Lost In Lies (9 page)

              “Helicopter rides aren’t fun?”

              “Fun doesn’t have to mean expensive!” I snip, taking him off guard. “I like live music and movies, dancing, eating a hamburger, or having a milkshake.”

              Nick slowly nods his head, clears his throat, and readjusts the fedora on his head. “Some days, I forget that money can’t buy you happiness.”

              “Well, it can’t.” I pause and swallow deeply. “I wanna go out with the Nick I met at the party, who showed me his special room, who talked about his love of old French films, the one who talked about his comic book collection…”

              “Secret comic book collection,” he reinforces, causing us both to laugh.

              “The real you,” I assure him, “not the one with fancy meals or helicopter rides.”

              At that, his face lights up, and he grabs my hand, “I have an idea.”

              Nick leads us back the way we came, taking a couple turns and eventually arriving at a spot I recognize from earlier.

              “Marty’s Pub,” I read out loud, shaking my head.

              “A favorite local joint of mine,” he insists, dropping a few bucks into the street player’s bucket. He points to the guitarist, “Live music.”

              Giggling, I sigh, “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

              “Come on,” he encourages me, “that’s Jake Bilmer, local artist, plays all the local places. Has a Celtic feel to him.”

              “I’ll give him a chance.”

              “Like you’re giving me?” he winks playfully before we’re escorted over to a booth table near the window.

              Once settled with menus in front of us, I admire the hopping bar full of locals, young and old, enjoying the live music. Looking around at a few of the patrons in their cutoff jeans, off-the-shoulder tops, and casual polos, I begin to feel a little overdressed in my tight, black, halter-top dress I borrowed from Belle, even though I knew it would be a little too tight.

              “They have the best burgers here.”

              Curious, I ask, “And how does a guy like you know about a place like this?”

              Doing his best to speak over the music, he says, “My nanny used to take me here growing up. After my parents would leave, she always brought me to this spot and bought me a burger and a milkshake to remind me that, even though they aren’t around, someone else is.”

              The story snags a spot in my heart, “And, where is she now?”

              With a hint of a smile, he says, “I stopped needing a nanny and started needing a tutor. She still swings by for the occasional visit, however.”

              Looking down at the menu for a moment, I shift the gears of conversation, “I love a good cheeseburger.”

              “They also have great fried mushrooms.”

              “I love mushrooms.”

              “Who knew we had so much in common?” The words slide casually off his tongue as our waitress comes to collect our drink order, surprised when we’re ready to order everything.

              Intrigued by the fact his parents are always gone, I ask, “So, Nick, if your family is indeed at the top of high-end fashion, why live here? Why not live in one of the big cities? New York? Paris? Rome?”

              “They live there,” he leans back against the booth. “I live here. I have a life here. You want me to be completely honest?”

              Never having had Justin offer that to me, I nod excessively, “Please.”

              “I have no desire to follow in their footsteps. Fashion, big whoop. My interest? That hotel you’re staying at.”

              Confused, I raise my eyebrows, “Your parents are like fashion tycoons, and you’re trying to convince me that your biggest interest is hospitality.”

              “Not just any hospitality, but the finest around. I want a name for myself, and I like spoiling people,” the words are slow, deliberate, double painted if you will. “And, what a better way than to do it then at a hotel like that? You know your room?”

              “Yeah.”

              “I helped design it. I know every nook and cranny and helped pick every detail that fills it. They do fashion. I like design. So, they left me here. I attend the most exquisite private school that has the finest classes in art, design, and hospitality. My parents aren’t very good at being parents, but they’re very good at insisting on the best.”

              I smile and nod, “Interior design. Hospitality. I like that.”

              “And you’re one of the only ones who knows that,” he touches his finger to his lips, telling me to keep it a secret. After a chuckle together, he asks, “What about you? What are you doing in Landlin?”

              Having prepped a back story with Belle, I confidently answer, “Father is possibly being transferred here for work, so he sent me here to check out the scene—you know, see if I could survive.”

              “And, what do you think?”

              As the drinks are delivered, I admire his smile in the tacky pub lighting, “I’m learning there are more and more things to like every minute.”

              “Well, it would be my pleasure to show you around,” the charm in his voice now seems less rehearsed, less showcased, less dishonest.

              Nibbling nervously on my bottom lip, I listen to Nick tell me different sites he wouldn’t mind showing me, if I let him, all over town in between asking me simple questions about myself, like my favorite kind of music and my favorite movie—questions, now that I think about it, Justin’s never thought to ask.

              Once our food comes, we continue small talk filled in with lots of light laughs. Most of the conversation soars by, with the occasional fashion question from me just for the sake of giggles. We talk for what feels like hours about the different types of things I and my family do in our spare time, which honestly begins to weigh heavy on my shoulders. In fact, the more he asks about my favorite art pieces, the more I find myself wishing I was still surrounded by them. In a desperate attempt to take my mind off of my family but stick with something familiar, I slightly shift gears.

              “No, no, I have a real question now,” I wipe the grease from the burger off my lips, delighted to have so much food in my stomach.

              “Shoot.”

              “My father once told me a story about man whose cousin was a botanist…”

              “Nico Manganiello,” Nick interrupts. “And the way the story goes, Nico was desperate to give the Duchess a gift for her birthday.”

              “A unique gift,” I correct him. “One of a kind.”

              “She was a woman he fantasized about, idealized like she was a goddess.”

              “Like Athena?”

              “Aphrodite. She was the goddess of love, beauty ... pleasure.”

              Innocently, I bite my lips and look down.             

              “So, he went to his cousin and asked him if he could make the most beautifully scented perfume in the world—an arduous task to most botanists at the time but a hobby to him. He conjured up this smell from crossbred flowers—”

              “Roses and lilies and a bit of lilac.”

              “What do you prefer?”

              “Roses, but continue please.”

              “They were from his personal collection. He spent hours mixing them, bottled it, and gave it to Nico.”

              “Right,” my head nods slowly. “On his way to meet the Duchess, it’s said that Nico met a woman, a woman more beautiful than the Duchess herself, and all she wanted was one smell. Being the ... what’s the word I want?”

              “Chump,” Nick laughs, having a sip of his water.

              “Sure. Being the chump that he was, he fell for it. The woman ran away with the perfume. Nico followed her into a cave-like area, where she had another bottle of perfume that she swore to him smelled even sweeter than the one he had.”

              “She told Nico that this perfume was magical, that he could write a note using just his clean fingertips, and with one spray on the paper, it could be read. She told him that she would trade him and even throw in a pair of ruby earrings that he could give to the Duchess to wear if she could just keep that perfume. So, once she proved to Nico that it could indeed work, he traded her, presented the gift to the Duchess, and embarked on what became one of the greatest love affairs to date.”

              “It’s a charming story,” my lips curl upward slowly, “love letters being invisible, a perfume that makes them visible. I mean, it’s sweet.”

              “The definition of romance.”

              After a small smile, I muse out loud, “I was just wondering whatever happened to that perfume.”

              “It’s the kind of heirloom that gets passed down from generation to generation,” the words slowly come out of his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at me.

              “Oh my gosh, you have it!” I squeal with glee. “Shut up! No way!”

              “Yeah,” he snickers under his breath. “Most people have never heard that story, so I take it your father is an art connoisseur of a sort? My tutor told me that it was an age-old tale that only those really into keeping art alive would know.”

              “Yeah, you could say that,” my voice trails off, swallowing a bit of guilt at the issue of my father being brought up again. Quickly, I clear my throat, “So, you really have it?”

              “Yeah. It’s locked up in a display in my father’s private office at the apartment, but I would love to show you sometime.” It’s tempting, even though I know this will most likely be our only date. And, I only say most likely since I had no original plan of even having this one.

              I merely smile and push my plate away.

              Wiping his hands, he looks over at the door, where Jake is still strumming on the guitar, “Wanna dance?”

              “Huh?” I look around, confused that no one else is dancing.

              Unsure of my confusion, he repeats slowly, “Do you want to dance?”

              Feeling frisky, I nod, “I’d love too.”

              He tosses a hundred-dollar bill on the table and then offers me his hand. The two of us stroll out onto the sidewalk, where there is a small crowd swaying to the beat of the music. We start with a few shoulder twists at each other, and eventually, Nick pulls me to him, so our bodies are touching. With a smile, I wrap one arm around his neck as the music begins to flow through me in a way that it never has before. Who knew Celtic music could make a person move like this?

              “You ever heard music like this before?” he asks close to my ear since the music is a little loud.

              “I can’t say that I have,” I shake my head as I whisper back.

              “I love showing you new things,” he dips me backward as the crowd claps for Jake. My head tilts in laughter as he helps me back up to join the clapping.

              “This is a song I wrote with a good friend of mine while looking out over the ocean at his beach house,” Jake glances over to Nick, who blushes a little.

              “You?” I lean over and whisper in his ear.

              Nick merely winks and leads both my hands back around his neck before placing his around my waist. Smirking, I rest my head on his shoulder, comfortable, secure, and happy. My eyes wander around to the streetlights creating a romantic glow, a few other couples dancing around similar to us, and Jake, who’s singing his heart out with his eyes closed. As our bodies slowly rock, I hear him humming the words. I lower my head a little and close my eyes. Nick’s hand gently sweeps a few fallen strands out of my face, causing me to squeeze tighter.

              Suddenly, someone bumps into me, and my eyes pop open. Our eyes meet, and the man says, “Excuse me.”

              Nick, not looking up, mumbles, “It’s OK.”

              My eyes stare into Justin’s, who looks not only bewildered but crushed. His fedora slides to the side, hiding his face as he slips his hands into his jean pockets, something I haven’t seen him wear much of, and continues down the sidewalk, fading out as quickly as he faded in.

              Snapping back into reality, I touch the end of my ponytail and look at Nick with a warm smile, “Do you mind walking me back to the hotel now?”

              “Sure,” he nods slowly, “so soon?”

              “Yeah. I hate leaving Belle alone so long.”

              The two of us stroll arm and arm toward the hotel, laughing over jokes, songs we know from the radio, and our favorite things about the evening. Arriving at the elevator, I linger for a minute, knowing the date needs to end but unsure if I should cut all ties or not.

              “Tomorrow?” Nick raises his eyebrows, hopeful as his fingertips graze against mine. “Can I show you some sites?”

              “Um,” my voice hums, deciding on the playful approach. “I’ll text you.”