Page 24 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

The disappointment in her eyes made him want to pull her into his arms, to hug her and never let go. Her shoulders dropped a notch, and she shook her head slowly, perhaps cursing him in silence. Any man in his right mind would rearrange his fucking schedule to spend more time with her, but he wasn’t a regular man—and the sooner he reminded himself and her of it, the better. She’d understand in the end, he meant to protect her, even if he hurt her along the way.

“Of course, I totally get it,” she said, then gave him a small smile.

“It’s nothing personal, but—

She lifted her hand, gesturing for him to stop talking. “I get it, Nico. I’m a big girl. Listen, if you want to be alone even now, I can find a way to get a ride back to the hotel. This beach will keep me busy, and I need a tan.”

“No, I won’t allow you to find your way back by yourself,” he said. She shrugged, and her voice seemed casual, but his gut told him he’d probably hurt her in some way. Crap.

“It’s not a big deal. I speak the language, and my cell phone works here. I’ll be fine.”

“Emma, it’s not you, it’s me,” he said, using one of the most clichéd lines on the planet. Didn’t make it less true, though.

The cry of a young child made him turn around. A boy wearing swim trunks and nothing else, about six years old, ran in their direction, wailing, his arms moving in tandem with his legs.

“What happened?” she asked, striding in the direction of the boy.

“Help,” the boy called, trembling. “I’m lost.”

Fuck. Nico reached into the backpack she’d insisted on bringing and produced a towel. Without wasting time, he kneeled and wrapped it around the kid. His heart squeezed; he didn’t know what it was like to be lost at a beach, but he’d experienced feeling lost far too often as a child. He knew what it was like to not know his place, even when people pointed it out to him.

Emma touched the kid’s wet brown hair and leaned over to him, her voice soothing. “It’s okay. We’ll help you. It’s okay,” she repeated.

“Do you know where your parents were?” Nico asked, standing. “What part of the beach?”

“That way,” the boy said, pointing in the direction he’d been running from. He had an English accent, which hinted he was probably a tourist. “We were playing hide and seek, and I found some rocks between the coconut trees. I kept a few of them, and when I looked for my parents, I couldn’t find them anymore,” he said, tears falling down his cheeks.

“Don’t worry. What’s your name?” Nico asked, looking him in the eye.

“Gurdish.”

“Don’t worry, Gurdish, we’ll find your parents,” Nico said, determination lacing his words. “Have you been staying in a hotel here or someone’s house?”

“Hotel.” He sobbed.

Emma grabbed another towel from the backpack and used it to wipe his tears and dry his face. “Do you know the name?”

He shook his head.

“How about your mom or dad’s cell phone number?” Nico fished his own cell from the backpack.

Gurdish gave him the number, and he dialed it immediately. After three rings, voice mail picked up, and he left a message explaining they’d found their boy. “Do you know if they brought the phone with them to the beach?”

The boy paused for a moment, then shrugged. “I think so. I don’t remember.”

Emma put her flip-flops on and rolled up her sleeves. “I’m going to see if I can find his parents. Stay here with him.”

“No,” he said, stepping forward. “I’ll go.” He could probably run faster.

“You stay.” Emma pointed her index finger at him. “If I run into folks who speak French, I can ask them about his parents. You can’t. His parents probably speak English anyway, so if they come by, you can talk to them.”

He was about to protest, but she took off at a powerful jog. The boy still trembled a bit, but probably because of panic and not cold. Shit. What was he supposed to do? If only this beach weren’t so fucking remote.

Think. What would a kid be interested in? “Hey, Gurdish. Do you like soccer?”

Gurdish shook his head.

He guessed football probably was out of the question. Hmmm. “Martial arts?” He said, nostalgia filling him for a moment. His brother and he always enjoyed wrestling each other, especially as teens. That’s how they worked out their problems, their lack of certainty. Even if their father hadn’t attended most of their tournaments, they were there for each other. His heart shrank to the size of an olive. Had he failed Marco when he’d kept the one truth hidden that could separate them? Had he been protective, or selfish?

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