Then Fazire opened his mouth, sucked in an enormous breath that should have evacuated the air from the room and was clearly about to speak when, sounding slightly hysterical, Lily shouted, “Photo albums!”
Fazire’s mouth clamped together with an audible clacking of teeth and he glowered at Lily who had denied him whatever grand statement he was about to make.
“Photo albums,” Lily repeated, slamming her cup awkwardly on the mantel which also held a variety of framed family photos. “Fazire takes tons of pictures. You can catch up on Tash through Fazire’s photos.”
“What a lovely idea,” Laura said softly but Lily didn’t look at her, in fact Lily was studiously avoiding looking at anyone and had been since they entered the room.
“I’ll go get them,” Lily offered and practically ran to the door.
“I’ll help,” Nate said, putting down his mug, intent on having a moment alone with her, the first moment they’d had alone in eight years.
Lily stopped, whirled and stared at him wearing an expression of horror mixed quite liberally with fear. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could utter a word Fazire spoke.
“I’ll help,” Fazire declared, also moving to put down his tea.
Nate straightened and looked at the bizarre man. “I said I’ll help,” he noted in a low tone.
“And I said I’ll help,” Fazire returned, clearly not reading nor not wishing to read Nate’s warning glance.
“Let Nathaniel help,” Laura courageously entered the burgeoning fray.
Fazire’s angry stare swung to Laura.
“Let Daddy help,” Natasha said, bouncing up on the sofa and looking at them all with bright eyes, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Fazire doesn’t like climbing all those stairs anyway. He usually floats up and he can’t do that while you’re all here.”
Natasha settled on the couch equally oblivious to the horrified look her mother was throwing her way or the surprised ones her father and his family were aiming at her.
“Fine,” Lily bit out, breaking everyone out of their shock at the little girl’s strange words. She turned her eyes to Nate and, he noticed, she had carefully schooled her features. “Nate?”
Without waiting for his response, she spun again and stamped out of the room.
He followed her slowly up one set of stairs where, he noted, she paused to close the door to her bedroom, and then up another.
There were several more doors off the next landing and she walked into a room that was obviously used for watching television. A large, plush corner sofa took up most of the comfortable space. The room also had several sets of inexpensive but stylish connecting shelves on which were lined with books, ornaments, more framed photos and an enormous collection of photo albums. Nate noted vaguely that in all the money he’d paid his interior designer, his penthouse still seemed cold and uninviting. Yet Lily, who had no money, created a home that was warm and welcoming.
She immediately walked to the shelves and pulled out an album.
“You take this.” She turned and handed him the album.
He took it reflexively saying, “Lily, we have to talk.”
She grabbed another album and completely ignored him.
“And this.” She extended the book to him and he accepted it.
“Lily.”
She yanked another album free from the shelf.
“And this.” She held it toward him but he didn’t take it. Her eyes still on the shelves, she jerked the album at him to indicate he should grab it but he ignored her.
“Lily, we need to talk,” he repeated.
“Okay, I’ll take this one,” she decided magnanimously, tucked it under her arm and turned to grab another.
Nate walked to the sofa and threw the albums on it. Then he went to the door. This he closed. Firmly.
She froze, one hand ready to take out another album, and she stared at him.
“What are you doing?” she enquired.
“We’re going to talk,” he told her, striding back to her.
She turned smartly back to the shelf.
“Alistair says we can’t talk. Alistair says that we should talk through our solicitors. Alistair told me to tell you whatever you have to say to me you should say it through him.”
She had started obsessively piling her arms with albums.
Nate reached her, placed his hands on her shoulders, gently pulled her away from the shelves and then divested her of the albums and dropped them on the deep seat of the couch. This he did without her resistance mainly because she was stunned into immobility.
He faced her. “We’re done talking through solicitors,” he informed her.
“Alistair says –” she started, her body going rigid as if girding for attack.
“I don’t care what Alistair says,” Nate cut her off.
“Well I do.”
“We need to talk,” Nate patiently repeated himself.
“We’ve nothing to say,” Lily retorted, breaking out of her statue-like stance and starting for the couch to retrieve the albums.
As she passed him Nate caught her by the elbow and halted her. She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes beginning to fire.
“Nate, take your hand off me.”
He ignored her and kept his hand where it was. He was not about to let this opportunity pass.
Suddenly he said quietly, “Thank you for naming Natasha after me.”
She blinked at him. Then she blinked again.
He took advantage of her momentary confusion. “Thank you for making her so lovely,” he murmured softly.
Her mouth dropped open.
Then he said what he’d been wanting to say for twenty hours.
“I thought you left me.”
Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes closed down and she pulled her arm free.
“We’re not talking about this,” she stated flatly.
Nate went on. “I came home and you were gone, everything was gone. I thought you’d left me.”
“Why on earth would I leave you?” she snapped, obviously not wanting an answer and her body noted she’d dismissed the subject. It did this by moving toward the sofa but he caught her again and gently pulled her back toward him.
Her eyes moved to his hand on her arm. “Nate, I asked you not to touch me.”
She was trying to twist her arm free but he kept his hand there, just above her elbow, far away from the bruises.
“I thought you left me,” he said again, needing her to hear it, needing her to understand it.
“You said that already,” she clipped, tilting her head back and there was definitely fire there now, it was mingled with weariness, but it was there.