Part 18 (2/2)

Johnny Walker Black rolled over her tongue and slid down her throat, warming her from within. ”I've never drank Scotch with you. You guessed my drink?”

She kept her eyes on the gla.s.s. In the restaurant, she'd felt only anger. Well, anger and a good bit of righteous indignation. Now she felt sorrow and pity, but most of all, sadness.

”Hey, I'm not blind. You have two bottles in your kitchen. So, that man you'd stared at with murder in your eyes. He's your father?”

”Yeah, how'd you know?”

”It was the family resemblance, and the only thing I could come up with that would cause you to shoot daggers at a man his age.”

”You know, growing up, I always resented my mother. I looked down on her. I never understood why she let him control her. He gave her an allowance like a child, told her what to wear and what to buy, and then at the end of the day, he'd ignore her while he sat by the TV, reading the paper and drinking his wine.”

”Lee, you don't know what goes on in a marriage...”

”'Someday you'll fall in love and want to take care of your husband the same way,' she'd say. 'He'll take care of you, too. You'll see.' I saw, all right. A long time ago. But I never expected to see it in person.”

Nick picked up his phone and looked at the screen. ”Drink up. It's time to go home.”

Rosalie finished her drink and followed him out of the bar. He opened the door to a waiting car.

”Lee, this is my friend, Jim. Jim, this is Lee. Jim's giving us a ride home.”

She got in the Town Car and slid across the leather seat. She didn't care how they got home. All she knew was that she wanted to be there yesterday.

Staring out the window as they drove over the Manhattan Bridge and down Flatbush Avenue, she wondered why she was so upset. It wasn't as if she'd never known. She'd heard the loud fights and louder silences. She'd felt the tension that had loomed like a ghost-a presence without a name.

They pulled up in front of the apartment, and Nick opened the door. Cold wind blew into the warm interior and made her eyes water. The temperature was dropping, like her mood. Nick helped her out of the car.

”Come on, let's get inside.”

He unlocked the security door and the apartment door while she took her coat off. Rosalie walked in, threw the coat on the couch, and collapsed. There, on the coffee table, was the family picture they'd taken at Christmas. They were all smiling-Rosalie, Richie, Annabelle, Mama, and Papa-the perfect, happy family. What a crock.

Without saying a word, Nick took Dave outside. When they returned, she was still staring at the picture. Nick took the frame out of her hand and put it on the table. ”Not all men cheat.”

”Really? Name one who doesn't.”

”Vinny. He'd never cheat on Mona. They love each other. They're happy.”

”Look at the photograph, Nick. Looks are deceiving. You said yourself, you never know what goes on in a marriage.”

”No, you don't. But I know Mona.”

”What? Mona wouldn't put up with a lying, cheating husband? What choice would she have? Does she know how to support herself and her kids? Her only option would be to leave her home with no money, no security, no skills-and do what? Work as a waitress in someone else's restaurant?”

She was on a roll now. ”It's amazing how easy it is for men. They marry a sweet young thing. They say, 'Oh, no, you don't have to work, I'll take care of you.' There's Cinderella, thinking she married a prince, when the poor thing is oblivious that she's sold herself into slavery.”

”Oh, come on, Lee. Look at you. You don't need a man to support you. If you got married, you'd never be in a position where you couldn't support yourself.”

”Exactly.”

”So why are you so against marriage?”

It sucked when someone argued logically. What could she say? He was right. She would never allow herself to be in a position that would make her dependent on anyone for anything.

He thought he'd won. He looked all smug and triumphant.

”So, Nick? Since you're such a fan of the inst.i.tution, how come you're not married?”

”I'm not the one who has a problem.” ”I don't have a problem.”

”No, you're right. You don't have a problem,” the sarcasm in his voice made her want to smack him. ”You're living under the misconception that marriage means the loss of independence.”

”Yeah, well, we all have our own little versions of reality, don't we? Most men think all women want someone who'll pay their bills, buy them jewelry, and give them a nice place to live while they spend their time shopping and getting their nails done. And in certain cases, they're right, but you can't paint all women with the same brush.”

”What do you want, Lee?”

How had he done that? One minute they were arguing, and then he said five words. Five words, and she went from mad to aroused. It was as if he'd flipped a switch. And he knew it.

All of a sudden, he was standing close; so close, the heat radiating off him warmed her; so close, she saw the storm forming in his eyes; so close, she touched him.

One touch, and she stopped thinking and started feeling. The warmth of him heated her, the strength of him supported her. His mouth, his hands, and his body were her escape.

Nick couldn't figure out why he'd been arguing with her about marriage, of all things, but at that moment, it had seemed important to inform her that all marriages didn't sentence women to lives of indentured servitude.

He'd almost come out and said that if he ever got married, which he wouldn't, he'd want an independent woman. One who was sure of herself and her place in the world. He'd want a woman who had a full life, independent of his. He didn't think marrying someone made a person responsible for their spouse's happiness, but should add to their spouse's happiness.

Take him, for instance. He'd been happy when he met Rosalie, but being with her made him happier. She added to his life, to his happiness, and he'd stay with her until she didn't.

She looked mad, sad, and so d.a.m.n beautiful. He wanted to make her forget about her cheating father, to stop her from thinking about it, to shut down her mind and give her pleasure. There was only one way he knew how to do that.

He made love to her.

Nick stayed awake long after Rosalie had fallen asleep, listening to her breathing. He'd never really thought about his happiness before-well, not as it related to any one person. Rosalie made him happy, and he hoped he made her happy, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know what she wanted from him. Other women he'd dated had a shopping list of things that would make them happy, and weren't shy about sharing the information. Not Rosalie. She never said what she wanted. The one time he'd tried to help her out with her car, she'd refused. At first, he wondered if she was playing a game. Play hard to get and whet a guy's appet.i.te. Now that he knew her, he knew better.

Nick had never lost the upper hand in a relations.h.i.+p. He'd never wondered if a woman wanted him. He'd never wanted a woman more than the woman had wanted him. Until Rosalie. It wasn't a comfortable situation, but it was improving. At least, she'd stopped asking him to leave.

Chapter Twelve.

Rosalie had just gotten out of a status meeting with her boss and didn't want to go back to the dealers.h.i.+p. She was tired; she was cranky; she was starving; and she still had two hours and thirty-eight minutes until she could go home. Gina and the back-office gang had pa.s.sed her around like a hot potato, each hoping they wouldn't be the one dealing with her when she finally blew. Who could blame them? It was as if she was looking down from above, watching herself get through the day and doing everything wrong, and she could do nothing to stop it.

What the h.e.l.l was she going to do on Sunday? How was she going to sit across from her father and pretend she didn't know what was going on? She should have gone after him with the champagne bottle when she'd had the chance. If she had, this whole mess would be over and done with. Holding onto anger was so not her.

Rosalie stared at the couch. A nap was tempting. She wondered if anyone would notice. She could still be getting over the crud, or depression could have set in.What-ever the reason, the only thing that sounded the least bit appealing was sleep.

A knock snapped her out of her musing. The door opened a few inches. A hand stuck through the crack, waving a tissue.

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