Page 52 of Release Me

SEBASTIAN

I’ve built several successful businesses and made a name for myself in the world by never, and I mean never, backing down from a challenge. And despite the fact that my brain is telling me not to go through with it, today isn’t going to be any different.

For weeks now, Nadia has kept me at arms length, breaking apart moments that could be something more with an averted gaze or swift change in subject. I’ve allowed it because I understood she was skittish and untrusting, afraid of being perceived, scared of being hurt. Any other day, I’d be feeding those fears right along with her, letting their existence keep a wedge between us, but today, I can’t do it.

Maybe it’s because I had to watch Preston fucking Fredricks hone in on territory he hadn’t earned access to, and it pissed me off. Maybe it’s because when he kissed her cheek and touched her like he had the right to, it made me want to remind her what it felt like to have a man’s eyes on her when he cared enough to look closely. To see past the stunning features, long legs and rich ebony skin down to the core of her existence. To be held in the gaze of a man who would spend centuries unearthing every precious facet of her soul, and longer still polishing them until they shone like new.

“Well?” Nadia asks, tipping her chin up.

One last alarm bell sounds off inside me, but I silence it. “Okay. I know that you’re running from someone, and that that same someone is probably the one who hurt you and made it necessary for you to know what you know about covering bruises.”

Her lips part, presumably to tell me that I’ve yet to say anything we haven’t already established as fact, but I hold my hand up and continue.

“I also know that before you came to New Haven you were alone in this world.”

“How could you know something like that?”

“Because no one with a good family escapes from a bad situation and runs somewhere that isn’t home.” I’ve suspected for a while now but seeing her reaction to my phone call with Mom really solidified the assumption for me. Her parents are either gone or not a part of her life, and since she’s one of the most amazing people I know, I can’t imagine them choosing to be away from her. “Am I right?”

She nods, pressing her lips together before speaking. “My parents died when I was 16. I was an only child.”

I consider stopping there, letting this moment of revelation die a quiet death in the silence of Nadia’s tacked on fact, but then I decide against it because I want to know if I’m right about one more thing.

“I also know that Nadia Hendrix isn’t your real name.”

Her eyes go wide. I see fear cut a harsh line across her features, so I rush to reassure her. First with my hand settled over the fingers fidgeting in her lap and then with my words. “I don’t care about that, Nadia. Honestly, I’d be surprised if you didn’t given what I’ve learned about your past. The only reason I brought it up is because I wanted to tell you that one day I want to know your real name. The name your parents chose for you when they first gazed upon your face. The one they called you by when they needed your attention or wanted to reassure you of their love. The one that was probably the last thing on their lips when they knew they weren’t coming back home to you.”

I leave it there because the tears shimmering in Nadia’s eyes tell me she can’t hear anymore, but there’s no end to the list of things I want to know about her. Facts I know I’m not entitled to but feel like belong to me anyway. The way something does when you’re the first one to care enough to unearth it, to lay eyes on it, to hold it in your hands and declare it precious. Sacred.

That’s what Nadia is to me, sacred. Her name is a divine proclamation. Her past consecrated ground it’s my birthright to walk on. And that’s why watching her with Preston made me feel like I was being eaten alive with jealousy and rage, my heart pierced with a dagger laced with something that felt so close to betrayal I couldn’t breathe. When I got up from the table, I couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think of anything but the lovely shade of red that tinted her cheeks when his lips touched her skin or the way the moment he appeared, she only had eyes for him.

Watching the exchange between them didn’t make me angry, it made me sad. It made me question myself, doubt whether the things I felt when we were in these moments were real, wonder if I was reading her right when the changes in her breathing and severity of her stare told me she was feeling it too. This whole time I’ve been going slow, holding back because I thought she wasn’t ready for anything romantic, but now I have to consider that maybe she doesn’t want anything romantic with me and maybe she never will.

Except right now, when her hand is still in mine and her eyes are asking how I see her so clearly, that doesn’t feel within the realm of possibility. And that should be comforting, but it’s just confusing.

She’s confusing. Our entire friendship with underlying currents of romantic interest is confusing, and I don’t know if I can trust myself to be gentle as I unravel the tangled web of us. I want to rip the threads apart, split fibers and strands until we’re both laid bare and have no choice but to face this. But Nadia doesn’t want to. I see the hesitance in her eyes every time we get too close. It always shows up first, and then it’s only a matter of time before the walls rise and her open expression closes, shutting me out.

I’m watching it happen in real time. She rebuilds the wall between us brick by brick all while holding my hand. Even though it pains me, I release her from my hold, wanting to have some say in the matter of our untangling.

The apology written all over Nadia’s face breaks something inside me. I don’t want her to be sorry. I want her to be comfortable. I want her to know that I’ll never make her regret trusting me with her heart.

She grips the door handle. “I should go. Sarah says Elle is already here, and I want to talk to her about the wine tasting before she gets swept up cooking.”

We both know that things will be mind numbingly slow for Elle with Nic and his date as the only guests on the rooftop tonight, but I accept her excuse, knowing she needs time to recover from our conversation.

“Okay. I’m going to head over to my parents’ to see how they’re doing.”

Her foot is halfway out the door, but she pauses, turning back to me. “Are they okay?”

The question is an echo of the one in my mind. The one sparked by Mom’s insistence on having multiple family gatherings during the week. We used to have one standing lunch on Mondays, but now she’s added on brunch on Saturdays and dinners on Sunday. At this point, I feel like I’m living with them again, and I’m not sure why.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Her brows furrow, and there’s that concern again that makes me think she’s the best thing I’ll never get the chance to actually have. “Are you sure?”

I’m not, but I don’t have the energy to infuse any more uncertainty into our dynamic. “Yes, Nadia, I’m sure.”

“Will you let me know if they’re not?” she asks, seeing right through my act.

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