KATHERINE

When I get back to Nick's house, he's already leaning against the hood of his car, his blazer slung over his shoulder. He smiled at me as I pulled Victoria's car into the garage. I walked back out and wordlessly slipped into the passenger side of his car.

"Erland is playing video games in the den, so he'll be well-occupied for the next few hours." Nick put the car in reverse.

"Good to know," I answered stiffly.

He didn't speak again as he drove out of the neighborhood and further into the city. Wayward City opened up on the horizon in a brilliant blast of lights, like constellations of stars reflected in the surface of a rippling lake.

But he turned off the highway just outside city limits, taking us down a well-worn, windy road. A cozy restaurant greeted us at the end, its shutters open and welcoming as fairy lights lit up the outside seating. As he helped me out of the car—a chaste hand steadying me at the small of my back—the enchanting aroma of lamb and mint wafted out the open door.

We were seated in a corner booth, where mood lighting shielded us from any onlookers. Despite the atmosphere, a strange tension hung between the two of us, crackling with every second of silence that passed.

"Where do you want to start?" asked Nick, setting down his menu.

I hadn't even picked up mine. My stomach was in knots. "You start," I said, chewing the inside of my cheek. "What do you think I should know first?"

Nick reached for his wine. "First? I think you should know about Wayward Publishing."

"What about it?" I crossed my arms to keep from reaching for my own class, feeling the tension wind around my throat. "I looked up what you told me. You're in charge of Outward Relations. Octavia Beardsly is in charge of the company."

Nick set down his glass, now half-full. "That's only technically true," he said. "Yes, I am the Director of Outward Relations, and Octavia may be the CEO, but she's not in charge. I own the company."

I almost fell out of my chair. "You—what?"

He swallowed, any semblance of being collected now coming apart at the seems. "I own 50% of the shares of Wayward Publishing."

My fingers wound around the napkin on my lap. "And who owns the other 50%?"

"You do, Katherine."

Breath fled my lungs.

"You own half of Wayward Publishing. Half of every dollar made belongs to you. And it's a hell of a lot of money. Two millions dollars, to be exact."

I downed the rest of my wine.

"Say something, Katherine." Nick's voice was raw. "What are you thinking?"

"It's . . . it's a lot to take in."

The waiter came by, but Nick waved her away.

"I know it is," he said. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. Victoria is still trying to take the shares out from under you, but she won't be able to touch them. Not unless the whole of the Committee agrees with her." A shadow flitted across his features.

"Why did you do this?" I asked, unable to stop my voice from wavering.

"I didn't do this, Kat. You did. When you helped me set up the bookstore"—he swallowed—"and it failed, I turned it into a publishing company and saved it. Your name is still on the papers."

"Victoria wants it."

"But she'll never get it. She may be a partner in the Committee, but that is just for advisements." Nick reached forward to touch my hand, but I drew it back as if stung.

"Why doesn't the company advertise this?" I asked, thinking back to my earlier search into Wayward Publishing. "Why is Octavia in charge?"

Nick ran a hand through his hair, amber eyes flashing. "I ran the company up until a last year. Octavia took over so Victoria and I would have more time to ourselves. To start a family."

"And that's worked out just fine for you," I hiss, unable to stop the flood of emotions from bubbling up my throat.

Nick looked stung, but he didn't fight it. "It hasn't, really, but that's a whole other issue."

The next words left my mouth before I even had a chance to think.

"You guys don't work together."

The ring on Nick's hand glittered. "We don't."

My eyebrows shot up at the admission. Something old and deep stirred within me, buried five years ago and now coming to the surface. My breath caught in my throat.

"Why did you leave me for her?"

Nick sighed. "Honestly? I wasn't a good enough for you. Victoria was all that I deserved. But I had it backwards then. I thought that she was better, that she was good for me. She never asked me to be different." The last words that left his mouth were almost a whisper.

My teeth sunk into the flesh of my cheek and I tasted blood. "I never asked you to be anything other than what you were, Nick." I searched his face for a reaction, but he couldn't meet my gaze.

"You may never have asked, Kat," he murmured, "but I felt it. You were whole and I was broken. You never threw anything at me when you were mad, nor did you ever leave me crying in the middle of a thunderstorm."

"Maybe you weren't the best, Nick," I said, brushing my fingers against the back of his hand, "but you were still good. At least if it was hidden somewhere deep."

He took a shuddering breath. "When I left you, Kat, I jumped straight into the deepest part of myself. I hurt Victoria. Victoria hurt me. We destroy each other, and I don't know how else to fix it now."

I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Nicholas." He eyes shot up at me once more. "I didn't believe it, but you've changed."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were true. I squeezed his hand again, and this time, he responded.

"You're better. The Nicholas Masiello I knew would have written me out of Wayward Publishing without a penny. But you, Nick, you're a good man . . . You stepped back from your work to start a family—not too many fathers could say that."

"I'm not a father," he said quietly, withdrawing his hand from mine.

My eyebrows raised in question.

"She still needs some convincing."

"I'm sorry," I said, genuinely apologetic.

Nick let out a wry, mirthless laugh.

Silence grew between us, accented by the laughs from nearby tables. A little boy ran around his family in the next booth, and I caught sight of Nick's gaze fixed on him. His lips had turned down to a frown, his brows knit together with an expression that I could only understand as wistful. The Nick I knew never wanted kids. The man before me was altogether different.

When the waiter came by again, Nick asked for the check. He didn't ask if I was hungry, but I suspected he couldn't bring himself to look at me.

We walked back to the car. Once inside, he started the engine.

The drive back to his house was icy. The first storm clouds of the summer brimmed on the horizon, eclipsing the gorgeous stars that had once stretched before us. His movements were stiff, and he drove far too fast, but I couldn't complain. I couldn't even find the words to speak what I felt.

We pulled into the driveway, but Nick didn't get out right away. He turned the car off and turned towards me.

"I guess you don't have any more questions," he said, voice hoarse.

I took a shallow breath. "No."

I thought, if I ever saw a crack in the facade that is Nick and Victoria's perfect life, I would be satisfied. That it would somehow lift my spirits. Make me feel better, stronger, like I managed to escape the lion's den before the jaws snapped down on my heel. But no—my heart stirred with pity.

"I don't need your sympathy, Katherine," Nick said gruffly. "I didn't tell you that so you would pity me."

"I don't," I said, lying.

"Say something, then," he said. "I don't know what you're thinking."

"You don't want to." With that, I leaned back, opened the door, and exited the car.