Natasha jumped on the satin coverlet and stated a question to which she expected only one answer, “Isn’t this a great room?”
Laura said quietly, “Are you supposed to be jumping on the bed, my darling?”
“Oh, Mummy doesn’t mind,” Natasha answered, still jumping. “Or at least she’s given up telling Fazire and I to quit.”
Laura’s startled eyes turned to Nate at the very idea of the big, round man jumping on a bed. Nate found himself biting back laughter at his daughter’s easily announced incongruity and his mother’s startled gaze.
Unlike Lily, who seemed to have worn down over the years, losing her dazzling joie de vivre, Natasha was flourishing. She was bubbly and sparkling and obviously very, very happy.
Nate was, quite frankly, awed by all that Lily had created. His daughter, the welcoming house where all its occupants had their own space that was exactly like they wanted it, brimming with their personality (considering Fazire’s room, however, Nate had his doubts about Fazire’s personality). It was overwhelming that his thin, delicate Lily could have made something so wonderful against such odds.
Interrupting his thoughts, Natasha threw her legs out and expertly, clearly having much practice, landed on her bottom then bounced off the bed.
“Now! Mummy’s room!” she announced, grabbing Nate’s hand and forging out the door.
“I don’t think –” Laura started, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of intruding on Lily’s privacy but Natasha wasn’t listening.
“I don’t like Mummy’s room much. Mummy says she’ll get to it though, ee… ven… chu… ah… lee,” she sing-songed the word she obviously heard often as she walked to the back of the house.
Natasha threw open another door and dragged him inside and it was almost as if he’d entered another home altogether and not a very nice one.
The room was tidy and the bed was made. Other than that, there was nothing good about it.
The walls had been stripped of wallpaper but never re-plastered or painted, some of the old paper left in places. The bed was old, the mattress lumpy and all the furniture scarred, mismatched and in disrepair. The wardrobe door hung open drunkenly, exposing the clothes shoved inside the small space, shoes lined up underneath it that didn’t fit in the closet. There were books piled on the bedside tables and on the floor which was old, unfinished planks without even a throw rug to cover them.
There were no pictures on the walls or any ornamentation or decoration in the room. The only thing Nate could see was a big picture frame on the battered dresser, in it the Lily he knew from eight years ago was hugging a dark-haired man while a woman with white-blond hair hugged Lily from behind, her head on Lily’s shoulder.
The cat strolled in, jumped agilely up on Lily’s bed, sauntered to her pillow and curled up again for another nap.
The room was devoid of personality, not a room you’d want to spend any time in and, somehow, utterly sad.
“Now do you want tea?” Natasha asked, blissfully ignorant of all the room said about her mother’s sacrifice, again tilting her head with her question and then, without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Nate’s hand again and tugged him out of the room.
As he passed his parents, Nate could see his own stricken thoughts at the sight of Lily’s room openly expressed on their faces.
“Nathaniel –” Victor said in a low voice as Natasha pulled him passed.
He was saved from answering when Natasha turned her head to look over her shoulder at her father.
“Nathaniel,” she said to him, “I’m named after you.” She continued to tug him down the stairs. “Mummy said ‘Nathaniel’ is the name of a gentleman, a good name, a strong name. She really likes your name,” she finished when they’d walked into the lounge.
“Tash, what are you filling their heads with?” Lily asked her daughter softly as they entered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
The lounge was again painted in a soft beige, this with bright yellow tinge. The furniture was nice but obviously inexpensive and bought for comfort and with a view to lasting. Lily stood by the fireplace looking out of place even in her casual clothes. The likes of Lily didn’t worry about her furniture’s durability. The likes of Lily stood comfortably in opulent throne rooms.
Next to her was Fazire who had his feet planted apart but now his arms were crossed on his chest and resting on his protruding stomach. He still looked madder than a bull and had his head tilted back at an unseemly angle so he could stare down his nose at them even though he was barely an inch taller than the petite Laura.
Everyone stared at each other and no one said a word.
“Tea!” Lily said loudly, sounding desperate and jumping for a tray on a low table in front of a sofa.
Nate noted, distractedly, the teapot was chipped.
He also noted that she had not made him tea, which he did not drink, but automatically, and without a word or a glance in his direction, handed him a mug of black coffee.
This he did drink.
The significance of this gesture, of his daughter telling him stories about her mother speaking of his smile and his name, hit Nate with the strength of a train.
Lily wasn’t lost to him as he feared, nor was she shattered like she looked.
She was simply broken.
And broken he could fix.
He watched her closely and then he smiled.
She’d put on a muted rose-coloured cardigan which had a thin, lilac ribbon embroidered with flowers running one side of the buttons. This was done obviously to cover the bruises on her arms.
She busily made tea as if her life depended on it, performing this task with the finest of hostessing skills. She distributed the refreshments, taking a coffee herself and stepping back to stand beside Fazire.
Once she settled into place, everyone stared at each other again.
Moments passed and no one said a word. The silence became uncomfortable. Then it became excruciating.
Laura gazed worriedly at Lily. Victor gazed assessingly at Fazire. Fazire glared at everyone in turn. Natasha looked expectantly from one adult to the other.
Then Fazire opened his mouth, sucked in an enormous breath that should have evacuated the air from the room and was clearly about to speak when, sounding slightly hysterical, Lily shouted, “Photo albums!”
Fazire’s mouth clamped together with an audible clacking of teeth and he glowered at Lily who had denied him whatever grand statement he was about to make.
“Photo albums,” Lily repeated, slamming her cup awkwardly on the mantel which also held a variety of framed family photos. “Fazire takes tons of pictures. You can catch up on Tash through Fazire’s photos.”
“What a lovely idea,” Laura said softly but Lily didn’t look at her, in fact Lily was studiously avoiding looking at anyone and had been since they entered the room.
“I’ll go get them,” Lily offered and practically ran to the door.
“I’ll help,” Nate said, putting down his mug, intent on having a moment alone with her, the first moment they’d had alone in eight years.
Lily stopped, whirled and stared at him wearing an expression of horror mixed quite liberally with fear. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could utter a word Fazire spoke.
“I’ll help,” Fazire declared, also moving to put down his tea.
Nate straightened and looked at the bizarre man. “I said I’ll help,” he noted in a low tone.
“And I said I’ll help,” Fazire returned, clearly not reading nor not wishing to read Nate’s warning glance.
“Let Nathaniel help,” Laura courageously entered the burgeoning fray.
Fazire’s angry stare swung to Laura.
“Let Daddy help,” Natasha said, bouncing up on the sofa and looking at them all with bright eyes, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Fazire doesn’t like climbing all those stairs anyway. He usually floats up and he can’t do that while you’re all here.”
; Natasha settled on the couch equally oblivious to the horrified look her mother was throwing her way or the surprised ones her father and his family were aiming at her.
“Fine,” Lily bit out, breaking everyone out of their shock at the little girl’s strange words. She turned her eyes to Nate and, he noticed, she had carefully schooled her features. “Nate?”
Without waiting for his response, she spun again and stamped out of the room.
He followed her slowly up one set of stairs where, he noted, she paused to close the door to her bedroom, and then up another.
There were several more doors off the next landing and she walked into a room that was obviously used for watching television. A large, plush corner sofa took up most of the comfortable space. The room also had several sets of inexpensive but stylish connecting shelves on which were lined with books, ornaments, more framed photos and an enormous collection of photo albums. Nate noted vaguely that in all the money he’d paid his interior designer, his penthouse still seemed cold and uninviting. Yet Lily, who had no money, created a home that was warm and welcoming.
She immediately walked to the shelves and pulled out an album.
“You take this.” She turned and handed him the album.
He took it reflexively saying, “Lily, we have to talk.”
She grabbed another album and completely ignored him.
“And this.” She extended the book to him and he accepted it.
“Lily.”
She yanked another album free from the shelf.
“And this.” She held it toward him but he didn’t take it. Her eyes still on the shelves, she jerked the album at him to indicate he should grab it but he ignored her.
“Lily, we need to talk,” he repeated.
“Okay, I’ll take this one,” she decided magnanimously, tucked it under her arm and turned to grab another.
Nate walked to the sofa and threw the albums on it. Then he went to the door. This he closed. Firmly.
She froze, one hand ready to take out another album, and she stared at him.
“What are you doing?” she enquired.
“We’re going to talk,” he told her, striding back to her.
She turned smartly back to the shelf.
“Alistair says we can’t talk. Alistair says that we should talk through our solicitors. Alistair told me to tell you whatever you have to say to me you should say it through him.”
She had started obsessively piling her arms with albums.
Nate reached her, placed his hands on her shoulders, gently pulled her away from the shelves and then divested her of the albums and dropped them on the deep seat of the couch. This he did without her resistance mainly because she was stunned into immobility.
He faced her. “We’re done talking through solicitors,” he informed her.
“Alistair says –” she started, her body going rigid as if girding for attack.
“I don’t care what Alistair says,” Nate cut her off.
“Well I do.”
“We need to talk,” Nate patiently repeated himself.
“We’ve nothing to say,” Lily retorted, breaking out of her statue-like stance and starting for the couch to retrieve the albums.
As she passed him Nate caught her by the elbow and halted her. She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes beginning to fire.
“Nate, take your hand off me.”
He ignored her and kept his hand where it was. He was not about to let this opportunity pass.
Suddenly he said quietly, “Thank you for naming Natasha after me.”
She blinked at him. Then she blinked again.
He took advantage of her momentary confusion. “Thank you for making her so lovely,” he murmured softly.
Her mouth dropped open.
Then he said what he’d been wanting to say for twenty hours.
“I thought you left me.”
Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes closed down and she pulled her arm free.
“We’re not talking about this,” she stated flatly.
Nate went on. “I came home and you were gone, everything was gone. I thought you’d left me.”
“Why on earth would I leave you?” she snapped, obviously not wanting an answer and her body noted she’d dismissed the subject. It did this by moving toward the sofa but he caught her again and gently pulled her back toward him.
Her eyes moved to his hand on her arm. “Nate, I asked you not to touch me.”
She was trying to twist her arm free but he kept his hand there, just above her elbow, far away from the bruises.
“I thought you left me,” he said again, needing her to hear it, needing her to understand it.
“You said that already,” she clipped, tilting her head back and there was definitely fire there now, it was mingled with weariness, but it was there.
This pleased Nate. It pleased him very much.
“Jeff must have taken the note, if I’d known –”
She interrupted him, making a sharp, frustrated noise in her throat. Giving up on freeing her arm, she decided simply to move her body away from him and took a step back.
He didn’t allow this either. His hand slid down her arm and before she knew what he was doing, his fingers laced in hers and her drew her closer.
She shook her head, her hand pulling at his saying, “It doesn’t matter now, it was a long time ago. It’s over.”
She was staring at the couch, staring at the albums, clearly wanting to carry on with her task.
Nate continued, determined. “My secretary was ill, I had a temp. She lost messages.”
Lily shook her head again, equally determined to ignore him.
“I moved, we were moving, I’d bought a new flat. I hadn’t mentioned it because we were too busy with…” he paused and went on, “other things. I was going to tell you that night I came home, that night you left.”
She tried to tug her hand free, her head no longer shaking from side to side but jerking. If she put her hands to her ears at that moment, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
He tightened his hand in hers. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have returned your calls.”
At this announcement, her eyes flew to his, her head stopped swinging and his other hand went to her waist.
Nate finished. “I would have flown to Indiana to be with you. Lily, I’m sorry about your parents.”
She looked into his eyes and he saw the sorrow flash in hers, whether it was at his desertion or her parents loss or both, he did not know but at the sight of it, the strength of it, he felt it settle somewhere deep within him.
Then her eyes cleared and the shutters came down.
“Thank you, Nate,” she said carefully, with studied politeness. “Now, are you finished?”
“No,” he said calmly, watching her closely.
The shutters flew open again.
“Well I am,” she snapped, “no more talking!”
She again tried to jerk her hand free but he tugged it gently but forcefully and at this unexpected pull, she came forward on her toes falling into him. Her hand went to his chest to break her fall. He felt it where it touched him, searing through his shirt like a brand and his other arm immediately closed around her waist.
“No more talking?” he asked, his tone, as well, deceptively polite.
“That’s right. No more talking,” she agreed, struggling to pull fee.
In a flash, he decided to play a dangerous game, to take a risk, to move ten steps forward before the door in front of him was even opened the barest crack. He could, he knew, slam right into it. Or it could open at the last minute and let him enter.
He weighed his options in mere seconds and took the risk
“All right, Lily,” he replied gently, “we were never very good at talking.”
And then his head began to descend slowly toward hers.
As he came closer, she arched her back against his arm to get away from him, her eyes wide with disbelief.
?
??What are you doing?” Lily asked.
His hand released hers and stole around her, creeping up her back to press between her shoulder blades and bring her back to him.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Nate answered.
“You are not!” she snapped, her voice filled with surprise and anger.
“Yes,” he stated implacably, “I am.”
His hand went up further, slid along her neck into her soft hair to hold the back of her head. Her body came into contact with his, her breasts brushing his chest, her hips a whisper away and he fought the urge to crush her against him.
“Take your hands off me!” she cried.
He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.
“No.”
Still struggling, she demanded, “Let me go!”
Against her lips, he said, “This time, Lily, I’m not letting you go.”
And then he kissed her. The minute his lips pressed against hers she froze in his arms not trying to struggle but keeping her body perfectly rigid.
His lips coaxed and teased but she didn’t react. She stayed still and motionless and entirely unresponsive.
Nate wasn’t buying it and he wasn’t giving up.
He ran his tongue across her lower lip but her lips didn’t budge.
“Open your mouth,” he demanded boldly.
She shook her head, her hair sliding against his arm.
His other arm tightened at her waist bringing her into full contact with his frame.
“Lily, open your sweet mouth. Let me taste you again.”
She made another noise in the back of her throat, this guttural with some emotion he could not decipher. He decided to take this as a good sign.
“No?” he asked softly, his lips still on hers.
She didn’t move.
Undeterred, he tried another tactic.
He slid his mouth across her cheek to her ear.
“Do you know,” he murmured in her ear, kissed her there and he felt her still body turn rock solid, “that I remember everything. I have this… ability,” he flicked his tongue against her earlobe, “and I never forget anything.”