Feeling a headache coming on, I drained the rest of my beer and stood. “I’ll do what I can tonight and text you when I have answers — how long before everyone’s flights leave?”
“Seven p.m. the day after tomorrow.” Nixon rubbed the back of his head. Weariness wore at the edges of his mouth. “Good luck.”
“Right. I think I need prayer more than luck.”
“Well, I’ve got the Rosary memorized.” He smirked as if hiding some private joke. “Couldn’t hurt.”
“Why’d you go and memorize that and make yourself a better Catholic?”
Nixon waved me off. “One of the Seven Deadly Sins got to me.”
“Dude,” Tex piped up laughing — he’d been silently listening the whole time. “One? How about all seven?”
“I’m too tired for this. See you guys later.” I stood and gave half-hugs to both of them then made the trudge back to my room.
I had to keep myself from killing Nixon.
Keep my hands off my wife.
Keep it in my pants.
Discover all her secrets.
Get her to confide in me.
And do it all without looking at her br**sts or thinking about sex.
Yeah, Rosary was right.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nixon
I watched her.
Like a damn stalker from Criminal Minds.
She twirled her hair around her fingers and then threw her head back and laughed, exposing that long delicate neck — just one of the things I was obsessed with.
“Trace?” I licked my lips, suddenly nervous as hell to interrupt her girl time. “You ready for bed?”
“I think,” she said, standing and wrapping her arms sloppily around my neck, “the correct answer is are you ready for bed?”
“Don’t you mean question?”
“That’s your answer!” She laughed and sagged against me.
“Shit. Who gave her wine?”
Mo and Mil both pointed at each other. I glared at my sister. She covered her mouth with her hand and hiccupped.
“Damn shame for a Sicilian to get drunk off two glasses of wine,” I muttered.
“Sorry.” Trace nuzzled her face in my neck. “I was just so stressed, and now I’m sleepy.” There went all plans for seduction.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” I kissed her forehead. “Why don’t I carry you?”
“Nixon, it’s fine. I’m—”
Ignoring her, I lifted her body into my arms and nodded to the girls. “See you tomorrow. Oh and Mil, Chase already went back to the room. He seemed… upset. You should go.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Holy shit, I was officially turning into Tex, all cheese and no seriousness. I needed some damn sleep.
“Oh.” She stood so suddenly that I could tell she got dizzy. She grasped the chair and gave me a weak smile. “Uh, is it safe for me to—”
“No problem,” I interrupted. “Vegas is basically the safest place for you to be. Cameras are everywhere, especially in this hotel. It’s why Luca chose it.”
“Thanks.” Mil walked by me, leaving Mo all by herself.
“Should I send Tex?”
Trace was starting to get heavy, but clearly she didn’t care. She was already sleeping against my chest.
“I’m a big girl.” Mo took a drink of wine. “I’ll go up when I’m ready.”
“Text me if you need anything.” I nodded and walked back into the hotel and down the hall to the Rush Tower.
“Nixon…” Trace moaned in my arms.
“What, sweetheart?” I hit the top floor button and slipped in my key card. The elevator jolted.
“Why won’t you marry me like Chase?”
“Chase proposed?” I joked. Well, it was kind of a joke, as in, I would have laughed before I pulled the trigger.
“No, he’s married.” She pushed against my chest like she was irritated with me for not tracking. “I mean, why won’t you and I marry?”
“Why won’t we?”
“Mmm.”
“Who says we won’t?”
“Mo.” Trace didn’t open her eyes but they squinted as if she was trying to open them but lacked the energy. “She said your head’s stuck in your ass.”
At that I laughed. “Oh yeah? What else did my favorite twin say?”
“You’re scared.”
And there went all that beer I’d just drunk… threatening to come right back up. Because my brilliant twin sister had hit the nail right on the head. Damn her.
I was terrified.
Of losing Trace.
Of having her.
Of losing her again.
It always went in that order.
“You’re drunk, Trace.” The doors opened. I carried her to the penthouse and shifted my weight so I could slide the card into the slot without putting her down. Once we were inside and by the couch, I gently placed her on the cushions. A few sensor lights clicked on, causing a dim glow to invade the room.
Trace seemed totally alert. Her wide eyes examined me from head to toe before stopping at my mouth. “I love you.”
“Trace.” I growled, kneeling down so we were at eye level. “You know I love you. I’m obsessed with you. I can’t live without you.”
“Is that why you’re scared?”
“Damn it.” I let myself sink to the floor, leaning my back against the couch as her legs dangled by my shoulders. “I can’t give you what you want, Trace.”
“What do you think I want?”
“Out.” I laughed without humor. “You want out. Out of this lifestyle, out of the family, out of the country, preferably anywhere but the US and Sicily.”
“Oh?” It wasn’t a good response; it reminded me of the way teachers answer you when you’re in school. The oh sounded mocking, irritated, sarcastic, and hot as hell.
“I know you, Trace.”
To be fair, I should have expected her to get upset; whenever she drank wine, she went from being bone weary to so aggressive I’d tied her up once.
Best night of my life.
Until she’d puked.
So it was a really good half hour.
“I hate you sometimes.” Trace moved from the couch to my lap, smacking me lightly on the cheek. “I don’t want out, you bastard.”
What? “But, Trace, you asked on the plane—”
“I was being a woman.” She all but shouted. “Yes, I wish circumstances were different, but leaving this life would be like leaving part of you behind, and I’m kind of a fan of every part.”