9. Nic

9

NIC

I ’m such a fucking asshole. I blame pain and fire coursing through my veins, even though that’s no excuse. Especially since she’s the only source of relief I have right now. Not only is she tending my wound, but all night, my dreams were filled with her. Her gentle touch, her soothing voice. Nothing sexual like before. Just sweet and tender.

And today, she's been nothing but attentive, even reading to me. Instead of showing gratitude, I lashed out like a wounded animal. I insulted her, called her a spoiled princess. Now she's gone, leaving me alone in this room with nothing but regret for company. She could leave me to die here. I’m not afraid of death, but I’m not sure I want to die alone.

I groan, trying to sit up. My head spins, and I fall back against the pillows. Sweat beads on my forehead as fever grips me. I need her help, but how can I ask after what I said?

My anger isn't really at Bella. It doesn’t take a shrink to understand that my anger is at my father. The discussion of Marianne marrying Col. Brandon had me thinking of her upcoming nuptials to my father, and it burned in my gut hotter than this fever.

I close my eyes, picturing Bella's face. Her eyes, full of fire and intelligence. The way she stood up to me, refusing to be cowed. She's got spirit, this one. And my father… he'll crush it.

I've seen what happens to the women my father takes as wives. They start out full of life, but it doesn't take long for that light to dim. Some disappear, others end up broken shells of their former selves. And the truly unlucky ones? They end up dead.

The thought of Bella suffering that fate makes me feel sick. She deserves better than to be another casualty of my father's cruelty.

I remember her words about never being allowed to have her own life. Christ, I'm no better than my old man, am I? Keeping her here, treating her like she's nothing more than a pawn in this dangerous game.

My wound throbs, like God is punishing me for being such an asshole. I need to make this right. The best way to do that is to figure out who wants us dead and then help her escape my father, as well as hers.

But if I don't deliver her, my father's wrath will be swift and merciless. Gia and her children will be the first to feel his anger. I can't let that happen. I've spent my entire life protecting my little sister, and I won't stop now.

I groan, frustration and pain mingling as I shift in the bed. There has to be a way out of this mess. A way to keep Bella safe, protect Gia, and deal with whoever's behind this attack.

My fevered brain struggles to form a coherent plan. We need allies, information, and resources. I need to talk to Max. Hopefully, he’s protecting Gia and getting intel that can help me understand who’s got a hit on us. I need a phone. For a moment, I consider sending Bella out to buy one, but I quickly dismiss it. A resort town is bound to have surveillance everywhere. Gas stations, convenience stores, they all have cameras these days. One wrong move, and we're exposed.

I glance at the door, wondering where Bella is. After our argument, I wouldn't blame her if she's contemplating making a run for it. I hope she’s smart enough to know the dangers that lurk outside.

I stagger out of bed, gritting my teeth against the pain that shoots through my body. The room spins for a moment, but I steady myself against the wall. I need to find Bella, to make things right.

Slowly, I make my way down the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall for support. As I approach the living room, I hear the soft rustle of pages turning. My heart lifts a little. She hasn't left.

I round the corner, and there she is, curled up on an overstuffed chair with her book. A steaming mug of hot chocolate sits on the side table next to her. The scene is so… normal. Peaceful. Surreal, considering our situation.

"Bella," I croak.

She looks up, her expression guarded, although I see a flash of concern for me in her eyes. Even after what I said, she seems to worry about me.

"I'm sorry.” I'm not used to apologizing, so I’m not sure how to do it in a way that sounds sincere.

She nods but doesn't speak. Does she want more groveling?

“I’d like to say that it’s the pain, but the truth is, I’m just an asshole.”

“You’re an idiot too.”

I’m about to sag to the floor so I work my way to the couch. “Probably.”

“Unless you want to die, in which case, being an asshole to the person caring for you is a smart move.”

My lips twitch upward despite the mind-numbing heat and pain I feel. “Did you talk to your father like this?”

“No, because I am smart.”

I drop to the couch. “You’re not afraid of me, then.”

“Right now? No.”

I nod, feeling strangely relieved by that.

“Why do you ask?”

“About how you talk to your dad?”

She nods.

“Because you’re blunt. You’re confrontive. Your father doesn’t strike me as a man who would tolerate that.”

She snorts. “No.”

“But he wasn’t able to take that away from you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

I’m not sure how I’m still upright. “It is.”

An awkward silence falls between us. I watch as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate, her eyes never leaving the pages of her book. It strikes me how calming it was to listen to her read earlier, even though it's not a story I'd normally care about.

A strange thought crosses my mind. She’ll make a good mother someday, the kind who reads bedtime stories to her kids every night. But then I remember who she's supposed to marry, and the image of her reading to my future siblings makes my stomach churn. Actually, that’s not the bit that makes me sick. It’s thinking about my father making those babies with her that threatens to make me vomit.

I push the thought away. For now, we’re stuck in this netherworld, and so I’ll focus on that. I lie on the couch, unable to remain upright any longer. “Will you read to me some more?”

“No.”

Disappointment lances through me. “Will you tell me how the story ends? Do Willoughby or Edward redeem themselves?”

“Willoughby, no. He lives the rest of his life knowing he gave up love for money.”

“Good. He fucking deserves that.”

“Edward and Elinor marry and live happily ever after.”

I suppose I could see that coming. “And does Colonel Brandon ever confess his love for Marianne?"

Bella raises an eyebrow. "I thought you said Brandon was a putz for pining after silly Marianne?"

"Maybe I was too hasty in my judgment. Come on, humor a dying man."

"You're not dying.” But I can see the worry in her face as she looks at me. “Yes, he wins the girl.”

"So the young girl marries the infirm thirty-six-year-old after all?"

A small smile plays at the corners of Bella's lips. "Yes, there's hope for you yet."

Her words catch me off guard, and I'm not sure how to respond. Is she flirting with me? No, that can't be right. It must be the fever induced delirium that has me thinking of a nineteen-year-old Bella with a forty-year-old me.

"Well, I'm hardly Colonel Brandon material. More of a Willoughby, I'd say."

Bella rolls her eyes. "You wish. Willoughby at least had charm."

"Ouch," I say, clutching my chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Bella Donna."

She tilts her head. “Not Bambina?”

All of a sudden, it feels odd to call her that. Not after having a sex dream about her. She’s not a child. She might be young, but she’s sharp, brave, and knows herself.

“Do you prefer that?”

She shakes her head. “Did you call me an angel before?”

I shift, feeling awkward. Like I’ve revealed too much of myself and thoughts of her in my fever induced state.

“I’m not sure if you’re the angel of death, though,” I say, unable to handle her thinking I feel something different.

“Stop being a dick and you won’t have to find out.”

I’m relieved that she’s able to go with humor at this moment. I’m exhausted and am struggling to keep my eyes open.

"Have you ever been married?" she asks suddenly.

I blink, not sure where this conversation is going. “No. Never.”

She studies me. “You're good-looking and rich. There must be something seriously wrong with your character."

I laugh, even though it hurts like a mother fucker. "You wound me again.”

She gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“When you have money and power, for some, character doesn’t matter. A lack of character never hindered my father.”

Bella's eyes widen slightly at that, and I can see her processing this information. I wonder what she's thinking, what she knows about my father's past marriages. Does she know what happened to his previous wives? The thought sends a chill down my spine.

“What do you mean by that?”

I should tell her the truth. Tell her what a monster my father is. Warn her of the pain and heartache ahead. But I can’t. And now I hope I die because I know I can’t follow through with my mission. How can I deliver this charming, witty, brave woman to my father?

“I’m sorry, Bella…” This time, I’m calling her beautiful, not just her name, although she probably doesn’t know that. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Yes, of course.” She rises from the chair. “Let me get you more water and medicine. Do you want to rest here or back in the room?”

“Here.” I don’t think I can make it, and while she seems strong, I’m not sure she can support my six-foot-two-inch frame to help me walk to bed.

“We really should get you to a doctor.”

I try to wave her off, but even that small movement sends a jolt of pain through my body. "It'll pass,” I mumble, not entirely convinced myself.

She sighs, exasperated. "You're being stubborn.”

I manage a weak chuckle. "It's part of my charm."

"Yeah, no.”

I wish I could keep talking to her, but darkness closes in quickly. As I drift off, I feel Bella's hand on my forehead again, checking my temperature. Despite everything, there's comfort in her presence that I can't quite explain.

I drift in and out of consciousness, my world a hazy blur of pain and fever dreams. Somehow, I end up back in the king-sized bed, which becomes my entire universe.

In my more lucid moments, I'm aware of Bella's presence. She's always there. Her cool hand on my forehead, her gentle voice as she coaxes me to drink water or take medicine.

But it's in my dreams that Bella truly shines. She's a fierce, brave woman who stands by my side. In these fever-induced visions, she's bold and daring, her gray eyes flashing with determination as we face unseen enemies together. Sometimes, she’s touching me in soft, sweet ways, and the man in me responds.

At night, I feel her presence next to me in the bed. It's comforting in a way I've never experienced before. Never in my life has anyone been so attentive to my needs. The knowledge that she's there, watching over me, caring for me, creates a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with my fever. Stranger still is the trust I feel. I’m completely vulnerable here, which isn’t a feeling I like. And yet, relying on this young woman I barely know is easy. In fact, there's a part of me that revels in it.

In my more coherent moments, I try to rationalize these feelings. It's just the fever, I tell myself. The vulnerability of being injured. But deep down, I suspect there's more to it than that.

As the next days blend together, I look forward to the brief moments of clarity when I can see Bella's face and hear her voice. She’s forgiven me enough to read to me. This time, it’s an old noir mystery with a femme fatale that I picture as Bella. And sometimes we talk.

Ever since she chewed me out about how her life wasn’t completely her own, I’ve wondered what she’d do if she weren’t bound by her father’s control.

“If you could do whatever you wanted in life, what would it be?” I ask as she settles on the bed next to me, ready to go to sleep.

Bella blinks, surprised by the question. She's quiet for a long moment, her brow furrowed in thought. Then her expression turns sad. “I don’t know. It was never an option. My whole life has been planned out for me."

I reach up, my finger caressing her cheek, willing away the sadness in her eyes.

She continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "When Ava married for love, I saw how happy she was. I think… I think I would have liked that. To fall in love, to choose my own path."

I think of my father, of the loveless marriage she's heading toward, and something twists in my gut.

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask.

Bella's soft laugh reaches my ears. "Me? No. I'm only nineteen, remember?"

"Age doesn't matter," I mumble, my eyes still closed. "Love can hit you at any time."

"Speaking from experience?" she teases.

“No. I've never been in love either."

"Never?" She sounds surprised. Probably because I’m such an old man in her eyes. It occurs to me that I’m as perverted as my father to have some of the thoughts and dreams I’ve had about her.

I shake my head. “Unlike you, I’ve never seen it. At least, not the romantic type. I love my sister and her kids. I’d die for them.” I’d die for you. The thought tilts my world on its axis.

“But you have girlfriends?”

I study her, wondering what she’s really asking. “Not really. If you’re asking if I have sex, the answer is yes, but not relationships.”

Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink and she looks down. “Do they like it?”

I nearly choke. “Are you asking if I’m good in bed?” I’m still sick as a dog, but my dick feels healthy as a horse at the thought of showing her just how good I am between the sheets.

She bites her lip, and I’m worried I’m embarrassing her. “My mother told me sex is something to be endured, but Ava said it doesn’t have to be like that.”

I close my eyes because I know without a doubt that my father would give her the type of sex that needed to be endured. Not just by him, but he’d possibly share her with his buddies.

“I make sure the women I’m with want sex too, and that they enjoy it.”

She pulls the blankets high, to her chin. “That’s nice.” She wants to end this conversation, but I’m not ready.

"Is that all you’d want in life?" I prompt gently. "Just love?"

Bella shakes her head, a spark of something, determination, maybe, lighting up her eyes. "No, not just that. I'd want to travel, to see the world beyond Chicago and New York. Maybe… maybe even go to college."

I smile at her enthusiasm. "What would you study?"

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I watched how my father treated Ava and her artistic talents and decided, why bother getting a hobby? I’ve always done what I was told, became the perfect daughter, perfect wife-in-training. I’ve always seen it as biding my time until I could move on. I guess I was na?ve to think that when I moved on, I’d have new options.”

I want to tell her the world is her oyster, but that would be a lie.

On the fourth morning, I wake up feeling groggy but significantly better than I have in days. The fever that's been ravaging my body seems to have broken, leaving me weak but clear-headed. As I blink away the last vestiges of sleep, I become acutely aware of a warm presence beside me.

Turning my head, I see Bella sleeping peacefully next to me. Her dark hair is tousled, and her face is relaxed in slumber. Something tightens in my chest at the sight of her, a feeling I can't quite name.

For a moment, I allow myself to drink in the sight of her. The curve of her cheek, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It's intimate in a way I've never experienced before, and it scares the hell out of me.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious and more than a little gross after days of fever-induced sweating, I carefully extract myself from the bed. My wound protests as I move, a dull ache rather than the searing pain of before. It's progress, at least.

I make my way to the bathroom, eager to wash away the remnants of my illness and clear my head. As I turn on the shower and step under the spray, I can't shake the image of Bella sleeping beside me. I have a strange desire to stay in this safe little bubble we have away from the ugliness of life.

I savor the warm water cascading over my body. The steam envelops me, and I close my eyes, relishing the simple pleasure of feeling clean again.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bella's voice cuts through the steam, sharp with concern and a hint of anger.

"Taking a shower.”

Through the foggy glass of the shower door, I can see her blurry outline. She's standing there with her hands on her hips. She’s pissed, and it’s adorable.

"You shouldn't be up! You're still recovering," she scolds, taking a step closer to the shower.

It's only then that I realize she hasn't registered my state of undress. The thought makes me grin despite myself.

"If you're so worried about me, why don't you join me in here? Make sure I don't fall or something." I’m pushing the boundaries of acceptable banter.

For a moment, Bella just stands there, her mouth slightly agape, as if she’s just processed my state of undress behind the foggy glass.

I expect her to blush furiously and storm out. But to my surprise, her shock quickly morphs into something else entirely. Her eyes narrow, a spark of defiance igniting in their depths.

"You know what? Maybe I will," she says, her voice laced with a challenge.

Ut-oh. She’s called my bluff. My dick starts to get excited about it. "Be careful in this game, Bella. I have no problems with your joining me. You shouldn't level a threat if you're not willing to follow through."

My eyes lock with hers through the steamy glass, challenging her back. The air between us crackles with tension. It’s electric and dangerous.

Bella's hand hovers over the shower door handle. She's caught in a moment of indecision, teetering on the edge of something neither of us fully understands.

I should give her an out. But remember, I’m an asshole. “You should undress unless you want to get your pajamas wet. That is if you plan to back up your words?"

I see the conflict playing out on her face, the desire to prove herself warring with her natural caution. It’s only then I remember she’s likely a virgin. This game is nothing to me as I’ve seen plenty of women naked. I fucked in the shower before. But not her. This isn’t a game. As much as I’m dying for her to take that final step and join me, it’s wrong.

“Why don’t you hand me a towel and then find me some clothes? I’ll come out, and I promise I’ll behave.”

Her relieved expression tells me just how much of a douchebag my challenge to her was. She gets a towel, and I open the door, doing my best to hide myself so as not to make her more uncomfortable. It doesn’t escape my notice, though, how her gaze drops down to my dick.

I wrap the towel around my waist and step out of the shower. My dick isn’t full throttle, but there’s no mistaking it under the towel.

“Do you suppose Marianne was properly impressed with Colonel Brandon when she finally got a good look at him naked?”

Bella’s eyes widen, and she looks at me like she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She swallows, and I see her inner snark coming back and it pleases me to no end.

“I suspect he got the better part of the deal having a young, nubile wife.”

I let my gaze rake over her, taking in her long, wavy hair, her perky tits, nipples hardened under her pajama top. “No doubt, you’re right about that.”