The Bachelor Contract(67)
“Did he just”—Nikki cleared her throat—“apologize?”
“Yeah, or as close to an apology as we’re going to get.” Brant said, dumbfounded.
“For what?”
He turned to face her. “If I was guessing, I’d say everything.”
A smile spread across her face as she carefully reached for her wineglass and lifted it in the air. “Well, I guess the only thing we can do is a toast.”
The minute she lifted her glass everyone else quieted and followed suit.
“To Thanksgiving.” Brant didn’t look away from her gorgeous red lips. They matched the wine in her glass, and he wanted to lick them just once that night.
“To Thanksgiving.” As they toasted, the first course was brought in.
“So…” Nikki took another sip of wine. “Why did you pick date thirty-seven? I remember crying a lot, but I was highly emotional at the time.”
“You’re a woman, so it’s forgiven.”
“Insulting, but thank you.” Her eyebrows arched. “You got in a huge fight with your entire family. Bentley yelled, you yelled, Brock glared, and I vaguely remember your grandfather threatening to disown you—again. So, why do you think this would be one of my favorite dates?”
Brant knew this question was coming. He just hadn’t prepared for it. He wanted to lie, to crack a joke, to ignore the burn inside him.
“The truth?”
“Always the truth, Brant.”
“It was the first night I felt like a real family. Because in that moment, we truly only had each other.” His hand moved to her stomach. “And a tiny life that was completely dependent on us.”
Her eyes welled with tears as her lower lip quivered.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Would you rather I lie?”
“Sometimes the lie doesn’t hurt as much, does it?”
“Nik, I’ve spent the last four years numbing the pain. Seeing you again makes me believe that maybe the best way to live isn’t to ignore it but to learn how to survive it with the ones you love by your side.”
“Are you saying you love me?”
“Are you imagining I ever stopped?”
She kissed him. Hard.
Over a course of some sort of fruit salad that Brant couldn’t give a shit about. And when she pulled back, they had the attention of the whole table.
“Is everyone staring?”
“Absolutely not,” he lied.
“Lying to a blind woman, Brant?” Her smile was magnetic, captivating. “That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”
“When have I ever been a gentleman?”
She grinned wider. “You have your moments.”
“Shh. I’m supposed to be the evil twin.”
“Oh, believe me.” Her voice lowered. “I’m well aware.”
The sound of silverware scraping plates filled the room as he leaned in and whispered, “Please tell me that was a sexual innuendo and not my imagination.”
“Must everything be sexual?”
“With you? Yes. Every single time.”
Her lips parted.
And that was when Brant noticed the silence.
He jerked back to see everyone watching and Nadine holding up her leopard-print phone in the air.
“Put that down,” Grandfather scolded her. But Nadine simply grinned harder.
“Good salad?” Nikki’s voice cut through the silence.
“Amazing,” Grandfather choked.
“Best salad ever,” said Jane.
“Oh, please, honey, like you’re thinking about salad.” Nadine snorted, “But yes, it’s very lovely, crisp, just the right amount of flavor as it hits your tongue. And those little balls”—Grandfather choked again, earning him a slap on the back—“they simply burst with flavor all over.” She spread her arms wide.
“I think we stopped talking about salad.” Bentley gave Brant a shake of his head and stabbed a mozzarella ball with his fork. “But I will admit that burst of—”
Brant cut him off. “Bent. How’s the zoo?”
“Ah, strategic subject change from Brant’s balls.” Bentley leaned forward. “I see what you did there.”
“She’s never seen my balls,” Brant said defensively, pointing at Nadine.
Nadine simply shrugged and took a long gulp of wine. “Not my fault you don’t have them.”
Cole burst out laughing. “Can you adopt me?”
“Oh, honey.” Nadine nodded with an excessive smile while she eyed him up and down. “What a splendid idea. Do you have any women in your life?”
“Abort.” Bentley coughed. “Abort.”
“Other than one that’s taken, that is,” Brant just had to say. Nikki squeezed his thigh under the table, giving him a little jolt.