So I did. I told him everything that happened with Henry, how he made me feel, and Barbara’s grand idea to get me over him. I wasn’t surprised when Joe didn’t say, “I told you so.” He wasn’t that person. Instead he said, “You’re not cut out to be a player, Nadia. You know this.”
“Clearly, you’re right.” I saw a cab and waved it down. “I’m not Barbara.” That was the truth. As much as I’d tried, it was not who I was.
As I settled into the cab and gave the driver my address, I waited for Joe to give me some sage advice. “I don’t know much,” he said, “but I feel I have to remind you that Henry Lexington is a player.”
Yes, he was. And now I was comparing every man to him… which was such a stupid thing to do.
“What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to go out on a date with someone who is looking for what you’re looking for: a relationship.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” I argued.
“If you’re not looking for just sex, then you’re looking for a relationship, whether you want to admit it or not.”
I thought about waking up in Henry’s arms, how safe and wonderful I had felt.
Maybe that feeling wasn’t about Henry. Maybe Joe was right. Maybe, finally, I was ready to get past my fears and try something real with someone again.
“Okay.”
“I have a friend. James. He’s a photographer and he’s a little older than you.”
“How much older?”
“About Henry’s age. He divorced eighteen months ago and has been on dating sites with no luck… James deserves someone great. I’d be happy to set you two up. I know he has an early shoot in the city tomorrow, so why don’t I set you up for lunch after the show?”
Something real. With someone who actually wanted something real.
The butterflies in my belly rioted at the idea.
“Go for it.”
* * *
James was a gentleman.
When I walked into Anthem, this cool, casual upscale place at Faneuil Hall, I didn’t have to ask the hostess to show me to the table because James stood up from a booth and waved me over.
My first (and shallow) thought was that he was shorter than Henry. And when I approached and he leaned in to shake my hand and kiss my cheek, my heart sank at the lack of butterflies. He was shorter than me when I was in heels. It sounded ridiculous to care about that stuff, and I knew when you met the right person, you didn’t care about if he was short or tall, green or blue. But on first impression, it bothered me.
James was shorter than I was in heels, and he was slim and wiry, built like a cyclist. If we were to have sex, I’d feel super self-conscious. As “happily proportioned” as I was, I knew from experience that if the guy was not tall, well-built, or stocky, I tended to feel like a whale.
I didn’t want to feel like a whale during sex.
I wanted to feel feminine and sexy and easily manhandled.
Flashes of Henry fucking me against the wall the other night hit so suddenly I stumbled, knocking over an empty glass on our table. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped, my cheeks burning with mortification.
James gave me a kind smile, probably assuming I was nervous. “No worries.”
We slid into opposite sides of the booth and I smiled back, trying to shove my thoughts of sex and Henry out of my head. “So, you’re a photographer?”
We chatted a while in between ordering and waiting for our food to arrive, telling each other a little about our jobs. James was freelance and did a lot of work for a couple of newspapers.
“I’ve seen you on television.” James suddenly looked a little shy. “You’re as gorgeous and charismatic as you are on TV. I asked Joe about you a while ago, whether you were seeing anyone. But he said you weren’t dating.”
Suddenly I felt bad. Very bad. Because it would seem James had had a crush on me for some time and here I was already discounting sex with the guy because of his height and build.
Strike that.
If I was going to be honest with myself, I was discounting sex with the guy because of Henry Goddamn Lexington.
I desperately tried to shake him off. If I gave James a chance, something could develop between us and I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass that I weighed twice as much as he did. He obviously couldn’t care less, if the way he kept running his eyes over me when he thought I wasn’t looking was anything to go by.
“I was concentrating on my career for a while,” I finally replied. “But I need to start prioritizing my personal life too.”
“I get it.” He nodded. “After my divorce I realized how little time I’d prioritized my personal life. It was why my ex left me. I knew then I had to make some changes.”
“So… you didn’t want to get divorced?” I asked tentatively.
James shrugged. “I know it’s for the best now. But at the time, I was pretty wrecked by it.”
“Haven’t you ever considered trying a reconciliation with your ex?”
He frowned at me and I flushed, realizing what a stupid thing it was to say on a date. “Well… she started dating pretty quickly.”
“So she’s seeing someone.”
“No. They broke up a few months ago.”
“Maybe you should talk to her.”
“Okay, wait.” He held up a hand. “Are you counseling me to get back together with my ex on our first date?”
“It does sound like it,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind me.
I tensed.
No. Way.
James looked beyond my shoulder and not wanting to but drawn to, I half turned in the booth to find Henry sitting in the one directly behind me.
Our faces were so close it took me a second to recognize the anger burning in the back of his blue eyes. It was still there even as he flashed me a cocky grin and stood. “Mind if I join you?” he said, and sat down beside me, forcing me along the booth.
This was not happening!
How was this happening?
He was supposed to be in Panama or Seattle or something!
“Henry Lexington,” he held out his hand to James who shook it in bemusement. “A friend of Nadia’s.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too. Although to be honest, I’m surprised to meet you.” I could feel him looking at me but I stared straight ahead at James. I was beyond tense, bracing myself for what Henry was about to say or do. “I was under the impression Nadia was off the market.”
My jaw almost hit the table.
He did not just say that.
James looked between Henry and me. The smart man cottoned on extremely quickly. “Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of something.” He slid out of the booth and pulled out his wallet but Henry stopped him.
“Let me pay for your lunch. Compensation for a colossal waste of your time.”
The anger slipped out in his words and James paused. He looked at me. “Nadia, are you okay with this guy?”
I gave him a weak smile, grateful that he’d asked. “I’m sorry, James. Henry and I have a little unfinished business. I didn’t mean for you to get caught in the middle.”
“As long as you’re okay?”
I nodded and he pulled out money from his wallet and threw it on the table, despite Henry’s offer. “It was nice to meet you anyway.”
“You’re a gentleman,” I said as he walked away. And he was.
Why did I have to be attracted to the asshat beside me and not the one who was walking away?
I didn’t even have to look at Henry to be overwhelmed by him. He was so much bigger than me in the booth, his heat and anger pulsing as he pressed his knee against mine.
“Look at me,” he seethed.
Not wanting to be a coward, I finally did and winced at the awful look on his face. “Henry—”
“You can either play this out in public—and I can’t promise it won’t get loud—or you can get that sexy-as-fuck ass of yours out of this booth and into
my car. Your choice.”
“That’s not much of a choice,” I snapped.
“Nadia…” he warned between gritted teeth.
With an exaggerated, exasperated sigh, I grabbed my purse and nudged him with my knee. He got out and despite his anger, he held out his hand, helping me up out of the booth. As soon as I was on my feet, his fingers curled tight around mine.
There was no hope of escape.
* * *
Not a word was exchanged between us as Henry drove through heavy traffic to Back Bay. The tension was so unbearably thick, I didn’t realize until we pulled up to his building that I’d curled my fingernails deep into my thighs. My stomach was in knots, hating that he was angry at me, hating that I hated that he was angry at me. Why did it feel like I’d betrayed him?
I shouldn’t care like this.
Ever the gentleman, he parked his car, got out, and walked around to the passenger side to open my door and help me out. Like at the restaurant, he held tight to my hand as he walked toward the apartment building on Columbus Avenue. Inside the grand marble entrance hall, Henry first nodded at a very tall security guard and then said hello to a well-dressed gentleman behind reception. “Mr. Lexington,” the man nodded.
Henry led me into one of two elevators in the hall and I watched, somewhat taken aback, when he didn’t hit the penthouse button.
He felt my stare, his eyes asking a belligerent “What?”
“You don’t live in the penthouse?”
“Disappointed?” Acid dripped from the word and I hated it.
I wanted to kiss the attitude right out of him.
“Surprised.”
“The penthouse is more Caine’s taste. I don’t need all that space.”
As I discovered when Henry led me inside a modest but beautifully turned-out one-bedroom apartment with a view over Statler Park. “Nice space.”
Right in the heart of Back Bay.
This place must be costing the man a fortune.
“I don’t want to talk about my apartment.”
On that note, I spun around to find him staring at me, wary, it seemed. I’d prefer a glower over wary.
“How did you know where to find me?” It occurred to me that there was a possibility I was already being stalked by one man. I didn’t need another in my life.
“My mother.” His anger leaked out in his words, despite his careful expression. “She found out I flew home early from my business trip, guessed why, and couldn’t wait to inform me that you were seen on a date the other night. I went to the station today to find out what was going on and Barbara told me you were on another date.”
“And she told you where to find me?” The traitor.
“I may have threatened bodily harm.”
“Henry!”
“Christ, Nadia!” His control snapped as he came toward me. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
“Is your mother having me followed?” The idea filled me with horror. What if she did a little digging? Would she find out what I didn’t want Henry to know?
“I don’t want to talk about my mother and how fucking crazy she’s acting. I want to talk about you and how fucking crazy you’re acting.”
“Stop cursing at me!”
His hands came up and he clenched them into fists, as though he were trying to stop himself from wrapping them around my neck. “Nadia, stop avoiding the question.”
“Your mother hates me. That’s a huge problem.”
“Nadia… I won’t. Say. It. Again.”
“Don’t threaten me!” I pushed against his chest, and he didn’t budge. “You’re the one in the wrong here! Pushing me around! Interrupting dates!”
He gripped my biceps, yanking me into him. “We had an understanding when I left. I’m not the one in the wrong here, Nadia. Why the fuck!” He stopped, took a breath, and his voice lowered, calmed, “Why can’t you trust me?”
At the hurt, the vulnerability I heard behind those words, I sagged against him. “Henry, I don’t do trust very well. And you didn’t call or text so…”
His hands tightened around me as he searched my face. “So what? I was on a business trip. I told you that. I was under the impression you understood and that when I got back, I’d call.”
I nodded, feeling foolish. Not for going out on other dates but for wishing he would have wanted to call or text me despite being on a business trip. I tried to pull away but he held me tighter. I looked anywhere but at him and he ducked his head to look into my eyes.
“I wanted to call,” he said, his words low, gentle. “But I thought you needed some space after what happened. If I knew you would go out with the first guy your friends could set you up with, I would have called.”
“Henry…” I tried to withdraw again but his hands slipped down my back, forcing my body against his. I flushed at the feel of his arousal digging into my stomach.
His voice was hoarse. “Do you think I’d put up with this much drama from anyone else?”
I glared at him. “You cause the drama.”
He grinned at my flare of temper. “Really?”
“This is too much.” I pushed ineffectually against his chest, looking up into his too-handsome face. God, I loved his face.
“Why do you keep fighting me?” he whispered against my lips. “Can’t you see how much I care about you?”
I sucked in a breath at the words, my heart racing at the sincerity behind them. “Henry.”
If anything he grew harder against me. “You have no idea what my name on your lips does to me.”
“I think I do,” I whispered back.
But he didn’t smile. Instead his expression turned pleading. “Why?”
I knew what he was asking. What he’d been asking all along since he’d crashed my date. And I knew if I didn’t tell him, he’d walk away. Despite all my insecurities, being in his arms now seemed to obliterate them all.
My fingers curled around the lapels of his wool blazer. He had shown me his vulnerability. He’d dropped his veneer of charm to give me something real.
I believed he deserved real in return.
“My dad is a cheat,” I said, my eyes dropping to Henry’s strong throat. “My mom knows and she… stays with him. And it’s not like he’s in love with two women and can’t pick. He just screws anything that has a vagina. I didn’t know until high school and parents knew and suddenly kids knew and then I knew. I even caught him once.” I swallowed back the remembered misery of that time. “My mom suffered through the humiliation and she made me suffer through it with her by staying with him.”
“Sunshine,” he whispered, caressing my back. “I’m sorry.”
I finally made eye contact with him and found myself falling into his concern and tenderness. He cared.
He really did care.
I pressed closer, wanting to bury myself inside his arms forever. “I wish it hadn’t affected me, but it did. And having a boss like Dick, and being treated like a sex object by men like Montgomery Mitchell, it only made it harder for me to trust men. And the way you treated me…”
His fingers bit into my waist, almost bruising. “If I could take—”
“No.” I cut him off. “I’m not dredging that up to make you feel bad… I’m trying to explain why I haven’t exactly made this easy for you. Because… it isn’t easy for me, Henry.” I curled my hands around his neck. “I care about you too. I want to trust you.”
Wrapping his arms around me, he bent his forehead to mine, his breath caressing my lips. “Then try.”
I nodded. “I will. I promise.”
“Now let’s take a look at the weather forecast. Nadia, what is in store for us?”
I took my cue from Barbara, spotting the camera with the red light and throwing the audience a beaming smile. “Well, Barbara, you and the rest of Boston will be relieved to know that the sun is sticking around this week, right through Saturday. We’re looking at clear skies for game day at Fenway. Even better, while temperatures soar
today and tomorrow to ninety-five, the Red Sox can rest easy that they won’t be melting on the field on Saturday, as the temperature falls to a milder eighty degrees over the weekend.”
“That’s good to know. I don’t want my makeup running off while I’m in the stands.” Barbara threw the camera a flirtatious smile. “You never know who you might meet at a game.”
“Games are sacred, Barbara,” Andrew said and gave her a droll look. “They’re not a live version of Tinder.”
“Why, Andrew, I’m surprised you even know what Tinder is. Relics don’t usually take to new technology.”
I tried not to laugh, even though I wasn’t on camera, because my mic was still live.
Andrew gave the camera a weary look and I saw the crew laughing. And then he turned to me and I was back on camera. “Will you be at the game, Nadia?”
“Of course,” I lied. The city of Boston didn’t want to know I wasn’t a hardcore Red Sox fan. I wasn’t a baseball fan at all. Henry was but he thankfully wasn’t into forcing someone to a game just to keep him company. Plus, Caine had a box at EMC Level and Henry always went to games with him. That meant I got to enjoy my first weekend on my own in a while. I couldn’t wait. I had a pile of movies and a bottle of wine waiting for me.
We finished up our program for the day and when I got back to my desk, flowers waited for me. Peonies. A few weeks after Henry and I started dating and were photographed together in the society pages, the text messages stopped and so did the calla lilies. He finally got the message.
But he’d ruined calla lilies for me. When Henry asked me what my favorite flowers were, I told him peonies.
Henry sent them every week.
* * *
“Did you get my flowers?” Henry caressed his thumb over the top of my knuckles.
We were seated at the Bristol Lounge for lunch as was our weekly tradition. It had become apparent in the last few months that Henry was incredibly affectionate. No matter where we were, there was hardly a moment he wasn’t touching me. I didn’t even think he was aware of it half the time. For instance, we’d sat at the table, me adjacent to him, and I’d fiddled with a fork, my mind on work. Henry had automatically reached for my hand and hadn’t let go of it while we waited for our food.