Beauty and the Barracuda (11 page)

Sansone stared at her and she stared back. “What I’m
saying,”
he retorted softly, “is that we have an extremely fragile balance taking place. If one side tips too far, we’re uneven again. We both know Luc and Sammie aren’t the only ones struggling with preconceived notions about what their relationship should and shouldn’t be.”

“And what exactly does
that
mean?” Nyssa queried, standing straight.

“I’m not stupid, Nyssa. I know how to read people. You
know
I know how to read people. I see
exactly
what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing, then, oh great wise one? Please inform me.” She waved a hand.

“You’re keeping me at an arm’s length so if things go south, you’re not left picking up the pieces of a shattered public image. It’s easier for you to fuck me behind closed doors than to kiss me on the cheek in the middle of the deli when I remember your favorite sandwich. I can sit with you at a table and have you hold my hand beneath
it but you won’t call me anything other than your goddamn partner when some fuck face is across from you, staring at you as though he’s going to stick his hand up your skirt as soon as he gets you alone.” Sansone spread his arms out wide.
“
That’s
what you’re doing.”

Her eyes narrowed on him as he paced across the room. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I
distinctly
remember us agreeing to take things slow and keep them quiet.”

He spun on her. “No. That was
your
decision. I don’t give a shit who knows we’re together. Only one of us seems to be concerned about that and it’s
you
.”
Sansone began pacing again.

“Oh, bullshit! You didn’t exactly screech in displeasure when I suggested it.”

His laugh was hard as he pulled a hand through his hair. “Nyssa, you don’t
suggest
anything. You demand, you coerce, and you tell, but baby, you never suggest.” He snorted.
“And I let you get away with it because pushing you means a fight and a fight means I have to sleep alone, on
purpose.
Color me uninterested in the prospect of that.”

“Sansone, you’re acting like I treat you like some dirty little secret.”

“Don’t you?”

“No!”

“So then why is it we haven’t told anyone?”

“Because…”

“Because…?” he pushed.

“Because I’m not exactly comfortable with all the changes as of yet. It’s only been a month, a month where I’ve spent the majority of my time with
you
,
so don’t act as if there’s something horribly wrong with the way things are now.”

“There’s nothing horribly wrong with the way things are now?” Sansone goaded. “Did you seriously just say that?”

“Sunny—”

He held up a hand and she stopped. “I have to listen to the goddamn comments other men make about you around the office and I can’t say
shit.
I have to look at interviews you do for magazines and read the consistent untrue tale that you’re
single
and I can’t say
shit.
I have to question when I’ll ever see you just fucking
relax
while we’re out and I can’t say
shit.
And do you know why I can’t say anything?” He balled his fists up at his sides as if he were resisting the need to throw something.
“Because I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, you’ll flip and I’ll find myself five steps back after having just taken one forward!”

She stopped at the look in his eyes and simply gazed at him before exhaling.
“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not about you being
sorry
,
Nyssa. It’s about you being
honest.
You don’t want anyone knowing because you think that if I leave you, it will hurt a lot less without the added questions and speculation on what happened. For some reason that I still can’t fathom, you refuse to believe me when I say I’m not going
anywhere
.”
He tugged at his hair. “I can’t win for losing with you, and I’m beginning to feel as though it will
always
be that way.” Sansone dropped his hands. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t help but think that the moment I give you an excuse, you’re going to walk out on me because you’re too afraid to
stop
being afraid. I’m. Not. James.”

She wanted to say sorry again. She wanted to kiss him, ask him to take her home. She wanted to get lost the same way they had last night.
She wanted to go to sleep with his nose buried in her neck and wake up to him complaining about how she’d stolen all the covers. She wanted to reassure him. But she couldn’t. Nyssa couldn’t look him in the eye and promise she would stop fearing that they’d fall apart because that fear kept her grounded—it kept her from getting too far caught up in a fantasy she’d harbored for as long as she could remember. Things didn’t happen this easy, this smoothly. Fairy tales weren’t real and if she let her guard completely down, dropped everything at his feet, what would she do when he realized there was a fine line between lust and love? What would she say to everyone when Blackwell & Sultana was no more and the man she’d trusted left her heart in her throat?

So she stood there. She stood there and listened as he told her he needed to go and that he’d see her later.
She listened as he sighed when she didn’t respond, heard him when he walked out of her office, and felt her spirit break the tiniest bit after he closed the door behind him. The most deafening sound, though, was the utter silence surrounding her the moment Sansone was gone.

“What a beautifully shitty morning,” Sansone murmured, turning over to punch his pillow as he tried to block out the screaming in his head and find some semblance of peace so he could go back to sleep. He was starting to remember why he hadn’t gotten trashed since his days on campus. There were just some pains a man couldn’t endure in his thirties. A hangover to end all hangovers was definitely one of them.

“How much did I drink last night?” He placed a pillow over his face and breathed through his nose until the need to lean over the side of his bed and unleash everything
in his stomach dissipated. His state of complete pain could be blamed on no one but himself, and if he were being honest, he’d admit he deserved it.

Sansone had known he’d stepped in it the moment Nyssa’s office
door closed behind him days ago.
He was, in essence, a dick. He’d done the one thing he kept swearing he wouldn’t, and he’d left her there with the most hopeless expression on her pretty face. No matter how temporary it may have been, he’d walked out on her instead of helping to assuage the fear in her eyes.

Sansone had allowed his own insecurities to override the knowledge he was dealing with someone who was astonishingly strong and yet so apprehensive about what the future held for them. Deep down he knew it had absolutely nothing to do with him and everything to do with her need to make sure this was what both of them wanted before they took any more leaps, but it had still burned when she couldn’t tell him she trusted him. He’d wanted her to follow him, to ask him to stay, to do
something
,
and she hadn’t, so with typical male pride he’d kept going. Then he drank himself into the equivalent of a coma once he’d gotten home and stripped before climbing into bed just to wake up naked, cold, and alone. He could officially understand what his brother had felt a month ago when Samara had left Luciano behind to run back to her life in New York. This really fucking hurt.

His intention was to teach her a lesson about how hard it was for them to be without one another for even a night, and he’d wound up punishing himself. During the last few days, she wouldn’t answer his calls or open the door for him when he went by her place. Now all he really wanted to do was curl up and let alcohol eat at his insides until he could roll out of bed, square his shoulders, and go in search of forgiveness from his
cara.
God, if that fucker Luciano could see him now…

Sansone sighed and rolled over, attempting to find a spot on his sheets that didn’t smell like Nyssa and failing miserably. He’d have to deal with it or wash them, and he doubted the latter option would help. So there he lay, starting to doze.

And that’s when one huge, ham-handed bastard with too-wide shoulders and the feet of a fairytale character came barreling into his room, belting out the theme song to the
Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
.

Sansone rolled from the bed and hit the floor in a tangle of sheets, only to pop back up seconds later. “Jesus H!”

“Gah!” Luciano covered his eyes. “I’m blind!”

“Luc?” Sansone roared. “How the fuck did you even get in here?” He kept changing the locks and the asshole kept getting past them!

“The same way I always get in.” He motioned to his sibling’s form. “When did you become a nudist?”

His lip curled. “My home, my naked. Don’t like it? Stop strolling in here like we’re sharing the mortgage every month.”

“You don’t even have a mortgage.”

“That’s not the point, you giant asshole!” He was not in the mood for this shit! Where was baby Jesus when Sansone needed him?

“Look, you get that clothed”—Luciano waved a hand toward the door, careful to keep his eyes closed—“and I’ll make breakfast while getting right with Jesus.”

Sansone snorted. “Wouldn’t your reigning master, Satan, take issue with that?”

Flipping him the bird, Luciano walked out, calling over his shoulder, “At least my master knows I’m alive. When’s the last time Nyssa took time out of her day to actually acknowledge the fact you breathe her air?”

Irritation burned in Sansone’s chest. He wanted to say that not only did Nyssa take time to acknowledge his inhales but that most of her gasps were caused by
him
. Instead he just retorted, “Low blow, Luc! Low fucking blow!”

His brother’s laughter greeted him, and he snarled before snatching up his sheets and tossing them on the bed. Heading for the shower, he muttered how many different ways he was going to finally murder his sibling and get away with it. “Giant, goddamn, mouth-guard-wearing, over-bearing, sneaky, egotistical dick-face.”

Sansone stood under the spray until he felt human again and then reached for the first bottle of body wash he could grab—which landed him with an eye full of some shit that smelled like lavender.

“Goddammit!” His hands slapped the tiles as he stuck his face under the steadily streaming water, making an effort to get the suds out of his corneas.

Full-on irritated now, he grabbed the correct bottle and washed himself down sufficiently. Climbing out, Sansone almost slipped on a bath puff that had fallen and caught himself by grabbing hold of the bar near the soap nook. He growled and placed his feet on the rugs outside, bypassing the magenta-colored towel on the rack and grabbed a manly solid black one, wiping himself down as he went for the double sinks.

A lavender-colored electronic toothbrush sat on the left side and he gave in to the childish urge to tip it over as he took hold of his own and got rid of the bitter taste of gin on his tongue. From the bathroom he went into his bedroom and yanked at drawers, looking for his sweatpants and T-shirts, but found only lacey underthings, nighties and something he was pretty sure he and Nyssa weren’t permitted to use in the U.S.

Sansone finally got hold of some of his own clothes and found himself sitting on the side of his bed wondering how fucking stupid he had to be to
not
see how hard Nyssa was really trying. She had things in every part of his room, for God’s sake! That didn’t exactly scream, “Hey! I’m running from your love!”
Sighing, Sansone tugged at his hair and took a deep breath until the need to start throwing things passed. He’d learned a long time ago that women didn’t just leave
things at a man’s place. They secured spots and planted their flags there for all to see.

He’d offered her a drawer and closet space, and she’d taken over half his dresser. He was certain that if he opened the double doors to his walk-in right now there’d be a slew of Prada, Dolce, and Manolo Blahnik shoes taking up half the space.

She’d slept here without argument, had him sleep over without a word and never cared about riding to work together. The only thing she’d asked was that they keep things quiet. That was it. If he called, she answered. If he wanted dinner she asked if he preferred home cooked or take-out. Even if she only held his hand
under
the table—because she somehow sensed he was anxious about something—the gentle squeeze of her fingers gave him calming reassurance. Her actions in private spoke way louder, right? And yes, many men had made many different comments about the way Nyssa looked but the other night hadn’t been the first time she’d been incredibly adept at telling them to fuck off without saying the actual words.

In the light of day, Nyssa hadn’t been hiding them. She was simply terrified and had done everything in her power to show him behind closed doors exactly how much he meant to her. How many socialite, paparazzi-obsessed, opportunistic couples had they seen fail time and time again because their relationships were built on the assumption they were perfect for one another when, in all reality, they looked good for each other’s portfolios? And when you had a very public, extremely
embarrassing demise to your relationship the way she had, how were you supposed to react when someone else came along claiming to love you? From day one she’d been honest about the length of time she’d harbored the desire to be with him, and in his oblivious state, Sansone hadn’t seen it. Why? Because he hadn’t been looking. Just like last night. He hadn’t been looking.

He flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. “I am the biggest twat on the planet.” Self-loathing seemed like a comfortable place to reside until he began to hear Luciano rifling around in his kitchen. Then he thought to himself that self-loathing on an empty stomach would do him no good. If he was going to point out deprecating facts about his personality, he may as well do it while filled with pancakes.

Getting up, he made the slow trek downstairs and found his brother in his kitchen.A half hour later, Luciano said something about Nyssa and how she glowed when she’d just gotten laid and before Sansone knew it, he was giving his brother a right cross to the jaw. Of course the bastard swung back and Sansone ducked.

“Taking swings at me isn’t gonna make it better, Sunny,” Luciano breathed, his shoulders squared, his fists up in a defensive stance as he imitated Sansone’s steps.

“No, but at least I can abuse something and make it cry.”

Luciano snorted. “It was
one
tear, one time, you big-haired bastard, and it only happened because you broke my nose.”

Sansone smirked. “Let’s see if I can repeat that action.”

***

“He’s fired me six times today, Nyssa. I swear to God I’m a few seconds away from going for his coffee cup and he’d be lucky
if all I use on it is under-boob.”

Nyssa’s lips curved slightly; the first semblance of a smile she’d had in days. “You’re
my
assistant, Alana. He
can’t
fire you.”

There was a rustling noise on the other side of the line before the younger woman grumbled, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“I promise when I come back that you can have two weeks of vacation with pay.” God only knew what torment Alana had experienced at the hands of Sansone. When he was on a mission, the man was demonic, and since he currently couldn’t find Nyssa because she’d adamantly instructed everyone
not
to tell him where she’d run off to, she could only guess how far the insanity had gone this week. Over the last four days she’d collected at least thirty different messages in her voicemail. All by the same man with the same distraught note in his voice. There were apologies, coaxing lilts, low growls and Italian murmurs. She’d ignored each and every one of them.

Every time Nyssa’s phone had rung—the screen lighting with his face—the sight of his dark eyes and bright smile tempted her to pick it up. Each plea on the other end weakened her resolve just the tiniest bit, eating at her need to think and breathe without him near. If she were being honest, which she wasn’t, she’d admit she wasn’t punishing
him
but herself. He’d walked away, even though it was temporary, and she’d let him. Exactly what brand of bitch did that make her? And why, for all that was holy, did Sansone keep sticking around just to come second to her own sordid terror?

“I can only hold him off for so long.” Alana said. “Eventually he’s going to start digging around for himself, and I mean it with all my heart when I tell you that, I am
not
getting in the middle of it.”

Sighing, Nyssa took a quick glance around the restaurant she was currently seated in and cast her gaze toward the windows. The wall-sized glass revealed the bustling streets of New York City, where’d she’d found her reprieve. The best and worst decision she could’ve made was renting a car and driving up from Philly this morning. She couldn’t spend another day in her own bed. Washing the sheets hadn’t helped, nor had flipping the mattress. There was only one solution to her recent restlessness, and calling him would have only sent their already raw emotions into a tailspin. So, in essence, she ran.

The same way she was always
running. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against her free hand and quietly replied to Alana, “Inevitably, he
will
find me before I come home on my own. I know it. He knows it. So there’s really no point in all the fighting, but I’m not ready to lie down and wave the flag just yet, ’kay?”

There was a hard exhale. “I’ll keep the war going.”

Amusement licked at her jumbled feelings. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” Alana sounded hesitant. “James called again.”