Page 39 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

“Nico. Nico,” a female voice called him.

His eyes opened with a start, and he jerked himself upright to a sitting position. He took a big gulp of air, his heart throbbing in his ears. Am I still alive?

“It’s me, Emma,” she said, and quickly he focused on her pretty face. A look of concern washed over her, and she held his arm, like she wanted to ground him.

He rubbed his eyes, assessing the area around him. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He hadn’t had a dream like that in a long time. Must have been the trip, and how much he’d been made to think of the past.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a gentle voice. She sat across from him, legs crossed.

“Yes, I’m sorry if I woke you. I haven’t had this kind of nightmare in a while.”

“What happened? You were shouting and asking for forgiveness.”

Shit. He rubbed his temples, wishing so hard the throbbing would stop. Wishing this were a dream inside a dream, and it didn’t really happen. “It’s nothing, Emma. Don’t worry about it. I’m good now,” he said, reaching for her face to touch it, but she scooted back and shook her head.

“I understand you don’t want to tell me anything about you. But now you must. At least about what caused this dream.” She folded her arms and stared at him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. If he owed her anything, it had to be the truth. She lived in L.A. and didn’t even know his brother—or anyone else from his family. Besides, she wouldn’t tell anyone. His gut clenched, and he popped his knuckles. Still wasn’t easy to talk about a subject he’d never told a soul about. “My mother’s mental health really deteriorated after my brother’s birth. She had a complicated pregnancy, and it triggered her illness. My father began acting all distant from him and blamed him for Mama’s downfall. When she killed herself, he wasted no time blaming Marco.”

She folded her arms. “He blamed…a child?”

“Yes. Not like he loved me, but he treated me better than Marco. One day I overheard him talking to a lawyer about Marco not being his real son.”

She slid closer to him, unfolding her arms and touching his knee. No sexual response arose from her hand on him, and he appreciated her support. “You mean—”

He ran his fingers through his hair. Why lie now? “My mother had an affair, and Marco wasn’t his,” he said, enunciating every word. Frustration expanded in his chest, but he wouldn’t change the subject now. Hell, he…trusted her.

A flicker of kindness sparkled in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I never told Marco about it. When I was a child, I didn’t know what to say, or how that’d impact his life. Then as adults, it didn’t make sense to cause all that pain,” he said, resolved to protect his brother from the truth. He hadn’t been able to guard Marco from his father’s verbal abuse as a child—that guilt he’d carry forever.

“Of course.”

Anger welled up in his throat, and tears prickled behind his eyelids. He blinked them back, desperate to keep going. “The truth is…I wasn’t able to protect my brother. Not against my father’s evil treatment or anything else.”

She squeezed his shoulder, then kissed it. “You were a kid yourself. I think you’re being hard on yourself, Nico.”

“Nah, I’m being realistic,” he said avoiding having to look in her eyes.

She let her hand slide down his arm until it fell on the mattress. Poor Emma didn’t deserve to be in the middle of this mess. She’d insisted, though. “You carry this guilt with you, and you never talked about it with Marco?”

“With Marco? I haven’t talked about it with anyone.” Not even Linda, whom he’d thought he trusted for a while.

“See? You care for him—you’re trying to protect him now.”

He gave a humorless laughter. “No. Now I’m trying to save face.”

“Why do you always want to believe the worst? You’re this uber-successful, loaded guy, good-looking, have it all. But you don’t share your emotions because you think by sharing them you’ll be vulnerable. Weak.”

“Yes.”

She touched his chin, forcing him to stare into her eyes. “When it’s the other way round, Nico. Expressing your feelings only makes you stronger.”

“I don’t want people to see me in that light.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it isn’t easy for you. And you know what? Guilt is worth feeding only when you’ve done something wrong. You haven’t… You were a kid, and your father failed you and your brother. He probably failed your mother too, which might explain why she had an affair.”

He swallowed. He’d never thought about it that way—or questioned why his mother had cheated on his father when their marriage had seemed perfect until her disease took over.

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