Solving For Nic (19 page)

He wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow when he dropped her off in New Orleans. In fact, he was dreading it. He set his rod and reel aside and decided to go find her. They didn’t have much time left and he didn’t want to waste any of it.

She wasn’t in the galley. He found her stretched out on the bow, leaning back on her arms, her head back with her face toward the sun. Sunscreen glistened on her skin and she smelled like coconut and paradise. For a moment he wasn’t sure if his lungs would ever work again because she literally took his breath away.

She’d reminded him of a mermaid the first time he met her. She’d stood out in the crowded ballroom, her hair spilling all around her shoulders. Now sunning herself on his boat, he could almost believe she was a mythical sea creature he'd caught in his net. All she needed was an iridescent fin and a shell comb.

When she caught him watching, the smile curving her lush mouth wiped every thought from his mind. “Everything all right?”

She gave a fake and somewhat dramatic sigh, then wiggled her toes. Nic’s throat went dry as the silver toe ring taunted him. “My toenail polish is all wrong.” She made it sound like a national disaster as she flexed her toes so he could see the red polish.

His teeth ground together. It was ridiculous to get so wound up over her toes but he couldn’t help it. They looked delicious. “Tragic,” he agreed in the same world-weary tone. “We could go back to the resort. I'm sure the spa can book you for an emergency pedicure.”

She tilted her head and pouted at him. She was teasing but there was nothing funny about her mouth when she pretended to pout. It gave Nic all kinds of wicked ideas. “Why? Can’t you helicopter someone out here to fix them for me?”

She wasn’t serious, but if she had been, he wouldn’t have hesitated to fly someone out to change her toenail polish. It would take one phone call and he wouldn’t give a damn what anyone said. Then she laughed and the sound brought a lightness back to his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t move.

Lizzie laughed. For an instant he’d believed her. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

He nodded.

“You could, couldn’t you? Make a phone call and someone would be out here ASAP.”

He pushed his fingers through his dark hair. It had grown longer this week and the sun had found some streaks in it. She hoped he didn’t notice because it softened his hard edges, made him seem younger. He wasn’t that old, but sometimes his eyes were positively ancient.

“Yes.” Something shut down in him and he turned away from her, focusing on the horizon. “Or I’d get Pam to arrange it.”

“She must be some assistant.”

“Pam is more than an assistant. She runs all my companies, with the exception of my Asian offices, and my uncle runs De Santis for the foreseeable future but I’ll have to take it over eventually and it's not something I can delegate.”

“De Santis?” she echoed, humor draining out of her quickly. “You’re going to run De Santis Farms?”

He nodded, his expression deceptively calm. “It’s not a secret. My uncle has no children.”

No, it wasn’t a secret. Lizzie knew his mother had been a De Santis but it had never occurred to her Nic would inherit all of De Santis Farms.

De Santis Farms’ wine, cheese and luxury foods were a household name. The De Santis family was one of the oldest families in Italy. She’d seen a documentary once on the De Santis vineyards in Tuscany. Their vineyard was over five hundred years old and their wine labels hinted that they could trace their family back to the Romans.

They were definitely from different worlds. Lizzie knew nothing about her father’s family. Her mother’s family could trace several generations straight back into the Bayous of South Louisiana. Unlike Rogan’s family, who could trace back to
Le Grand Derangement
, when the British deported the Acadians in the 1700s from Nova Scotia, Nadine Sellers’ family had not kept up with a family history.

The gap between them widened. Nic was so far out of her league she wondered what she was doing on his boat.

“Lizzie, don’t—”

She shook her head, cutting off his raspy words with her own. “If you’re heir to the De Santis fortune, why didn’t you grow up in Italy?”

“I told you, my mother died.”

Something in the way he said it didn’t ring true. “Your father remarried and moved to Texas.”

“Stepfather,” Nic corrected.

Her jaw dropped as he flinched. Pain flickered briefly in his eyes a second before he closed down like a fortress.

“Forget what I said.” He turned away from her again, grabbing the boat’s railing, his knuckles turning white as he stared out to sea.

This time, she couldn’t leave it alone like she had the other night at dinner. Nic in pain was hard to get her head around. She’d never imagined anything could touch him, much less hurt him.

“Nic.” She moved to stand next to him, not touching him but close enough to feel the electrical current running between them.

“It’s a long story, Lizzie.”

“I like stories.” She covered one of his clenched fists with hers and his grip on the metal relaxed.

“Legally, he’s my father.” He sighed heavily, not turning to her but not as shut off as before. “His name is on my birth certificate.”

“But he’s not your biological father?”

Nic shook his head. “No.”

“Do you know who your real father is?”

He flinched before she finished the question and his hand tightened on the railing again. “When my grandfather discovered my mother was pregnant, De Santis paid Andreas Maretti a lot of money to marry her. They didn’t want the De Santis heir to be a bastard.”

She watched him, the wind ruffling his hair and the line of strain around his mouth. He spoke the words like they were about someone else. There was no emotion. No anything.

“Why didn’t she marry your real father? This isn’t the middle ages.”

“He wouldn’t marry her. My uncle explained he didn’t want my mother exposed to his world.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Believe me, Lizzie, as bad as Andreas is, my real father is infinitely worse.” Bitterness and resignation seeped into his voice. Emotions she would never have attributed to him.

“That is so messed up.”

“You’re right. It’s messed up.”

“Why were you with Maretti if he’s not your real father? If your uncle has no children, why didn’t they…” She trailed off at the stricken look on his face. “Nic.” Her words were barely a whisper.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asked, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms so she was standing between him and the railing.

“Yes.” Instinct told her he needed to talk, even if he didn’t want to.

Her hands curved around the cool metal, as his arms went around her, his hands resting on the railing next to hers. Caging her in. She didn’t mind, sighing as he leaned into her.

“The agreement was Andreas would receive his money in two lump sums. One when they married and the rest when they divorced. They agreed the marriage would last two years and he would receive a generous monthly allowance. Then Andreas decided he liked receiving the monthly allowance and the final payment was not enough. He delayed the divorce.”

“He got greedy?” she asked.

“No. He was born greedy. He got arrogant, thinking he could milk my grandfather out of more money. It worked for a while then my mother became terminally ill and died before he could divorce her. My grandfather cut Andreas off. No divorce, no settlement, no big pay out for Andreas.”

“He took you instead?”

His arms tightened around her. “And dropped me off at boarding school.”

Lizzie’s eyes closed as she put the pieces together. “He left you there until your stepmother found out about you?”

“Yes.”

“Your uncle or your grandfather didn’t do anything?”

“Why would they? It was a prestigious boarding school, maybe not the one they would have chosen for me but Andreas was suing them for his settlement and maintenance for me. They decided to wait it out rather than pay him another dime. ”

“You’re not serious?”

Nic shrugged, his voice back to emotionless again. “He would’ve kept coming back for more, Lizzie. It’s who he is.”

“So they just left you there? What about holidays? You didn’t spend those in Texas until you were ten so…”

He was gritting his teeth and Lizzie felt her stomach drop.

“Nic?” She blinked back tears as she turned and wrapped her arms around him.

“I want to take you to Italy.” His voice was gruff as he changed the subject without warning. “I inherited my mother’s part of the estate when my grandfather died. Her villa is surrounded by vineyards as far as the eye can see.”

Lizzie let it go, stamping on the heartbreak images of a small boy all alone at a boarding school at Christmas. Nic wouldn’t appreciate the drama. She pressed her face against his chest and felt the tension in him ease as she asked, “Do you have one of those vats? We can stomp on grapes.”

He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I’ll buy you one and you can stomp on grapes for me. It will be my own private vintage.”

“Selfish,” she whispered, her eyes closing as she let the images build in her mind. She could picture an old terracotta villa surrounded by vineyards and tall cypress trees.

“I’ll do the cooking but you have to do the laundry.”

“I don’t do laundry,” she whispered. “I’m not domestic.”

His mouth pressed against her temple. “Maybe I’ll take you to Milan for a few days, buy you more shoes.”

She nodded, losing herself in the fantasy. She could learn how to do laundry. How hard could it be? “We could take your Ferrari?” She was kidding until his expression said there was a Ferrari at his mother’s home.

“We’d take the helicopter, it’s faster.”

“Helicopter?” She swallowed, her throat tightening as the fantasy got way too real. “You have a helicopter?”

“Or two,” he admitted.

Her hands lingered on his chest, her fingers tingling from the contact. She didn’t want to think about how different their lives were. He might come from a rarefied social strata but Lizzie had spent every Christmas of her life with her parents.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” he whispered.

She tightened her hold on him. “I don’t. I’m angry at them. Families aren’t supposed to be that way.”

“I’m starting to get that.”

She stepped back as much as the rail would allow. “Andreas is your stepfather? So Angie is…She doesn’t know, does she?” Lizzie whispered. “Don’t tell her, Nic. She doesn’t need to know. It doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t change anything.” He stepped back from her and for a moment she didn’t want to let him go. “You want a drink?” he asked.

“Sure.” She nodded. “Got any of those little umbrellas?”

“I’ll check.”

When he walked away, she wanted to chase him and tackle hug him until it was all better but she doubted it would help. She wondered if anything could make it better. She couldn’t imagine what Nic’s childhood had been like. Her parents had always been around. Always been there for her and she’d had Stefan, Jen and Rogan. She’d been surrounded all her life by a close loving family. Had Nic ever been surrounded by people who cared about him?

It explained so much about him. Why he was so detached. Why the world never seemed to touch him. Now the things she’d thought were so sexy suddenly took on a bleakness. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it.

Her breath caught again and her heart broke for real this time as all her childhood fantasies about Nic Maretti shattered around her. She clutched the rail before her knees could give way. He was not the fallen angel of her fantasies. He was human. A flesh and blood man with real feelings, no matter how deep they were buried.

He was also a good man. He helped people without taking credit. He cared enough about his employees to learn their names and remember them. He defended and protected his family. He adored his nephew. He had a sly sense of humor and a way of getting her to do things she would never do on her own.

The detached elegant European playboy billionaire façade began to crumble away along with the crush she’d had on him. The man left standing was a million times more complicated and fascinating. Lizzie would walk through fire for him if he asked her.

Her crush faded with the sunlight, and Lizzie fell hard, and fast, and forever.

Had he completely lost his mind?

Why had he told Lizzie Angie wasn’t his real sister? Along with all the other dirty secrets he’d never told another soul.

If a brick wall had been handy, Nic would have introduced it to his forehead. He pulled the wet bar cabinet doors open and poured himself way too much scotch. He knocked it back and willed his brain to erase the memory of her pity.

Nic didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for him. He’d spent a few holidays alone. Big deal. He’d also spent some with friends. It hadn’t been that bad. Character building, one of his professors had told him. Learning to rely on himself and trust his own instincts had served him well over the years. Yes, he would inherit a substantial fortune from his mother’s family, but he’d made more than he would ever need on his own.