The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
NICOLAS
Alexandria, Virginia
Friday, June 11, 7:00 a.m.
Nicolas sat in his hotel room, staring at the image of the emerald broach on his phone, and wondered who on this planet could have been a bigger asshole than him. It was not like he and Zara had made any big promises to each other about the future, but the way it had ended was not great.
What really stung was that she had been so understanding. Hell, in those moments when he was half-awake, he had felt Catherine, and all the unsteadiness he had endured had vanished. He had had a few women in the last couple of years, but not once had he confused them with Catherine. Not once had he woken up feeling like the world had finally righted itself. Shit, it had been bound to happen sooner or later. The past and present were not as separate as everyone thought, and Catherine would always thread through his life.
Given all this logic, why was he riddled with guilt? Why did he feel like he’d hurt the one person who had stood by him during the worst days of his life?
“Jesus, Catherine, how did I turn into such a moron?”
Her imagined laughter surrounded him. And he sensed her taking a seat next to him, as she had done so many times in the last two years.
“Cut yourself some slack, cowboy. It wasn’t the worst screwup.” She leaned so close he could feel her breath on his ear. “Remember our first date?”
The memory made him chuckle. He had been working late at the office on a corporate merger. His father had put him in charge of the project, and he had been determined not to screw it up, even though he’d known he was in over his head. He had totally forgotten they had a date.
Instead of getting angry, Catherine showed up at his office, dressed to the nines and looking so hot he nearly melted. She produced a bag of burgers and a six-pack of beer. “Hope you’re a fast-talker, cowboy.”
They had eaten burgers in the conference room, but all he could remember was how she had licked the salt from her fingertips each time she’d eaten a french fry. She had wanted him to know what he was missing. He had never forgotten a date with her again.
“You’re the one that saved me,” he whispered. “But you’re not here now. I’m on my own, and I don’t know how to figure this mess out.”
“You’re smart, cowboy. And you can fix this, if you want to.”
He twirled the wedding band on his ring finger. “I don’t know, Catherine. Fixing it with Zara means losing you.”
“I’ll always be close,” she said softly. “But she’s alive. Don’t give up on living. No one likes a quitter.”
And she sure as hell had never stopped fighting the cancer that had consumed her body. She had left this world kicking and screaming.
A simple I’m sorry was not going to cut it. He needed a grand gesture to show Zara she mattered.
He paused. Zara did matter to him. She mattered a lot.
If he had a superpower, it was sifting through mountains of data and tracing a trail to its source. He could find out what happened to the Biancos. And there was Zara’s grandfather, John Mitchell. Nicolas’s father had connections in the army, and finding his service record during World War II might also give Zara another missing puzzle piece to her family history.
He could give Zara, Gina, and Nonna answers and maybe some kind of peace.
Peace.
It sure as hell had been in short supply the last three years. He had moved from fire to fire, trying to put out one before the next ignited.
When he had been with Zara in bed, he had experienced peace. Perhaps that was why he’d thought Catherine had returned to him.
Whatever he had shared with Zara was strong, and he wanted to feel it again.