Angela wasn’t sure who was more shocked by Rita’s outburst – her or Gino. Her father paled, his jaw dropping open soundlessly, but somehow he managed to maintain his focus enough to drive the remaining mile or so back to the house safely. Angela, meanwhile, was numb, even though the angry words that had tumbled forth from her mother’s lips were ones she’d always known to be true.
Angela had never been so grateful to see the house – the one she’d always hated coming home to – as she was now. Before Gino had even turned off the engine she was out of the car like a shot. She sorely regretted having had so much to drink, far too much to consider driving even a few miles, much less making the long drive back to San Francisco. She was stuck here in Carmel for the night, and wished desperately that Lauren’s parents weren’t out of town right now. Otherwise, she would have run next door, as she had so many times over the years, knowing that Natalie would have found a way to make everything all right. But the McKinnon’s were in New York right now visiting Julia, which meant that Angela would be forced to stay the night in her parents’ house, a thought that made her want to vomit profusely.
“Angie, wait. Talk to me, honey. It’s not like she said,” Gino called out even as she strode inside the garage.
Angela turned and faced her father, shaking her head even as she recognized the sorrow on his dear, sweet face. “No, Dad. It’s exactly like she said. And, sorry, but there really isn’t anything more to talk about. I mean, Mom pretty much said it all, didn’t she? I’m going to bed now and I’ll be leaving early in the morning. And don’t expect to see me back here for a long time.”
***
It would have been glaringly obvious even to a five year old child that Angela was deeply upset. Given that Nick was just about the most observant, intuitive person she’d ever known, he barely had to glance at her to realize that something was wrong – major league wrong.
He was waiting in her apartment – why she wasn’t quite sure because she’d returned to San Francisco several hours earlier than originally planned – but suddenly being in his arms was more important than breathing. Within seconds of being enfolded in his warm, crushing embrace, she burst into tears – huge, wracking tears.
“Shh. It’s okay, Angel,” he soothed. “Hey, I know it’s traditional to cry at weddings but this is ridiculous.”
But his rather lame attempt at humor failed miserably and she only clung to him tighter as her sobs escalated. She was far too upset over everything that had gone down with her mother and sisters to realize that this was the first time she’d ever really broken down this way in front of Nick, the first time she’d ever been so in need of his comfort. The night when she’d told him about the circumstances of her birth had certainly been emotional, but even then she hadn’t sobbed her heart out as though it was breaking into a million tiny pieces.
Gradually her weeping began to cease, though her entire body was trembling in reaction. She’d barely slept a wink last night, as upset as she’d been, and had consumed way too much coffee this morning to compensate. She hadn’t eaten a thing, her stomach a gnarly mess, and as a result she was shaky and exhausted and extra emotional.
Fortunately, Nick didn’t seem to mind her overwrought state and merely continued to hold her, his embrace making her feel warm and protected and even loved – though she knew the latter was a truly dangerous thing for her to hope for.
“You going to tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.” She nodded and began to recount – haltingly – what had occurred, starting with her niece’s well-intentioned but ultimately devastating comments about her dress and shoes. By the time she’d finished, culminating with the really dreadful truths her mother had lashed out with, her voice had diminished to a hoarse croak, too wrecked with tears and lack of sleep to go on.
Throughout the re-telling of the clusterfuck of events, Nick had remained silent, his expression blank and carefully controlled. When she finished, he didn’t say a word, merely stood and walked into her tiny excuse of a kitchen and began to brew her some tea.
“Do you have any honey? Or whiskey?” he asked as the water boiled. “Preferably both.”
“No whiskey. I think there might be some packets of honey in one of the drawers along with the ketchup and soy sauce. But I can do it, Nick,” she offered tiredly.
“Forget it. Ah, here they are. Jesus, what
don’t
you have in this drawer?”
She accepted the steaming mug of tea from him gratefully, the hot, honeyed brew instantly soothing her scratchy throat. “Thanks,” she whispered.
She was alarmed to realize her hands were trembling and she clutched the heavy mug with both hands to steady it.
“No problem.” He sat on the bed beside her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s the least I can do, considering it’s largely my fault this whole fucked up mess went down.”
“What?” She glanced up at him in surprise. “How is any of it your fault? You weren’t even there.”
Nick shook his head. “No, but I was the one who insisted you wear that dress and those shoes. And it sounds like this whole thing started when your niece honed in on what you were wearing.”
Angela shrugged and took a sip of tea. “I blame myself, actually. I should have known better than to provoke my mother. I should have kept my mouth shut, just acted like nothing had ever happened, and let her continue to sweep everything under the rug.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t mean to say that this was the first time you ever admitted to your mother that you knew the truth?”
She stared down into her mug. “You don’t get it, Nick. My mother isn’t the sort of person who talks openly about her feelings. She keeps it all bottled up, puts on an act most of the time. And since she barely talks to me at all, it makes perfect sense that she’d try to act like none of that stuff ever happened. In her mind, she probably believes that she’s been an ideal mother to me, and that I’m the ungrateful brat who makes up stories.”
“That’s fucked up, Angel,” he muttered darkly. “Really, deeply fucked up. You should have walloped her back when she slapped you.” He took her chin between his fingers and tilted her head from side to side. “Doesn’t look like she hit you very hard. At least, I don’t see any sort of mark.”
“No, she didn’t hit me all that hard. Or maybe I just ducked in time and missed the full impact. I got pretty good at that over the years.”
Nick’s mouth tightened grimly. “She made a habit of wailing on you, did she?”
“Not exactly. Especially since I was already taller than she was by the time I was nine. But every so often I’d do or say something to really piss her off and she’d give me a swat on the ass or slap my face. As long as my father wasn’t around, of course. He didn’t always stick up for me like he should have but he wouldn’t have stood for her hitting me.”
Tenderly he caressed her cheek and pressed a kiss to each side. “I’m sorry your weekend was such a disaster.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Me, too. I should have blown off the stupid wedding, just like I skipped my sisters’ birthdays. None of this would have happened if I’d done that.”
The hand that had been caressing her shoulder stilled. “When did you miss their birthdays?” he asked quietly.
Angela strove to sound casual and unconcerned. “Deanna’s was back in March when we went to Mexico. And Marisa’s was in May, the same weekend as Dante’s big party.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She gazed at him in bewilderment. “Because I would have much rather gone to Mexico and the party than attend some boring birthday dinner. Besides, it wasn’t like they were special birthdays or anything. Not to mention the fact that no one would have paid any attention to me if I’d gone.”
Nick covered her hand with his. “Angel, I never intended for you to choose me over your family. Especially when it sounds like that’s been causing problems for you.”
She set her mug aside and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I don’t care,” she declared firmly. “And I know you’d never ask me to make that sort of choice. It was
my
decision, Nick, and I don’t regret it one bit. Besides, I thought you told me that I needed to gain some independence from my family and not care so much about what they think.”
“I did tell you that,” he agreed. “And I meant it. But not to the point where you alienate them. You should have told me about the birthdays, Angel. We could have gone to Mexico another weekend. And Dante has parties all the time. Promise me that from now on you’ll tell me if it’s something significant, okay?”
“All right.” She heaved a sigh. “Though as strained as things are between my mother and me right now, I’m not sure if I’ll be welcomed back anytime soon.”
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I wouldn’t worry about that. If your mom is as good as you say she is at sweeping things under the rug, she’ll probably act like none of this ever happened.”
“Unfortunately, you’re probably right,” she agreed tiredly. “And how fucked up is that?”
He slid an arm around her shoulders and lowered her head to rest against his. “You look exhausted, Angel. Did you get much sleep last night?”
She shook her head. “Too wound up and upset. If I hadn’t chugged a full bottle of wine plus pre-dinner cocktails I would have driven home last night.”
“Tsk, tsk. Sounds like someone was a very bad girl,” he chided. “You know you’re not supposed to drink that much. I should tie you up just for that. However,” he added, brushing a kiss on her forehead “what I should really do instead is let you get some sleep.”
“No.” She rose up on her knees, twining her arms around his neck. “I don’t need to sleep. What I need now is to forget. So, please, Nick,” she whispered, “make me forget. Everything but this, that is.”
She swiftly began to strip before his intense, watchful gaze until she was naked and reclining back against the pillows. Wordlessly, his hand trailed down her throat between her breasts to her belly. She was already quivering in arousal and gasped when his fingers slid deep inside of her body where she was wet and needy.
“Your wish is my command, Angel,” he murmured in her ear, just before his mouth closed over hers demandingly.
Within days after that fateful Sunday morning at her apartment, things began to change – or rather, deteriorate – rapidly in her relationship with Nick. It wasn’t any one thing, or anything too obvious, but Angela sensed that he was gradually beginning to put more and more distance between them. He didn’t see her as often, for one thing – no more than twice a week, if that – and when they were together he seemed distant, distracted, and said little. She longed to ask him what was wrong, to beg for his reassurance that everything was still okay between them. But with a horrible, hollow feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, she began more and more to fear that the end of their relationship was inevitable.
Her fears began to consume her, and soon she found herself hanging onto him almost desperately when they were together. She tried harder than ever to be as accommodating and adoring as possible, to do everything in her power to please him. At the same time, though, she also became clingier, silently begging him with her body to stay in her bed just a bit longer, to pull him close for one more kiss, for five more minutes in his arms.
More than once she’d actually pleaded with him to stay with her, to not leave quite so soon. He’d hesitated each time but had given in to her pleas more often than not, holding her until she’d fallen asleep before slipping out of her apartment as was his norm.
Sleep itself became more and more elusive. She’d have trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning as she fretted and worried about how much longer it would last with Nick. Or, if she did manage to fall into an exhausted slumber, it rarely lasted more than a couple of hours and she’d wake up abruptly, unable to fall back asleep.
She was nervous and on edge all the time, and the only thing that distracted her even a little was work. Ironically, she was receiving more referrals than ever, and she wondered wildly if this was Nick’s parting gift to her. Her appetite began to fade rapidly, though she was careful not to let him notice when she lost a few pounds, and would force herself to eat in his presence.
And she began to drink – a lot. She found that having a few glasses of wine or several shots of tequila seemed to take the edge off and calm her down, and helped her to fall asleep. Again she was careful not to let Nick know, kept any liquor bottles well hidden, and only drank sparingly when he was with her.
She consoled herself with the fact that the sex at least was every bit as hot and passionate as ever, that Nick hadn’t seemed to tire of her between the sheets. If anything, the sex was even more intense, more satisfying than ever, and there was an almost savage desperation about the way he took her nowadays. It was the one thing that continued to give her hope that things weren’t falling apart in their relationship, that made her believe that she might just be imagining the distance between them, or that Nick might be preoccupied with work and nothing more serious.
But it became increasingly more difficult to convince herself that nothing was wrong as the weeks passed, and she saw less and less of Nick. She knew, however, that coming right out and asking him what the matter was, or to beg him not to leave her, would be the final nail in the coffin. So she kept her fears and insecurities hidden, as she always had, and, as a result, lost a little more of herself with each passing day.