Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(28)
Why in the hell would Nick pick me? It makes no sense. He barely knows me. Yeah, we set off major fireworks in bed, but that’s not the same as actually having feelings for each other. And while part of my life plan has always been to get married and start a family, this isn’t what I had in mind.
So basically I’m stuck. I either go back to Sal, accept his “proposal,” and go along with whatever he says I have to do, or I go with Nick and hope Sal doesn’t kill us both.
I feel like the safe choice would be to go back to Sal, but being with Sal is never safe. I’m not sure being with Nick is safe, either, but right now it seems like the better of the two options.
So it feels like a choice, but it really isn’t. Talk about rocks and hard places. I fall into Nick’s sofa, cover my face with my hands, and try very hard not to cry.
#
In spite of everything, I stick around at Nick’s house waiting for him to get home. There’s no point going back to Sal’s—I can’t even think about it as my place anymore, even though everything I own is there. I’ll have to go at some point, although how I’ll pull that off is anybody’s guess.
I don’t have anything to wear but the dress I wore to the party and the shirt Nick gave me, so I go rooting around the closets. It doesn’t take me long to find a few ladies’ things in the back of his closet. Undoubtedly abandoned by a former girlfriend or a one-night stand. I keep Nick’s shirt and pair it with some jeans from the closet. They’re a little too big, but they’ll do. And I feel a lot more secure with some reasonable clothes on. With no other choice at the moment, I make myself at home.
Finally, a few hours later, I hear a key in the front-door lock. I think about meeting Nick at the door, but decide against it. That would be too cozy. Too much like I’ve decided to take his deal, and I don’t want him jumping to conclusions.
Instead I stay in my spot on the couch, where I’ve been sitting and reading and occasionally flipping on the TV while Nick’s been gone. I’ve been rolling everything that’s happened around in my head, but I haven’t come to any conclusions, except that I’m scared.
Nick stops by the kitchen before he heads for the living room, giving me another minute or so to catch my breath and clear my head. When he does come into the room, he’s got a beer.
“You want something to drink?” he asks me, and I shake my head. He shrugs and flops down onto a comfortable-looking recliner. There’s something about it that doesn’t quite match the rest of the room. The odd not-quite-right look of it makes me think it’s been his longtime favorite chair that he keeps no matter what the surrounding decor might be. He looks comfortable in it.
“How was the meeting?” It’s stupid small talk, but I can’t summon much else at the moment.
“Fine.” He takes a drink from the beer bottle then sets it aside on the nearby side table and leans forward. “So. You did your thinking? You made your decision?”
Dammit. Why does he have to push this on me? “No. Of course I haven’t. You were gone, what? A couple of hours? How am I supposed to decide in two hours?”
“It was more like three and a half, but whatever. Why can’t you make up your mind?”
“Jesus, Nick!” I push up from the chair and start to pace. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let him get to me, but that’s impossible. Everything about this situation is getting to me. “Most people take years to decide if they want kids. Some even take that long to decide if they want to get married. How do you expect me to make that decision in the amount of time it takes you to have a damn meeting with Phil Spada?”
“I don’t see how it’s that big a deal. Either you want my protection or you don’t. Simple yes or no.”
“No, it’s not that simple. We’re talking about a baby, Nick. Another life being brought into the world. It’s not just a deal. It’s bigger than that.” How can he write this off so simply? He has no idea what he’s really asking from me. Having a baby won’t just mean sacrificing my body. It’ll mean giving up part of my soul. Forever.
“Well,” he says, and he’s starting to sound angry, “I don’t have years to decide. I’m thirty-six years old. It’s time I put down roots when I have the chance.”
“What about me?” I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to get any of this through his thick skull even if I tried to pound it through with a rubber mallet.
“I’ll protect you, and I’ll protect your bakery. That’s your legacy, right? Fair and square.” He picks up his beer again. “We talked about this already. Even trade.”