Page 70 of Fierce Love
“Hey,” Nate says from behind me, and I jump, startled.
The girls in the hall whip around, and their faces would be laughable if I felt like laughing at all.
“Ready to go?” Nate asks, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me back against him, his nose nuzzling my neck as he breathes me in.
Tension fills the air, and he seems to sense it.
“You alright?” he murmurs, and then he must look up. “Ladies,” he says to the group of girls. There’s another beat, and he says, “Sienna.”
“Nate,” the crying girl whispers back, offering a watery smile.
“Let’s go,” he says to me, taking my hand and leading me toward the front door.
“Who was that?” I ask, glancing back over my shoulder.
“We used to date,” Nate says.
“How long ago?”
“A while ago. Not sure what she’s crying about, but I’m sorry to see it.”
You, Nate. She’s crying over you.
“Did you have fun?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, though it’s not true, and I couldn’t explain how the night had been even if I wanted to. For now, he’s mine. So even if the girls are right, even if his mom is right, and this fierce love from him is going to burn out, I’m going to bask in every bit of warmth while I can. The other option—me leaving him—is impossible to consider.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nathaniel
The first four episodes are done, and even though the network is happy with the content, they’re coming in hot on other things they now want. Obnoxious product placements aren’t enough. Their goal seems to be to mess around with episode storylines to elevate the drama. We’re a fucking home-reno show. It’s not supposed to be high drama—at least, not in the way they’re trying to create it.
I read the long email they’ve sent with what they’re hoping for, and I sigh. If only I had enough moneyandclout to bypass their input completely, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves. But I need a few more shows under my belt before I can go that forceful.
My phone buzzes on the desk beside me in the office, and I glance at it. Ava has started sending the family voice notes like she’s starring in her own podcast and we’re her captive audience. Today, she’s sent a long sequence of notes about the variousinvestor contacts she’s been mining through Dad’s associates. Old men with old money.
Our father has been too preoccupied with the bids he and King Alexander have been putting together to bring a World Hockey League franchise team to the island to pay much attention to Ava’s escapades. Last I heard, they had a chance at a hockey team the WHL wanted to move from California. Alex and my father would then be able to justify the sizeable arena that’s been greenlit by the Advisory Council and has already broken ground.
If I didn’t already have enough on my plate with the threats to Kinsley and Hollyn as well as keeping this production on track, I’d be inserting myself into Ava’s drama before she gets herself in over her head. She might think she knows everything—including how to manipulate a man rather than being manipulated herself—but Dad’s golf buddies aren’t to be trifled with.
I flip my phone over so I’m not distracted by Ava, but it doesn’t take long for other thoughts not linked to work to draw my attention.
I’ve spent the last four weeks abiding by Hollyn’s wishes. At work, we act like we barely know each other. No special treatment, no lingering glances—or at least, I try not to linger—and we haven’t directly mentioned that we’re sharing a house.
Bellerive is a whole country, but it often acts like a small town. There are probably people involved in the production who know exactly what’s happening between Hollyn and me, but I’m counting on their professionalism to match ours.
Kinsley’s been training like mad for her first youth adventure race, which Bellerive is hosting at the end of the summer. Hollyn reluctantly agreed to let Kinsley participate. Production on the show should have wrapped by then, and they could go back to New York. It gave me a spark of hope that she agreed, butHollyn’s emotional distance isn’t doing much to turn that spark into a flame.
I get her body when we’re alone in the house together—in any way I want, whenever I want. But unlike in high school where I felt like I also had her heart, even though she never said the words, I’m not as sure this time. That uncertainty could be my instinctive caution. Who wants to have their heart crushed twice? Or she really could be holding back or maybe not even feeling the same old emotional and physical intensity that I do. Sometimes I think she does, and then she closes up, hard to read again.
It’s impossible to know without asking, but that’s equally dangerous. It wouldn’t take much to send Hollyn running, and I’m determined that if she leaves the island at the end of this and we’re not together in any capacity, I have to let her go.
It'll fucking kill me, but I can’t cling on to her anymore if she doesn’t want me. I’ve wasted years half-assing my other romantic connections because I knew what I’d had. To be happy, I was sure I needed to be swept away like I was with Hollyn. Hot. Intense. All-consuming. Maybe that’s not realistic or even healthy. When I’m with her, I can’t see anything or anyone else.
But I can’t be the only one who believes in us, who wants this. We have to fight for it together, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get there with her.
I pick up my phone and ignore the flurry of messages in the family group chat to text Posey and Hollyn to come to my office.
