A Forever Kind of Love by Nora Roberts

Chapter 6

Nick knew Freddie’s mind wasn’t focused on her work. They’d cruised along smoothly enough for two weeks, but as the time approached for her family to come to New York for Nadia’s and Yuri’s anniversary party, her work came more in fits and starts than in a flow.

He hadn’t meant to snap at her, really, but the way her mind was darting from subject to subject—a new recipe for canapés she just had to give to Rio, the art deco lamp she’d bought for her living room, the jumpy, tongue-twisting lyrics she’d come up with for a number in the second act—they weren’t getting any real work done.

“Why don’t you just go shopping, get your nails done, do something really important.”

Freddie sent him a bland look and forced herself not to look at her watch again. Her family was scheduled to arrive in less than three hours.

“I bet Stephen Sondheim’s taking an afternoon off wouldn’t have sent Broadway into a crisis.”

He knew that. And if she hadn’t assumed they were taking the rest of the day off, he’d have suggested it himself. “We’ve got an obligation. I take obligations seriously.”

“So do I. I’m only talking about a few hours.”

“A few hours here, a few hours there.” He refused to look at her as he reached up to change a note on the sheet of music. “You’ve already had plenty of those the last few days.” He picked up the cigarette he’d left burning and drew deep. “It must play hell, having your social life get in the way of your hobby.”

She took a careful breath, hoping it would help. It didn’t. “It must play hell, having your creativity always at war with your sanctimonious streak.”

That little barb stung, as she’d meant it to. “Why don’t you try doing your job? I can’t keep carrying you.”

Now her breath hissed out. “Nobody has to carry me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“For a change.” He tossed the cigarette back in the ashtray to smolder. “Now why don’t you try contributing something, so we can earn our keep? Some of us don’t have Daddy’s money behind us, and have to work for a living.”

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s the fact, kid. And I don’t want a partner who only wants to play at songwriting when it suits her busy schedule.”

Freddie pushed back on the stool, swiveled—the better to glare at him. “I’ve been working every bit as hard as you, seven days a week for nearly three weeks now.”

“Except when you had to go buy sheets, or a lamp, or wait for your bed to be delivered.”

He was baiting her, and even knowing it, she swallowed the lure whole. “I wouldn’t have had to take time off if you’d agreed to work at my place.”

“Yeah, great. Working with all the sawdust and noise, while Yuri builds you shelves.”

“I need shelves.” She did her best to rein in the temper he seemed hell-bent on driving to a gallop. “And it was hardly my fault that the delivery was three hours late. I finished the chorus from the first solo in the second act while I was there.”

“I told you that needs work.” Ignoring her, Nick started to play again.

“It’s fine.”

“It needs work.”

She let out a huff of breath, but she refused to lower herself to the childish level of arguing back and forth. “All right, I’ll work on it. It would help if the melody wasn’t flat.”

That tore it. “Don’t tell me the melody’s flat. If you can’t figure out how to write for it, I’ll do it myself.”

“Oh, really? And you’ve got such a way with words, too.” Sarcasm dripped as she rose from the bench. “Go ahead, then, Lord Byron, write us some poetry.”

When his eyes snapped to hers, they were dangerously sharp and ready to slice. “Don’t throw your fancy education in my face, Fred. Going to college doesn’t make you a songwriter, and neither do connections. I’m giving you a break here, and the least you can do is put in the time it takes.”

“You’re giving me a break.” There was a growl in her voice, feral and furious. “You conceited, self-important idiot. All you’ve given me is grief. I make my own breaks. I don’t need you for this. And if you’re not satisfied with my work habits, or the results, take it to the producers.”

She stormed across the room, snatching up her bag en route.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“To get my nails done,” she tossed back, and made it to the door before he caught her.

“We’re not done here. Now sit down and do what you’re getting paid to do.”

She would have shaken him off, but after one attempt, she decided she preferred dignity to freedom. “Let’s get something straight here. We’re partners. Partners, Nicholas, which means you are not my boss. Don’t confuse the fact that I’ve let you call the shots so far with subservience.”

“You’ve let me call the shots,” Nick repeated, enunciating each word.

“That’s exactly right. And I’ve tolerated your mercurial moods, your sloppiness and your indulgent habit of sleeping until after noon. Tolerated them because I chose to attribute them to creativity. I’ll work in this sty you live in, arrange my schedule to accommodate yours, even struggle to make something worthwhile out of second-rate melodies. But I won’t tolerate nasty remarks, insults or threats.”

His eyes were glittering now. Another time, she might have admired the golden lights among the green. “Nobody’s threatened you. Yet. Now, if you’ve got your little tantrum out of your system, let’s get back to work.”

She jabbed her elbow into his ribs, remembering his advice about putting her body behind it. He was still swearing when she yanked the door open.

“You go to hell,” she suggested, and slammed the door hard in his face.

He nearly, very nearly, went after her. But he wasn’t entirely sure whether he would strangle her or drag her off to bed. Either way, it would be a mistake.

What had gotten into her? he wondered as he nursed his sore ribs on the way back to the piano. The girl he’d known had always been agreeable, a little shy and as sweet-natured as a sunrise.

Showed what happened, he supposed, when little girls became women. A little constructive criticism, and they turned into shrews.

Damn it, the chorus did need work. The lyrics weren’t up to her usual standard. And, as he would be the first to admit, her usual standard was stunning.

Thoughtfully, he ran a hand along the edge of the piano. Well, maybe he hadn’t admitted it. Not exactly. But she knew how he felt. She was supposed to know how he felt.

Disgusted, he rubbed at a headache brewing dead center in his forehead. Maybe he’d been a little hard on her, but she needed somebody to crack the whip now and then. She’d been pampered and indulged all of her life, hadn’t she? It showed in the way she would carelessly shift priorities from work to social issues.

How long did it take for anyone to set up housekeeping? After Rachel and Zack moved out, he’d been settled in fine in a couple of hours.

Frowning now, Nick turned on the bench to face the room. So it was a little messy—it was lived-in, homey.

No, the place was a sty. He’d meant to pick it up, but since it never stayed that way, what was the point? And he’d planned to paint, and maybe get rid of that chair with the broken leg at some point.

It was no big deal; he could take care of it in a weekend. He didn’t need the kind of palace Freddie was setting up a few blocks away. He could work anywhere.

It was irritating that the more time she spent in these rooms, the more drab and unkempt they seemed to him. But it was his business, and he didn’t need her making snide comments about the way he chose to live.

Determined to push her out of his mind, he set his fingers on the keys, began to play. After two bars, his face was grim.

Damn it, the melody was flat.

In her apartment, Freddie put the finishing touches on the welcome snack she was preparing for her family. Already she was regretting not holding out for a larger place. If she had rented a two-bedroom, everyone could have stayed with her instead of bunking in with Alex and Bess.

Still, they’d all have some time together at her place before the party, and she wanted it to be perfect.

Your problem exactly,she mused, and her shoulders slumped as she arranged fruit and cheese. Everything always has to be perfect to satisfy Fred. Good isn’t enough. Wonderful isn’t enough. Perfection only, or toss it out.

She’d swiped at Nick because he wasn’t perfect.

He’d deserved it, though, she assured herself. Making her sound like some spoiled child who was only playing at a career. That had hurt, hurt more because she wanted his respect every bit as much as she wanted his love. The hurt continued to ache because he hadn’t understood, didn’t understand how very much it all meant to her.

Coming to New York was a thrill, true, but it had also been a wrench to her heart. Writing the score for the musical was a dream come true, but it was also grueling work, with the sharp terror of failure always balanced over her head like an ax.

Didn’t he know that if she failed as his partner, she would have failed at everything she’d ever wanted? It wasn’t just a job to her, and it certainly wasn’t the hobby he’d made it sound like. It was, very simply, her life.

Because thinking of it made her eyes sting, she fought to put it out of her mind and concentrate on the evening ahead.

It would be perfect—Catching herself, she swore, and then nearly sliced her finger instead of the stalk of celery. It would be wonderful, she corrected, having the whole family in one place, celebrating the endurance and beauty of marriage. Because it was important to her, she’d taken on a great deal of the responsibility for planning Yuri’s and Nadia’s anniversary celebration herself. She’d chosen and ordered the flowers, helped Rio select the menu and worked out countless other details.

While Nick was sleeping that morning, she’d already been at Lower the Boom, decorating the bar. She and Rachel and Zack had scrubbed the place down first, so that every inch would shine. Bess had helped her with the balloons, and Alex had taken an hour’s personal time to pitch in. Sydney and Mikhail had swung by to help Rio with kitchen duty.

Everyone had helped, she thought now. Except for Nick.

No, she wasn’t going to think about him, she promised herself. She was only going to think about how they would all make the evening as special for her grandparents as it could possibly be.

When her buzzer sounded, she raced to it, her eyes darting everywhere, to make sure all was in place.

“Yes?”

“The Kimball crew, all present and accounted for.”

“Dad! You’re early. Come up, come on up. Fifth floor.”

“On our way.”

Freddie hurried to the door, dragging at locks, pulling at the safety chain. Unable to wait, she raced out to the elevator, fidgeting as she heard its mechanical whine.

She saw them behind the grate first, when the car came to a stop—her father’s gold hair, with its gleaming threads of silver, her mother’s dark, dancing eyes. Brandon with a Yankees cap on backward and Katie already tugging at the grate.

“Fred, what a great place.” Already as tall as her sister, Katie threw her long, graceful arms around Freddie’s neck. “There’s a dance studio across the street. I could see them rehearsing through the window.”

“Big deal,” Brandon said. “Where’s the food?”

“Ready and waiting,” she assured him. Brandon was, she thought, a spectacular melding of their parents, gold and exotic. “Door’s open.” She accepted his quick, offhand kiss as he brushed by her.

“Dad.” She giggled, as she always had, when he scooped her off her feet for a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.” She blinked back tears she hadn’t expected as she reached out for Natasha. “I’ve missed you both so much.”

“The house isn’t the same without you.” Natasha rocked in the tight embrace, then eased back. “But look at you! So sleek and polished. Spence, where’s our little girl?”

“She’s still in there.” He bent to kiss Freddie again. “We brought you something.”

“More presents?” She laughed and slipped her arms around their waists to lead them to the apartment. “I haven’t gotten over the piano yet. Dad, it’s beautiful.”

He nodded as he stood in the doorway and studied it. The dark wood gleamed in the sunlight from the window. “You chose the right spot for it.”

She started to tell him that Nick had chosen the spot, then shook her head instead. “There couldn’t be a wrong one.”

“You got anything but rabbit food?” Brandon demanded as he strolled out of the kitchen gnawing on a celery stick.

“That’s all you’re getting here. You can stuff yourself at the party.”

“Mama, Dad,” Katie called out from the bedroom. “Come here. You’ve got to get a load of this!”

“My bed,” Freddie explained to her puzzled parents. “It just came yesterday.”

It was, if she said so herself, utterly fabulous. The spacious room had allowed her to indulge in king-size, and she’d chosen a head and footboard of iron, painted a soft green, like copper patinated over time. The rods curved in a graceful semicircle, and were accented by metal flowers and small exotic birds in flight.

“Wow” was all Brandon could say with his mouth full of the scorned rabbit food.

“Great, isn’t it?” Lovingly Freddie ran her fingers over the bars, and along the ivory-toned lace of the spread she’d chosen.

“Like sleeping in a fairy tale,” Natasha murmured.

“Exactly.” Freddie beamed. If anyone would understand and appreciate the sentiment, she knew it would be her mother. “And Papa built the shelves here for the carvings Uncle Mik made me over the years. I picked up this mirror at an antique shop downtown.” She glanced at the ornately framed glass, its long oval shape accented by twisting brass-and-copper calla lilies, then grimaced at the cardboard boxes beneath.

“I haven’t found the right bureau yet.”

“You’ve accomplished a lot in less than a month,” Spence pointed out. There was a little ache, just under his heart. He expected it would always be there when he thought of his baby living away from him. But there was pride, as well, and that was what showed in his eyes as he draped an arm around her shoulders. “I hear you and Nick are making progress on the score.”

“It comes and goes.” Forcing a smile, she walked back to the living room, where Brandon was already sprawled on the sofa and Katie was darting from window to window, hoping for another glimpse of the dance rehearsal.

“I still need to change for the party,” Freddie said a little later, after they made a thorough inspection and caught each other up on their current events. “We’ll need to get there early. You have the tickets, Dad?”

“Right here.” He patted the breast of his jacket. “Two to Paris, open-dated, with a certificate for a stay at the honeymoon suite at the Ritz.”

“Mama and Papa in Paris,” Natasha murmured. “After all these years, for them to go back to Europe like this.”

Gently Spence brushed a hand over her dark corkscrew curls. “Not quite as exciting as traveling through the mountains in a wagon.”

“No.” She smiled. The memory of their escape from the Ukraine, the fear and the bitter, bitter cold, had never faded. “But I think they’ll prefer it.” She noted, as she had several times over the past hour, the trouble lurking in Freddie’s eyes. “I think you and the kids should go over now, Spence, see if Zack and Nick need any help.” She smiled again, sending a silent message to her husband. “I’ll stay here and primp with Freddie.”

Curiosity came and went in his eyes before he nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Save the first dance for me,” he added, kissing his wife.

“Always.” Natasha waited, nudging her younger children along, then accepting Freddie’s offer of a glass of wine. “Show me what you’ll wear tonight.”

“When I bought it I figured wearing it tonight would make me the sexiest woman there.” Pride glowed on her face as she studied her mother, exotic as a Gypsy in flowing carmine silk. “After seeing you, I guess I’ll have to settle for the second sexiest.”

With a quick, throaty laugh, Natasha led the way into the bedroom. “Don’t mention looking sexy around your father. He isn’t quite ready for it.”

“But he’s all right, isn’t he? About the move?”

“He misses you, and sometimes he looks in your room as if he still expects to see you there—in pigtails. So do I,” Natasha admitted, and sat on the edge of the bed. “But yes, he’s all right with it. More than. He—both of us are so proud of you. Not just because of the music, but because of who you are.”

No one was more surprised than Natasha when Freddie dropped on the bed beside her and burst into tears.

“Oh, my love, my baby, what is it?” Drawing Freddie close, Natasha stroked and soothed. “There, sweetheart, tell Mama.”

“I’m sorry.” Giving up, Freddie pressed her face into Natasha’s soft, welcoming shoulder and wept. “I guess this has been building up all day—all week. All my life. Maybe I am spoiled and indulged.”

Instantly insulted, Natasha leaned back to look at Freddie. “Spoiled? You’re not spoiled, and not indulged! What would put such nonsense in your head?”

“Not what, who.” Disgusted with herself, Freddie dug around in her pocket for a tissue. “Oh, Mama, I had such an awful fight with Nick today.”

Of course, Natasha thought with a little inward sigh. She should have suspected it. “We often fight with those we care about, Freddie. You shouldn’t take it so hard.”

“It wasn’t just a spat, not like we’ve had before. We said awful things to each other. He doesn’t have any respect for who I am, or what I’m trying to do. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just here to kick up my heels, knowing if I trip, you and Dad will be there to catch me.”

“And so we would, if you needed us. That’s what family is for. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong and self-reliant, just because you have someone who would reach out if you needed help.”

“I know. I know that.” But it helped enormously to hear it, all the same. “He just thinks—Oh, I wish I didn’t care what he thought,” Freddie added bitterly. “But I love him. I love him so much.”

“I know,” Natasha said gently.

“No, Mama.” Taking a steadying breath, Freddie shifted so that her eyes were level with Natasha’s. “It’s not like with Brandon and Katie, or the rest of the cousins. I love him.”

“I know.” The ache in Natasha’s own heart swelled as she smoothed back Freddie’s tumbled hair. “Did you think I wouldn’t see it? You stopped loving him as a child loves years ago. And it hurts.”

Comforted, Freddie rested her head on Natasha’s shoulder again. “I didn’t think it was supposed to. It was always so easy to love him before.” She sniffled. “Now look at me, crying like a baby.”

“You have emotions, don’t you? You have a right to express them.”

She had to smile, as her mother’s words so closely echoed the ones she herself had thrown at Nick days before. “I certainly expressed them this afternoon. I told him he was sloppy and self-important.”

“Well, he is.”

With a watery chuckle, Freddie got up to pace. “Damn right he is. He’s also kind and generous and loving. It’s just hard to see it sometimes, through that shell he’s still got covering him.”

“His life hasn’t been simple, Freddie.”

“And mine has.” She reached out to trace the carving of a sleeping princess Mikhail had made her with her finger. “Dad worked hard to give me the kind of home every child should have. And then you came and completed the circle. You and the whole family. I know Nick was already a man when we came into his life, and that the years before left scars. It’s the whole person I’m in love with, Mama.”

“Then you’ll have to learn to accept and deal with the whole person.”

“I’m beginning to understand that. I had it all worked out,” she said, turning with a wry smile on her face. “I had a carefully outlined plan. But it’s not a simple thing, convincing a man to fall in love with you.”

“Do you really want it to be simple?”

“I thought I did. Now I don’t know what I want or what to do about it.”

“You can make one part simple.” Rising, Natasha took the tattered tissue from Freddie’s hand and dried her daughter’s tears herself. “Be yourself. Be true to that, to your heart. Patience.” She laughed when Freddie rolled her eyes. “I know that’s difficult for you. But patience, Freddie. See what happens if you step back instead of bounding forward. If he comes to you, you’ll have what you want.”

“Patience.” More settled, Freddie heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I could try it.” She cocked her head. “Mama, am I bossy?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“Stubborn?”

Natasha tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Perhaps more than a little.”

Amused at herself, Freddie smiled. “Flaws or virtues?”

“Both.” Natasha kissed Freddie’s nose. “I wouldn’t change either trait. A woman in love needs to be a little bossy, and more than a little stubborn. Now go wash your face. You’re going to make yourself beautiful—and make him suffer.”

“Good idea.”

Nick decided he wouldn’t hold a grudge. Since it was Yuri’s and Nadia’s night, he wouldn’t spoil it by sniping at Fred. However much she deserved it.

And maybe, just maybe, he felt a little guilty. Especially after coming downstairs and seeing firsthand how much time and effort she’d put into making the place festive. If someone had bothered to wake him up, he’d have given her a hand. With a flick of his finger, he sent the lacy white wedding bells over the bar spinning.

He wouldn’t have thought of wedding bells, he admitted. Or of the baskets and buckets of flowers that filled the room with color and scent. He wouldn’t have come up with the feathery doves hanging from the ceiling or the elegant candles in silver holders at the tables.

It would have taken her a lot of time to track down the decorations, he supposed. So maybe he should have been a little more patient with her dashing out on him, or dashing in with her mind so obviously elsewhere.

He’d forgive her, and let bygones be bygones.

“Hey, Nick, did you try those meatballs?”

He turned, cocked a smile at Brandon. “I saw them, and nearly got my hand chopped off reaching for a sample.”

“Rio likes me better.” Smug, Brandon slid a meatball from a toothpick into his mouth. “Hey, did you get a load of Freddie’s bed?”

“Her bed?” Guilt, fear and secret lust sharpened his voice. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“It’s a real piece of work, big as a lake.” Brandon slid onto a stool and tried his most charming smile. “So, Nick, how about a beer?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“I meant for me,” Brandon complained when Nick helped himself.

“Sure, kid. In your dreams.” He glanced over as the door opened. And was very grateful he’d already swallowed.

Natasha was striking, an elegant Gypsy in swirling red silk, but Nick’s gaze was riveted to Freddie.

She looked as though she’d draped herself in moonlight. He tried to tell himself the dress was gray, but it glinted and danced with silver lights. And she was poured into it. The simple scooped neckline and snugly cinched waist enhanced her slim, fragile build. And the way her hair was left loose and tousled made it appear she’d just gotten out of that lake-size bed Brandon had just told him about.

Natasha immediately walked over to hug him, and Freddie offered him a quick, distant smile but avoided meeting his eyes.

“New suit?” Freddie asked at random, realizing she had to say something and she’d been staring at his lapel for several seconds. She approved of the tailored lines of the black jacket, but certainly wasn’t going to say anything about it.

“I figured the occasion called for it.”

But not for a tie, she noted. The open collar of the black shirt suited him—as did the beer in his hand and the challenging glint in his eyes when she finally looked up. She hoped her careless shrug masked her thoughts of just how dangerous—and exciting—he looked. The man didn’t deserve her compliments, after his behavior that day.

“You look very handsome,” Natasha put in.

“Thanks.”

“Everything looks perfect. I had a wonderful time arranging it all,” Freddie said, turning a slow circle to be certain everything was in place.

“You did a good job in here.” It was, Nick thought, a suitable white flag. But she only tossed him a carefully bland look over her shoulder. “It looks great,” he continued, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut in the first place. “Must have taken a lot of time.”

“I’ve got nothing but time, according to some people. Brandon, how about giving me a hand? Uncle Mik will be bringing Papa and Grandma along any time.”

“He’s not bringing them,” Nick muttered into his beer.

“What do you mean, he’s not bringing them? Of course he is. I arranged it.”

“I unarranged it,” Nick shot back, then added, “they’re coming in a limo.”

She blinked. “A limo?”

“I got the idea from someone,” he said, and sent her a sneer. “It’s their anniversary after all. It’s not like they’re just going out to dinner.”

Freddie made a sound in her throat that had Brandon wiggling his eyebrows at his mother.

“Battle stations,” he murmured, and leaned forward to enjoy the fray.

“That was very considerate of you, Nicholas.” Freddie’s voice was cool and controlled again, causing her brother to sigh in disappointment. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. And, of course, it takes hardly any time and effort at all to pick up the phone and order a car. I’m going to help Rio.”

She sashayed out. Or so Nick described it to himself. Muttering, he pushed aside his beer. It looked as though it was going to be a very long night.