Nate takes me to the middle of nowhere.
Well, not literally, but close to it. We’re heading to a cozy cottage Nate owns that’s situated on a mountain out of state. We drove for an hour to get here and now, we’re having to hike for the rest of the way, something I’ve been grumbling about for half an hour.
Even though both of us are wearing hiking clothes and boots, every step feels like torture. I’m not good with physical activities, okay?
Nate must know that, too, because he sighs, picks me up, and carries me on his back. All discomfort is forgotten and I release a small squeal as my body plasters itself to his. I’ll always be in awe at the ease with which he holds me, as if I weigh nothing.
“I feel like such a princess,” I speak against his ear, eliciting a muscle jump in his jaw.
“You do, huh?”
“Look at me having someone to carry me. Am I lucky or what?” I rub my breasts against his back.
He tightens his hold on my leg. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” I feign nonchalance.
“Stop grinding against me or I’ll fuck you against the tree and you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
The fucking part is tempting, but the walking on my own part, not so much. As a compromise, I wrap my legs around his waist in a tight grip, even though he’s been holding them while carrying our bag. Nate is strong that way. He can lift me and a bag and still hike like nobody’s business.
I also stroke his face with my arm looped around his neck. Usually, he’d stop me—or he’s stopped me in the past. But now, he’s given up. Like he gave up trying to have me sleep in my own bed. I either fall asleep on his lap or in his bed. He also gave up hating loud music—I’m converting him to a Twenty One Pilots fan as we speak. NF, too, if I get a say in it. I told him once that it’s such a lovely coincidence that he and NF share the same name, but he just glowered. He’s jealous that way, even about singers, and I might like that a bit too much.
Anyway, coffee is on the list of things he gave up, too. Yeah, he loves my green vanilla tea more now. Soon, he’ll also love vanilla.
I’ve been slowly but surely changing his mind about things. Whenever he says, “No, that’s final and not up for discussion,” I just reopen the subject until he listens to me.
Like the Susan thing. There will be a trial soon and he said I shouldn’t testify, but I put my foot down and insisted. Aspen sort of agreed with me, which was a first, but we’re two-to-one now, so I’m totally testifying.
Maybe if I’m determined enough, I’ll change his “no feelings” rule, too, though I don’t have any misconceptions about that. Deep down, he’s a hard, cold man and I don’t think I have enough stamina to climb over the walls of his forts.
But I can build that stamina.
Yes, I hate physical activity, but I’m all for endurance.
We finally arrive at the cottage. The outside looks like a scene from a horror movie with all the old wooden pillars and all, but the interior is…cozy.
The wood flooring shines under the late afternoon sun and the curtains cast a yellowish glow on the small living area. There is a colorful sofa and chairs. Even the carpet is a mosaic of joyful colors and shapes.
Nate helps me slide off his body and there’s barely a drop of sweat on his gorgeous face. My husband looks sharp and handsome in a suit, but he’s mouthwatering in hiking clothes that stretch across his chest and hug his strong biceps like a second skin.
He could’ve been a bit less perfect, but then again, gods like him don’t have flaws.
We’re removing our hiking boots at the entrance when I say, “You didn’t decorate this yourself, did you?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s not your style.”
“And you know my style?”
“Of course. I’ve been to your place before and it’s all gray and stuff. You wouldn’t touch colorful things with a ten-foot pole.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against his body. “I touch you, don’t I?”
“I’m not colorful.”
“You’re the most colorful fucking thing I’ve ever met, Gwyneth.”
I nearly hiccup at that and turn into the fifteen-year-old who hid whenever she saw him because he was too bright to look at.
He really needs to stop saying things like that, because my heart will start misunderstanding it and then we’ll have a huge problem on our hands. Like me falling for him.
As if you haven’t already, Gwen.
I shoo that idea and get away from him because I’m totally not desensitized to having his hands on me. I didn’t put them on the list and I don’t want to.
Walking around the cottage, I touch the small figurines of anime characters lined up by the TV. “You definitely wouldn’t have these either.”
“This used to be my and Nicholas’s hideout. He brought me here during the summers to get away from our parents and the city for a while. ”
I grab a pink-haired girl figurine and turn around to face him. His features have sunken at the mention of his brother and the walls of his forts are going up again.
Oh, God. How could I not have thought of this after Debra’s visit? It’s not just about his parents, is it?
“Were you guys close?”
He gives a vague nod, then heads to the kitchen area and disappears behind the counter. “I’ll make dinner. Go take a shower.”
“I’ll help.” I slide to his side.
There’s no way in hell I’m letting him build forts again. I hate them. His forts and his coldness, and his wounds that no one ever looked into. He’s too cold to allow anyone in, and people are usually too scared of him to try.
Not me.
Well, I might have been a bit scared in the past, when I was young and clueless, but not anymore.
I bring out some of the vegetables we brought and start washing them under the faucet. “What type of person was Nicholas?”
“The heir to the Weaver clan.”
“Not your brother?”
“That too, but his most important role was as the promised prince and he was treated as such.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re a member of the Weaver family, too.”
“Only in name. I was never as good as Nick at anything, whether it was studies, sports, or even existing. He aced them all and I was meant to be number two.”
“You’re not number two, Nate.” You’re my number one. But I don’t say that, because it would get emotional and messy. That’s what feelings are. Messy. “Did you hate him for being your parents’ favorite?”
“Sometimes it felt that way, but I could’ve never really hated Nick.”
“Why?”
There’s a small smile on his face as he chops the vegetables. “Because he was my parent. Being ten years older than me, he stepped into the role so easily. He’s the one who made sure I was taken care of, that I ate and slept well. He’s the one who spent all-nighters by my side when I got sick, because my mother didn’t give a fuck. He taught me what a father should teach his son. Again, because my father was too checked-out to pay me any attention. It’s thanks to him that I know what the world is all about.”
“He sounds so cool.”
“He was. Nick was also a natural leader, which is why it made the most sense for him to follow in my parents’ footsteps. They had great plans for him and had his political career all mapped out ever since he was a toddler. But he threw it all away by marrying a middle-class woman my mother didn’t approve of. They started a fucking drama about it, especially my mother. She was vicious and hurt Julia, Nick’s wife, by demanding he divorce her.”
Jeez. Debra is a bitch who only likes her sons divorced. Or married to the women she picks, I guess. “You mean like she did to you?”
“Her reaction to me was nothing compared to how she acted with Nick and Julia. She was an absolute nightmare and used her influence to have Julia fired from her job and basically blacklisted her in New York City.”
“What did Nick do?” I stop pretending that I’m focused on helping him prepare the ingredients and lean against the counter to face him.
“He fought it at first, but it was too much drama and daily fights and he was caught in the middle. But then he gave my parents a choice—either they leave Julia alone or he’d burn all the plans they had for him. They threatened to disown him, and I never saw my brother as relieved as he was in that moment. As if he’d been carrying a load since he was born and he could finally get rid of it. He chose to be disowned, took Julia, and left the country. Just like that. A few years later, he and his wife died in an accident and Sebastian came to live with us.”
I see it then. The pain. It’s in the way his shoulders hunch and his movements turn stiff.
The reason he’s been building the forts isn’t because of coldness, it’s due to pain.
“You hate him for it, don’t you? You hate that he left you alone with the parents who never cared about you. He abandoned you.”
“I was old enough. He didn’t abandon me.”
“You were what? Ten when he left? You weren’t old enough, Nate.”
“He did what he had to do. I don’t blame him for wanting out of my parents’ clutches. I would’ve done the same if I were him.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You took care of Sebastian after his parents died and never left him in his grandparents’ clutches. Not once did you turn your back on him, not even when he was acting up a few years ago. Because you didn’t want him to be like his father or you, right? You wanted him to have all the options so he could pick his own future.”
“He deserves that.”
“And you deserved not to be abandoned back then by both your parents and your brother. They’re assholes.”
He pauses chopping. “No calling Nick an asshole.”
“But he was. He knew you’d be all alone and still left anyway because he was selfish. Like my mother. People like them don’t care about who they leave behind and then pick up their lives as if we never happened, and that’s wrong, okay? It’s messed up and hurts on empty days because I keep thinking, was I not good enough? Was I just a stone in her life that she so easily kicked away and moved on with her life? Was I unnecessary?”
“Hey.” He grabs me by the shoulders and the warmth of his big, strong hands seeps under my skin. It’s a safety net, one I can hold on to with all my might and not worry that it’ll break and let me go.
“You’re not fucking unnecessary, Gwyneth. Do you hear me?”
“You’re not unnecessary either, okay? Fuck your parents for only realizing your worth after losing your brother. I want to punch them. Especially your mother. She’s the worst ever. At least my own mother decided to disappear from the get-go; Debra was there but did nothing to earn the title of a mother. I’m going to tell her all of this when I see her next time.”
“You will, huh?”
“Yup, and I will metaphorically punch her, too. I can’t do it physically or she’ll sue me for assault and then will tell a sob story to the media, and they’ll believe her. Yikes.”
“That’s smart.” He glides his thumb under my eye and I realize I have moisture there and he’s wiping it away. “Though she won’t have a chance when I’m your lawyer.”
“Hell yeah, she won’t. You’re the best lawyer I know. Aside from my dad.”
“I am?”
“You’re the best, Nate. You must hear that from everyone every day.”
“Not from you.”
“And that’s important?”
“It is.”
“Like when I love it when you praise me?”
“When you behave, which is a rare occurrence.”
“Oh, please. You like it when I’m a bad girl.”
“Do I, wife?”
“Uh-huh.” I wrap my arms around him because I like it. I like how he looks at me as if he’ll have me instead of food, and I like how he touches me. I like how his veiny hands stroke my face and grab me so tight that I become so small in comparison to him.
But what I like the most is him, and I want to engrave him in every cell of my body, take everything he has to offer, and make him all mine.
A mortal trying to trap a god.
Don’t all of those stories end in tragedies? Everyone says it’s impossible for two different worlds to collide. They need to stay separate, watching from afar.
But I’ve already touched him and he’s touched me. And I don’t only mean physically. There’s an ease to our relationship now, and it feels peaceful, normal while still being exciting and fun.
It’s full. That’s the type of effect Nate has on me—he makes me full and I want that fullness. I fucking need it.
And it’s not because I’m dependent on him. It’s not because I grew up watching him being a god among humans.
Those aren’t the reasons why he fills me up. It’s because he’s Nate. The cold, stern Nate with a broken side. The one who has forts so tall, but he still opens them for me to steal a peek inside.
The protective, possessive Nate who wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to hurt me.
Even if he does it himself sometimes.
Even if his knife stabs me deeper with each passing day that his lips refuse to meet mine.
Once upon a time, I thought I’d gotten over him.
Turns out, I’m still waiting for him to kiss me back.
