the white napkin in my lap. Nero lifts the cover off one of the dishes, revealing a delicious looking pasta. There are vegetables, bread, oil…
“I thought we could eat, then head out on the water for a little cruise,” Nero says, pouring champagne. He passes me a glass. “It’s pretty cool, seeing the city from this angle.”
I give a little nod. “Fine.”
I nervously sip my champagne, looking at him across the table. The candlelight softens his features, dark eyes warm on me, but even though I feel that familiar rush of attraction, I know, I can’t let myself forget what he’s capable of.
I can never forget.
He gulps his champagne. “I don’t know if you remember, but this is the same kind we had at that New Year’s Eve party.”
I do remember. It was just a few months before I left the city. It was the last party we ever had at my house, a big New Year’s blowout with just about everyone we knew, including Roman and Nero. My dad wasn’t lenient enough to let his sixteen-year-old daughter drink, but it was easy for Nero to grab an extra glass and for the two of us to slip away from the gathering to spend some time alone. He’d taken me to my room, sliding his hand up my dress and bringing me to orgasm for the first time with his fingers.
Before that, I’d only known my own touch, but Nero had a way of working my body into a frenzy that quickly became addicting. That night was the beginning of my entire sex life and just the taste of the champagne on my tongue brings all those memories back to the surface.
I want to lose myself in the past, but I’ve been doing that far too much lately. My present reality is far too different.
Too dangerous.
I put the glass down, and I pick up my fork. I move the food around on my plate, but I don’t eat anything.
Nero eyes me, but he doesn’t say anything.
The silence stretches.
“How was your day?” he asks, sounding gruff.
“You know,” I reply, confused. “I told you, back at the loft. My painting…”
“Right.” Nero clears his throat.
Another pause, and I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what he’s thinking, playing at romance and dating when our situation is so fucked up, but I don’t want to spend another hour pretending this is all fine, and we don’t share a decade of twisted history.
I push my plate away. “I’m sorry, but I have the worst headache,” I lie, with an apologetic smile. “It must have been all the paint fumes.”
Nero’s brow furrows. “I can send someone to the drugstore for painkillers,” he suggests, but I shake my head.
“I think I just need to go lie down. Have an early night. Can we go?”
His jaw tightens, but he gives a nod. “Of course.”