THE PAST FEW days have gone by in a blur. Nico’s haunted house app didn’t pan out since the idea he thought up already exists.
Following the initial shock at dinner, it actually feels pretty good that someone finally knows about Zoe Mona. I’ve been dragging my feet about telling him the origin story, but it already feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest.
Nico roused me at an ungodly hour this morning, insisting the spontaneous trip to Amsterdam would be worth every minute. But the pitch-black windows and swaying train car as we pass through the Channel Tunnel are making me nauseous.
“This is underwhelming,” I sigh. “I don’t know why I expected to see fish.”
“Comfy chairs, beautiful sights, lack of sea creatures. I give it three stars.” His eyes connect to mine from the seat opposite me, creasing at the edges. “But I may have to disagree with you. I think I have a pretty good view.”
I gaze at him and can’t help but agree.
He looks exceptionally good today, wearing baggy blue denim jeans, a tee that hugs his chest oh-so-nicely, and the sneakers I bought him.
Several people turned their heads as we sleepily walked to the train this morning.
I wanted to hang an off-limits sign on him.
Things between Nico and me are different than they were in Brazil.
There are moments when we hold hands, both of us pretending not to notice how our fingers hook around each other when we’re walking around
London, or when our fingers brush while he forces me to endure another scary movie. Of course, there are the forehead kisses Nico refuses to stop giving me, and one time, I huffed his shirt after he worked out.
I don’t want to speak about it.
Ever.
Maybe the spell of romantic fog isn’t so bad.
I know my heart is—under lock, chain, barbed wire, electric fencing, and a long, rusted, forgotten key. Why not enjoy sporadic moments of affection from a man who wants nothing out of me other than the time we spend together?
Almost four hours later, we disembark our train and take a cab to a park outside the city center where we rent a tandem bike for the afternoon.
The muscles in my thighs scream for a break. I glance back from the front seat and catch Nico stretching his legs on either side of the bike, no longer pedaling.
“Nico,” I scold, turning back to keep my eyes on the road. My knuckles crack against the handlebars, and our wispy friendship bracelet hangs off my wrist as carelessly as Nico in his seat. I’m going to rip this thing off and strangle him with it. “No more. I’m pulling over.”
“Wait, no.” The resistance on the gear chains loosens again. “We’re almost there. Just turn left at the next bend.”
“Keep your feet on the pedals.”
“Couldn’t help but take in the view,” he pants. “I didn’t realize I’d be staring at your ass the entire journey.”
“My ass will be suffocating your face when we get back to the hotel.” “I can’t wait.” Nico chuckles.
We turn down the path, driving along a canal. The waterfront is surrounded by brick houses and shops. At the top of the hilly path, a giant windmill sits surrounded by trees, and the wooden sail whips around lazily.
“Can we stop for a sec? I want to take a picture,” I say. “Of course.”
We bring our bike to a halt and climb off. Apart from a small boat drifting down the canal, there’s no one else around.
“It’s so cute.” My lips curve upwards as I click my camera. In the corner of the frame, a yellow blanket is spread out on a patch of grass beneath the mill. “Oh, look, someone’s planned a whole picnic.”
“Come on, pretty girl, let’s go see what they’re having.” Nico nods toward the spread.
“That’s for us?”
He nods, then pulls out a small pouch from his pocket and waves it in front of me. The packaging is dark, and I can’t quite make out what the words on the front say. “This is also for us.”
“What’s in there?”
“An edible.” Nico lowers his voice. “We’re on vacation, after all.”
Why not?
 |
OUR SPREAD OF BREAD, cheese, and wine grumbles in my belly. The light buzz from Nico’s surprise treat makes me feel like a dripping Popsicle on a hot summer day. For the past hour, Nico’s been kicking my butt at a game of twenty questions. Now it’s my turn to try and beat him.
“One more, and I win,” I chuckle.
He wipes the splash of sweat against his brow. “Are you a globe?” “Nope.”
Nico sighs loudly, taking his loss in stride. “What were you then?” “A unicorn.” I pop another sour grape in my mouth.
“How were you a unicorn if I specifically asked if you were alive?”
“Unicorns are mythical creatures, so they’re technically nonexistent.
Definitely thought you would’ve been better at figuring it out.”
“Hey, I can’t crack open an almost decade-long secret every day.” Nico tosses a squishy grape at me, and I dodge it. “I’m still in the lead two-to- one.”
I shift around on the picnic blanket, tugging my black miniskirt over my thighs. Maybe it’s the euphoria circulating through my system or the fact Nico already knows most of the truth, but I’m not irritated by his comment.
There’s no point in beating around the bush anymore. “Sorry, Lil, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, uhh…” I don’t let myself second-guess the decision “I want to explain.” One final breath. “The blog came first, sort of like a safe place to record my sex life where I felt seen but remained faceless.”
Nico’s ears practically perk up. I can see the questions forming in his mind. “Did you wake up one day and decide to start writing?”
“Not quite. I’ve always kept a journal and would get these bursts of creativity throughout my teens, although they never amounted to anything. It wasn’t until I got out of a shitty relationship that I finally decided to put it all out there.”
I’m not ashamed of what I write, at all. But no part of me ever wanted to own the Zoe Mona personality wholly. It’s an outlet. It’s not the only thing I am.
His mouth folds in on itself, a tight line of concern. Or anger? I can’t determine the difference between the two when we’ve only briefly spoken about this topic. “Was the relationship with that shithead boyfriend you’ve mentioned in the past?”
“Yep.”
He doesn’t pry about it any further. I’m thankful for how well Nico knows me. He understands when I want to close the curtain around myself. There’s only one other person who knows the entire history with Chuck. Frankly, I’d rather it remain locked up between my best friend and me.
“How did you keep your writing from Avery all this time? Or your current roommate?”
“Ave was usually busy, tied up between school and work.” Or I guess Luca during the past couple of years. “I spent a lot of time writing on campus and at the bar. It was easy to play the whole thing off as studying. I left copies of my novellas around the house because what better way to hide a secret than to lay it out in the open? I think she thought I had an erotica addiction.” I chuckle. “And Molly…she’s not around much either and doesn’t typically venture into my room.”
“Huh, yeah. Makes sense.” He blinks up at me, processing everything. “Is there a reason you didn’t try harder to tell Ave?”
It drops before me. The one question I don’t want to answer because what excuse is there?
I didn’t tell her because I’m a lousy friend. Because I wanted something of my own.
Because I was embarrassed, and even a tad guilty, that I cultivated this man-eating persona because some shithead, as Nico so eloquently put it, walked all over me the first and only time I fell in love.
“Uh, it never came up, and years went by, and I didn’t really see the point to keep trying to bring it up.” My intestines tighten in my stomach, lacing knots of anxiety. “I—I don’t really want to talk about that.”
I really should confess to Avery, especially now that Nico knows.
“I get it.” He gives me a reassuring pat on the thigh. “But did you always want to be an author?”
I don’t have to consider him for long. “Maybe. The blog was a form of therapy, but the rest sort of started out of nowhere.”
“When did you start writing the novellas?”
“About five years ago. For the longest time, there were only stories of my sexcapades on the blog until readers suggested I bundle them into books. At first, I didn’t listen, but the fans I nurtured over the years obviously had the right idea.”
“You fascinate me. Writing about love while avoiding commitment.” “I write about sex, not love.”
He nods, no judgment in his eyes. Genuine interest is the only thing kissing his features.
“So, are the things posted on the blog true? There are some very
interesting stories on there.” “You read my writing?”
Nico’s eyes widen with surprise. “Of course. You’re a brilliant writer.”
Not of course. He didn’t have to spend a second going through my stories, but he did.
“How many stories did you read?”
“Well, I read Coastal Fling and a few blogs, but after a while, I couldn’t keep going.”
My heart rate increases at his words. “Were they that bad?”
“Not at all; like I said, your writing is captivating and hysterical. I—” Nico pauses for a beat. “I didn’t like reading about you being with other guys.”
“Maybe your middle name should be Jealous,” I tease, sending one of my freshly manicured fingers into his side. Nico squirms away, laughing. “Besides, you’ve talked about your past hookups plenty of times.”
“Yeah, well, maybe we should stop doing that.” He breaks the tightrope of eye contact between us. I’m desperate to get back to balancing on the connection.
“Okay,” I agree.
Nico walks his hand over to a tiny patch of wildflowers next to our picnic blanket and plucks a few stalks of the orange and purple flowers, smiling when he catches me watching him.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you blogging and writing full- time?” He rolls the green stems between his fingers.
“It’s not a real career.”
“What do you mean? There are thousands of successful authors who would disagree with you.”
“It’s just not practical for me. Sure, it supplements a bit of income while I put myself through college, but that’s all it is.”
Plus, for some godforsaken reason, I haven’t been able to get my damn creative writing teacher’s words out of my mind all summer.
If you want to be taken seriously, don’t write romance.
I wish I could ignore him, but in the depth of my heart, I know it’s true.
I can’t possibly make a career out of this.
A heartless woman writing love stories? Ridiculous.
Nico tucks the wildflowers behind my ear. I smile at the tenderness of it all, at his gentle touch and interest in this part of me.
My chest expands, warmth trickling down my spine and between my legs.
Fucking seriously? I can’t have a guy do something mildly romantic to me without my vagina turning into a journey down Splash Mountain?
“A bestseller isn’t something to be humble about.”
“I’m not.” My jaw pulls toward his hand, and he cups my cheek again.
His fingers smell sweetly of flowers. “It’s honestly nothing. I got lucky.”
Truth is, it feels like things haven’t changed. Sure, my bank account is padded with royalties, but I’m sure it’s only a temporary thing.
Flukes happen all the time in the publishing industry. My moment in the spotlight doesn’t mean I’ll entirely overhaul my life plan.
“Why do you keep doing that?” My eyes flicker to his. “What?”
“You need to stop all of this negative self-talk.” His hand on my skin disappears. “For such an ambitious, confident, and smart woman, it’s strange how you refuse to take this part of yourself seriously, and I can’t, for the life of me, understand why.”
His words are like a pickaxe.
“That’s not fair.” Defensiveness tickles at my throat. “I don’t need to turn my hobby into something industrious. Especially in such an unpredictable and risk-filled industry.”
Nico refuses to budge. “My hobby turned into a career. A very successful career at that.”
“That’s because tech is for people with serious jobs.” “Really, Lil, you think I’m serious?”
“It can be your new middle name, but you know what I mean. It’s for people who are successful.”
He sucks air through his teeth. “Whoever told you that writing isn’t a real job is a fucking asshole, Lil.”
If you’re going to amount to something, you have to think about college instead of writing your little stories all day.
My mind’s decision to host every asshole who’s ever doubted me is starting to get old.
Nico doesn’t have to tell me about the kind of jerk my first boyfriend was. I search for the words to tell him about every stinging ounce of pain I felt all those years ago, but the truth doesn’t come. I think that if I say the words out loud, it’ll give legs to the idea that Chuck still impacts me after all this time.
I didn’t overhaul my life to allow another man to affect me that way ever again. Even if I’ve broken every single promise I made to protect myself this summer.
It’s Nico. He’s safe.
I think.
“I have another surprise for you,” he says, a warm glow returning to his face.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Stick with me, princesa.” Nico stands, extends his palm toward me, and helps me to my feet. “I’ll make every day worthwhile.”
Maybe it’s time for me to do the same.
 |
WE STAND at the entrance of a dome-like building outfitted in metal and glass. The inside appears entirely dark.
“Are we breaking in?” My voice lowers into a whisper even though no one’s around to hear us.
He looks back at me, a mischievous grin curving his mouth. “Up for a little adventure?”
“I don’t think I want to be an accomplice to a crime.” Nico raps a few times against a gray door with no handle. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh.” Nico brings his finger to my lips. Keys jangle behind the door.
A second later, an elderly gentleman outfitted in a brown tweed suit appears at the entryway. “Nico! It’s been too long.” The man pulls Nico into a hug and smiles over his shoulder at me.
“So good to see you, Thomas. This is Lily.”
We shake hands, and I try to ignore the fact this man is grinning from ear to ear.
What is going on?
Thomas takes us through a dark hallway, and he and Nico whisper conspiratorially.
“Here’s the key.” Thomas hands over a sparkle of metal, and Nico tucks it away in his pocket. “Drop it in the mailbox outside the front entrance. The thing we talked about is all set, and the cameras for that room are off.”
“Are you planning to reenact one of your horror movie scenes with me?” My brow quirks at both of them.
“Amateur.” Nico nudges his friend, who snorts in response. “There are cameras everywhere else; we’d never get away with it.” Nico pats the older man’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this, man. I really appreciate it.”
“After you bailed me out of jail in Budapest, it’s the least I can do.” Thomas winks and exits down the hallway. “Nice to meet you, Lily. You’re in for a treat.”
When he’s out of view, I pinch Nico’s forearm. “What is this?”
He takes my hand, pulling me down a maze of hallways until we reach a stretch of open space. Artwork hangs off each wall.
“Van Gogh, after hours.” Nico cordially stretches out one of his arms. I’m rendered entirely speechless.
“Do you hate it?”
“No, Nico.” My eyes string together the collection of paintings until they land on his face. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”
“Another first.” He winks before a smile kisses his face, and I want to follow the trail of his lips with my own.
We stroll around the gallery, reading each of the plaques and filling the walls with laughter. The entire time, our hands are interlaced, and I don’t attempt to pull away. The romance of the whole thing is enough to crystalize sugar on my tongue. Irresistibly sweet.
After perusing a few floors of the museum, we reach the display of one of Van Gogh’s Sunflower paintings. The Dutch artist painted five versions of the flowers that span galleries around the world. Sure, the National Gallery in London has a version, but seeing it here, in the home of Van Gogh’s many artworks, makes the moment even more special.
Yellow shades are luminescent beneath the glimmer of light. The same beautiful image on my phone’s lock screen now stares back at me.
“You actually brought me to see Sunflowers?”
Nico walks over to the clipping of information hanging by the edge of the frame. “I know it’s not the National Gallery.”
“It’s better.”
“Apparently, they’re meant to communicate gratitude.”
“Maybe if I come into some giant fortune, I can gift half of it to you as a thank-you for this trip.” I chuckle half-heartedly. No amount will be sufficient to repay Nico for the past couple of weeks.
“Seeing that spark in your eyes is gift enough.” He wraps his arm around me. His scent melts across my senses, causing my mouth to water. We look at the swirls of yellow paint, sunshine in the dark gallery, until I get my fill.
Way cooler than my lock screen.
“One last surprise.” He pauses, presenting me with a blindfold. “Put it on.”
I do as he instructs, tugging the fabric over my eyes until the gallery goes out of view.
“Trust me?” he asks.
I nod. I do. On a level I’m not quite ready to address.
At the soft tug of his fingers, I follow his footsteps through the museum.
We walk until my boots hit something soft. “What’s—”
“Topple forward, okay? You’re safe.” He carefully pulls me downward. “Okay.” My knees hit something that resembles a bundle of fabric, and I
feel my way around the soft, plush surface until his weight collapses beside mine.
“May I kiss you, Lily?”
He’s never asked before; somehow, Nico’s always known when my lips ached for him, but the question is gentle.
“Please,” I rasp.
Anticipation boils in my chest, and Nico keeps his promise, colliding his lips with mine. My heart sings until he pulls away.
“No, don’t stop.” I chase after him in the colorful darkness.
His lips line up with my jaw. One kiss. Another. Heat coils through me, the same exquisite way, every damn time.
“You’re a work of art,” Nico says after his mouth finds mine again. The taste of him is almost healing.
“Even here?” I sneak in the question between my airy moans. “Anywhere,” he breathes in my ear.
The blindfold comes off, and it takes me a few awestruck moments to notice we’re sitting on a plush collection of pillows and blankets in the middle of some room.
I glance around the space. Hues of blues, deep greens, and blacks flood the room. A projection of Starry Night sways across the bare walls, and I stretch out my hand, watching the long tendrils of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence reflect against my skin.
The image changes, turning the room into a vast green meadow. “This is…”
“I know, right?”
Overwhelmed, I exhale the air gathering in my lungs.
“I figured we could rest those tired feet of yours after I made you suffer through the bike ride,” Nico says casually.
“Mhmm.”
We spend a few minutes watching the slides of artwork change, our necks following the patterns of brushstrokes across the room.
When I glance at Nico, he returns a warm look, his fingers squeezing my bare knee.
My eyes melt into his tender pools of brown, and there’s more than a longing gaze that meets me there, more than some hidden erotic intention. It’s as if Nico were an archer aiming for the one shrapnel of vulnerability still inside me and he struck the target without breaking a sweat.
He’s so painstakingly different from anyone I’ve ever known, ravishing and sentimental wrapped up in a possessive and warm-hearted package.
He has taken a piece of me with him this summer, whether he knows it or not.
“Nico?” I edge closer to him, shrinking the distance between us. “Yes, love?”
I know I’m making a terrible mistake when my lips connect to his.
This kiss feels different. Not just because of the rule I’m about to break but because of how safe I feel in his arms and how safe I want him to feel in mine. Selflessly.
I ache to be brave enough to give myself to him fully, but I haven’t surrendered a piece of myself to a man in years.
What would it be like to give in to the desperate look that keeps finding me in his warm gaze? A look that begs for our arrangement to turn into something more.
Something real.
As we kiss, I can taste the fantasy of Nico and me not hiding behind our list of rules.
A life without secrets.
Is that something I’m even capable of? Lust doesn’t magically equate to another four-letter word.
I climb over to him, straddling his waist. My skirt rides up, and Nico’s cock surges under the denim of his jeans as he drags me against him.
“Fuck,” he curses between our exchanges of breath.
I keep trying to reach for clarity, but it’s hard to ignore how much I’ve thought about this moment. Daydreams that were vivid enough to write about.
“Lily.” Nico’s hands deliberately wrap around my breasts. Each touch fills a lake of yearning. “I know we said no sex, but if we keep going like this, I’m gonna need to be inside you.”
My stare connects with the dark lust nestled in his eyes. Beneath the hologram of colorful brushstrokes dancing across our skin, my electric need turns on like a city regaining power.
“Do you have a condom?” My hands reluctantly leave his body to pull my shirt over my head.
His mouth traces over my breasts, tongue circling over my sensitive nipples. “What about the rules?” he breathes on my skin.
“Fuck them.” I rake my mouth over his and tug up the collar of his tee. “Fuck the rules.”
One of his hands searches in his wallet.
I ride the wet fabric of my panties on his jutting length, feasting on every inch of his handsome face, veined neck, and firm shoulders.
“Got it.” Nico’s fingers fumble.
“Did you set this whole thing up because you knew I would break?”
“No,” he insists while I unbutton the waist of his jeans. Even if he did, I wouldn’t care. I want this so fucking badly.
Nico kicks off his sneakers, holding on to me to help keep my balance above him. Limbs and clothes unravel until his dick springs out before me. “You’ve already said your pussy is mine, love. I’ve only been counting down the seconds until you were finally ready to claim me.”
Damn.
I grab the condom out of his hand before ripping the wrapper with my teeth.
My fingers roll the latex down his generous length. I’ve had all this down my throat for weeks, but the strain in my chest is enough to give me pause about taking all of him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” His question tugs at my heartstrings.
My ovaries have practically crawled out of my body and wrapped around him, but he’s still giving me an out.
“Please.” I can’t remember the last time I asked for something I wanted that nicely.
“Anything for you, princesa.”
There’s no pause or stretch of awkwardness between us. I settle my hips over him, then realize I’m still wearing my boots. I reach for the laces, but Nico pulls my wrist to his lips.
“Leave them on.”
“Thought about fucking me in my boots before?” I spread myself against his erection, soaking him with my wetness. The swollen tip of his cock bulges at my entrance.
I know this can only end poorly, but I do nothing to stop it. Nico Navarro may be the only person in the world who’s claimed control over me and I—the ever-silly girl I thought I’d buried long ago—let him.
