Chapter Text
“Nice to meet ya, Shortie.”
Five words, and already Meryl was regretting her decision.
The man in front of her was sleazy and tall, all long legs and long arms tucked in pant pockets and a leer that made her stomach curdle. There was a cigarette – unlit, thank God for small mercies – hanging from his wide-stretched lips, wedged between too-white teeth, and the suit he was wearing was ragged with holes, moth-bitten and otherwise.
In sum, he was disgusting.
“It’s Meryl,” she bit out. “Meryl Stryfe.”
That wide-brimmed smile grew further. “Sure thing, Little Lady.”
The temptation to slam the hotel door in his face was nearly unavoidable, but Meryl had always prided herself on her strong will, and so she resisted. After all, she was paying him – nonrefundable, the confirmation text had been sure to remind her – so she might as well use his … services.
Against her better judgment, Meryl stepped back, allowing the man to slink past her and into the hotel suite. She closed the door with a muted click, turning back to see him peering around the space with interest, leaning over to inspect the workmanship on the chaise lounge of the living area. As she watched, his hand came out to press at the cushion, a low hum sounding at its impressive give.
“It’s Wolfwood, right?” Meryl asked instead of wondering at his careful inspection, coming over to stand beside him, arms crossed.
Her words brought the man’s attention back her way, that infuriating mouth peeled up at one corner in a smirk. “Nicholas D. Wolfwood,” he replied. “Nick, if you’re feeling friendly.”
“Alright, Nicholas,” she said pointedly. “You know why you’re here, I presume?”
“Sure do,” he leered back, taking a step closer. At this distance, she had to crane her neck to look up at him, a realization that sent a shock of irritation down her spine and absolutely nothing else. “And I also know that you’re gonna have to be a lot less tense if you want people to believe this little charade.”
A large hand came up to cup her face, and Meryl barely avoided flinching back, freezing instead as the rough pads of his fingers brushed across her cheek before tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. It settled, then, on the side of her neck, thumb resting high on her throat where her pulse hammered. Remembering to breathe, she let out a shuddering exhale. With the rebound of her inhale she could smell the smoke on him, old nicotine and something else, maybe a cologne or maybe just his natural scent.
Oh, this was definitely a mistake.
Curse Vash and his horrible suggestions. Screw Milly for egging him on. And even Nai, Vash’s stoic twin, who had handed her the contact card, eyes refusing to meet hers, was at least partially to blame.
An escort, hired as her date to the gala, which was, itself, a poor excuse for a singles mixer, had been their grand idea. Where they’d gotten it from, Meryl had no clue. She had half a mind to think it had come from Vash reading too many fake dating AUs for his latest sci fi obsession.
“It’ll be fun!” Milly had insisted. “A chance to let off some steam!”
“Plus, it’ll get your parents off your back,” Vash had added.
And that was all true, except …
Except now she was faced with Nicholas D. Wolfwood and all his horrible charm.
Meryl took a step back, hands coming down to adjust her dressing robe. She hadn’t thought to be embarrassed about it before, but now, with Nicholas’ eyes following her movements, it struck her rather suddenly.
Slanting her eyes away before she would do something she regretted – like, God forbid, blush – she said, “I’ll be just fine, I assure you.” She made her way toward the bedroom on shaky legs, gesturing to the front hall closet as she went. “Your suit is in there. You better clean up well, or I’m going to have to give your boss a bad review.”
Meryl didn’t have to turn to hear the grin in his voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
xxx
As far as Meryl was concerned, it took far too little time for her to get ready that evening. Usually, the agonizing process of doing her hair and makeup, of shining away every little imperfection in the hope that someone might notice her – as if her worth lay in her face, rather than her mind – dragged. Tonight, however, she cherished every moment alone before she had to step out to meet her date.
Nicholas was … He was both far more and far less than Meryl had expected. In her mind’s eye she’d pictured a dime a dozen ken-doll blonde: tall, maybe, generically attractive, with symmetric features, a clean smile and nary an interesting word to share.
Instead, she got what was essentially the opposite: a sleazy charmer with plenty of words and nothing to show for them.
At least he was tall.
Actually, no – his height was a negative, too! The last thing Meryl needed was someone of above average height to exaggerate her own petite frame. The matchmakers her parents had hired referred to it as one of “her greatest appeals,” and that alone was enough to make her want to wear stilts half the time.
But, despite her best efforts, it was only a matter of an hour before all Meryl had left to do was don her gown. She slipped it on over her undergarments with ease, the cool fabric melting onto her form as if it had been made for her.
Which, well. It had, after all.
It was a simple thing, colored the light blue of the sky: floor length, ball-gown in silhouette, with a simple fold detail accentuating the sweetheart neckline and a large bow blooming out from the back like wings.
Meryl loved it, truly. Her only regret was that she had to waste it on an event like this, when it was far more suited for more worthy affair. As it was, she could at least find happiness in the simple joy of wearing it, if nothing else.
It wasn’t until she had pulled the dress over her body that she realized the one flaw in its design: the back was a drawstring corset.
She stared at her own reflection, arms crossed across the front of the dress to keep it aloft as she regarded her options. One, she could struggle through it, doing a haphazard job and likely ruining at least her hair in the process. The advantage of this option was that it would delay her arrival to the gala even longer, meaning that she had less time to spend in its attendance. Showing up late and bedraggled, however, was almost worse than not showing up at all.
The second option – and the one she’d been dreading since she realized her predicament – was to ask Nicholas for help.
Meryl could almost hear Milly’s taunting voice, “Good thing you have a big, strong man to help you out!”
She groaned at her reflection, head tilting back to regard a deity she didn’t believe in. Hadn’t she done enough to regret for one night already?
Left with no choice, Meryl took a deep breath and set her shoulders before making her way out into the common area of the suite.
The man she encountered there was nothing like the one she’d left. Sure, he had the same long legs, the same insufferably dark, curly hair, the same scruff-covered brown skin. But, while the man she’d left behind had been unkempt to an absurd degree, this one was immaculately put together.
The suit she’d rented for him fit like a glove, seemingly painted onto his skin with how beautifully it pulled against the width of his shoulders. Under it, the top buttons of his shirt were still undone, revealing soft curls of dark chest hair spilling over frankly impossible cleavage. It almost made Meryl want to cross her arms over her chest in inadequacy, a fact that would not stand, as far as she was concerned.
“Do you not know how to do your buttons properly?” she sneered from where she stood in the doorway, head tilted high in an attempt to elongate her frame. Meryl strove to paint an intimidating figure, but she knew she was at a disadvantage, round doe eyes and small stature pushing her into “cute doll” category more than “striking dominance.”
Based on his expression, Nicholas seemed to agree with the former assessment, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement at her attempt. “Patience, patience,” he intoned around a grin, condescension bleeding in at the edges. Those dark eyes tracked up her frame before meeting her gaze head on and raising a single brow. “Looks like you’re having your own wardrobe malfunction there, Sweetheart.”
Meryl narrowed her eyes into a glare as her jaw clenched hard enough to crack a molar. If successful, she was certainly charging Nicholas for the damage, or at least requesting a refund from his agency. The strongly worded letter was writing itself in her head:
To whom it may concern,
I regret to inform you that your associate Nicholas is an uncaring, sleazy, condescending asshole –
That probably wouldn’t go over very well.
Fantasy in unfortunate shambles, Meryl grit out a response, “My gown requires assistance to put on.”
Admission finally in the air, she waited for Nicholas to hurry to her aid. Surely, he wouldn’t leave a client out to dry, dress only half-adorned and pride shredding apart as they spoke.
But to her utter lack of surprise, he just stared at her, his other eyebrow joining the first where it ventured up into his hairline. “Not sure what that has to do with me.” The widening of his shit-eating grin betrayed his lie. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the reality of it stoked the flames to climb higher in Meryl’s chest.
If looks could kill, then Meryl would be a murderer in no time. “Shut up and get over here,” she snapped, nearly dropping her hold on the gown in her anger.
“Okay, okay, jeez.” Nicholas rolled his eyes as he made his way over to where she stood on the other side of the room. “All ya had to do was use your words, Darling.”
“I did,” was her haughty reply as he pulled up short in front of her. “Not my fault you couldn’t understand a basic request.”
“Last I checked, a statement isn’t a request,” he shot back, before his hand came down to rest on her shoulder.
She opened her mouth to tell him off again, or at least get him to unhand her, but before she had the chance, he’d spun her around bodily, her light frame easily manipulated by his larger hand. The sudden motion left her head spinning in a not altogether unpleasant way, and her stomach flipped as he released her to instead grab at the ribbons of her corset.
“Last I checked,” Meryl mocked, voice breathier than she’d like in the aftermath of his manhandling, “you should ask permission before you grab someone.”
When Nicholas spoke, his breath tickled at the back of her neck, warm and humid. “We’re supposed to be dating, Sweetheart,” he said as strong hands pulled taut at the ribbon, forcing a gasp of air out of her lungs. “You’ve gotta expect a certain level of touch.”
“Consent is still important, even in relationships,” she managed when she could take a full breath again. “And leave me some air to breathe, would you? I’m not a mannequin.”
“Sure, it is,” Nicholas agreed. “But I was turning you around so I could follow your so-called ‘request,’ not going for your panties.” He didn’t bother to address the second half of her statement, but he did let up on the ribbon a bit, to the relief of her aching ribs.
“Please don’t use that word,” Meryl groaned, shuddering despite herself.
“What word?” The grin was audible in his tone, teasing as it was. He seemed intent to rile her up as much as possible. “Panties?”
Something that must have been intense hatred broiled in her gut, and she found herself grinding her teeth again. Those dental bills were just getting higher and higher as they spoke. “You’re disgusting.”
A small push at her back had her stumbling forward with a yelp, and she turned to glare over her shoulder. “What was that for?”
Meryl was met with Nicholas’ wide grin, far too close for comfort. “Well, this disgusting guy just finished tying up your fancy dress.” He smirked. “You’re all set, Gorgeous.”
“Why you –” Meryl’s cheeks flamed as she caught up with his words. “What did you just call me?”
Nicholas’ grin grew wider as his thumb came up to wipe at something on her cheek. “What? Gorgeous?” She flinched back with a glare, and he laughed. “It’s true. You clean up nice, gotta admit.”
His eyes raked over her form again, and she suppressed a shiver. It was like he was smearing oil across her skin as he went, leaving her feeling prickly and unclean in its aftermath.
Meryl tore her eyes away and pushed at him, forcing him back and out of her space. From a distance, her breath was less clogged with his overbearing odor and therefore came easier.
“It’s a black tie event,” she reminded him as she left him to toe on her shoes. “Don’t forget the bowtie.”
“And deprive everyone of this view?” Nicholas snarked, gesturing to his bare chest. “You’re cruel, Shortie.”
There went her teeth again.
“Bowtie. Now.”
“Fine, fine.”
xxx
The elevator ride down to the event was excruciating.
The silence in comparison to the boisterous back and forth of their getting ready was suffocating, and Meryl didn’t know what to do about it. Likely, it was her fault, anyway – the anxiety that always plagued her before these things, previously headed off by the built-in distraction that was her fake date, was now hitting her full force.
In the small, enclosed space, the cigarette Nicholas had insisted on having before they made their way down hung heavy around them, burning at her nose. It clung to him embarrassingly, not even the cologne that she’d doused him in putting a dent in its pungency. A new worry stacked on top of the rest: what people would think of the stray plus one she’d decided to drag in reeking of cigarettes and talking like a barely-graduated street urchin.
She really hadn’t thought this thing through.
“Relax there, Shortie,” came Nicholas’ deep baritone from beside her. A large hand planted itself in the center of her back. “This isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve got this.”
His words and touch derailed her anxiety-ridden thoughts, if only because they were so out of character. She peered up at him oddly. “Since when are you this nice?”
He let out an annoyed huff, turning his head away from her as if that would hide the way his brows furrowed down into a frown. “Fine then,” he muttered. “See if I try and comfort you again.” His hand pulled away from her so he could cross his arms across his chest instead.
Meryl went to say something snarky about not needing comfort from him of all people when the elevator dinged, signaling their arrival on the event floor. From experience, she knew it was only a short walk from the elevator to the entrance to the grand ballroom where the gala was being held. Once there, she’d be announced to the crowd like some product up for bid at an auction. A new wave of anxiety rolled over her at the thought, and she shuddered.
Instead of facing any of those fears or – God forbid – taking comfort in Nicholas’ presence, Meryl hooked her arm around through the narrow gap at his elbow, tugging it down with far too much ease for him not to have given into her pull of his own volition.
“Come on,” she said as the doors slid open before them. “Your real work starts here.”
Nicholas muttered something too low for her to hear, but whatever sour expression he’d held was quickly replaced with a charming – sleazy smile as they made their way to the ballroom entrance.
The ballroom was large, but not overly grand – at least, not by the standards of high society. There was no towering staircase, for example, down which appealing bachelors and bachelorettes would be expected to parade like they were the prize winners at some horse show. Instead, the wide entrance opened almost directly onto the parcade dancefloor, which was itself surrounded by white linen-covered cocktail tables. Around the edges of the room were long tables set up for a buffet to come later, and bars in both corners – open, of course, so long as you tipped well.
True to form, the pair was stopped in the entryway by a man dressed up slightly more than the waiters meandering through the crowds. Meryl offered him her name in a muted whisper, and he wasted no time in announcing her to the crowd. She barely had time to straighten out and plaster on her best debutante smile before he was booming, “Introducing Miss Meryl Stryfe …” There was only a second of hesitation, then said with more derision than Meryl thought particularly necessary, “And guest.”
The music didn’t stop for their entry, nor did most of the crowd even look up from their low hum of conversation, but Meryl still felt the heat of the spotlight as it lit her up, usual nerves bubbling away in her stomach.
Embarrassingly, it was Nicholas who had to urge her forward, a gentle tug at her elbow all it took to immerse her into the anonymity of the crowd. She felt like a small child again, paraded around similar events on the arm of her father, and her face burned in shame. All that effort put into her appearance, even into bringing a date with her for once, and still she couldn’t stand the suffocating crowds, the prim and proper air of it all. It hadn’t even been five minutes, and she was already done. How pathetic.
A waiter offered Meryl a flute of champagne that she politely declined, still lost in her thoughts, but to her chagrin, the glass was dangled in front of her just moments later.
Her brows twitched as she tried to keep them from furrowing in annoyance. “I said, ‘I’m fine, thank y –’”
“Come on, it’ll help with the nerves,” came the drawl from next to her, a far cry from the polite inquisition of the waiter from a moment ago.
Meryl didn’t bother to hide her glare then, shooting it up at Nicholas with no restraint. “I’m not nervous.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” If he was affected by her look, he didn’t show it in the least, that easy half-grin still on his face. “Look, you don’t gotta drive home, you’ve got a built-in chaperone –” He gestured to himself with the hand holding the glass, and Meryl watched as it sloshed dangerously. “– Sounds like perfect drinking conditions to me.”
“I don’t want to drink,” she insisted, all stubbornness at this point. Normally she wouldn’t stop herself from having a glass or two, especially given that she’d booked a hotel suite for the occasion. But there was something about Nicholas that pushed at her buttons – something that made her want to push back.
“You sure?” Nicholas asked one last time. “If you don’t, I will.”
“Please,” she intoned dryly. “Be my guest.”
“Alright then. If you insist.”
With that, he tipped the champagne flute bottom up, spilling the drink down his throat in one impressive gulp. Meryl watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in the long line of his neck, heat rising to her cheeks when his head lowered again and his gaze met hers.
“Oh, that’s the good stuff,” Nicholas groaned, the sound definitely not echoing in a rumble through Meryl’s chest. “Smooth.”
This was ridiculous. She had to divert their focus, and fast.
“If you’re quite done –” she started to say, before a nasally voice interrupted her.
“Meryl!”
Meryl turned to the source of the call, and her eyes quickly found a familiar blue-haired form making his way toward her.
Well, that would work, she supposed.
A smile plastered its way back onto her face, annoyance at Nicholas temporarily pushed aside in favor of greeting her least favorite peer.
“Legato,” she returned, all fake enthusiasm and barely concealed hatred. It wasn’t like he was doing much better than she was, seeming to make sure he was looking down his nose at her as he came to a stop a polite distance away.
He was dressed with his usual over dramatic flare: all-white suit glaring in the sea of black, with shoulder pads that stood out nearly higher than his head. One of them had projectiles branching off of it, the edges of which were constantly poking at the bored-looking woman on his arm. She matched him in height, long blonde hair and simple dress elegant where he was showy. Meryl had no clue what someone with such taste was doing hanging around Legato, though she wouldn’t put it past him to pay someone to hang off his arm all night.
As if to remind Meryl of her own shame, Legato’s attention turned to Nicholas, who earned barely more than a sneer for his efforts. “And who is this … special gentleman?” he asked. The words were plucked out like teeth, a great effort made to force them painfully into existence.
Before Meryl could introduce them, Nicholas spoke, “Nicholas D. Wolfwood, at your service.” With Meryl hanging off his right arm he couldn’t shake Legato’s hand, so he was only able to offer a polite nod, but he did make sure to take the woman’s wrist, bowing to lay a gentle kiss along her knuckles. “Ma’am,” he greeted, voice all caramel warm and sultry now that it wasn’t directed at Meryl.
She didn’t know why she was surprised. This was the type of woman men like Nicholas went for: tall, thin, oozing elegance easy as breathing – a perfect match for a smarmy pickup artist any day. She squeezed at the arm in her grip with an unconscious effort, something burning in her chest and forcing its way out.
Whatever strange feeling had taken over Meryl, Legato seemed to be sensing it as well, because he turned to his partner, expression displeased, and said, “Elendira, dearest, won’t you go get us something to drink? It is oh so warm in here, after all.”
The woman – Elendira – left without protest, though not before giving Nicholas an acknowledging nod of her own. Legato watched her go with a seething tension, though it was carefully layered under a calm veneer. Meryl was sure she could see it only because she’d known him so long. He was, after all, the man her father wished for her to marry.
“So, Nicholas,” Legato leered, head tilting in faux interest. “How did you come to know our lovely Meryl?”
The barb wasn’t subtle, but Nicholas didn’t seem keen to let it slide. “‘Our?’” he asked. “That’s a strange way to refer to my girlfriend.”
Legato’s smile tightened at the edges, but it refused to fall. “Maybe true, but it’s quite a normal way to refer to my betrothed.”
Nicholas couldn’t hide his surprise at that, and he glanced down at Meryl as if looking for answers she didn’t have. She was nearly vibrating in place at the indignity of the situation. How dare Legato show up here? How dare he have the gall to challenge her supposed boyfriend in front of her? How dare he insist he still had some claim to her after all these years of rejection?
Something of her frustration must have shown on her face, because understanding flashed through Nicholas’ eyes before he schooled his expression once again. He turned that fake-charmed look back on Legato, some ease returning to his stance.
“That so?” he said. “Well, I happen to know that a betrothal is usually reciprocated. Otherwise it’s called ‘forced marriage.’”
Legato’s smile morphed into an all-out sneer at that, and in the blink of an eye he had crowded into Nicholas’ space, words and eyes laced with venom. “You entitled little –” he began, but Nicholas cut him off with a simple tsk of his tongue.
“Now, now,” he cajoled, easy grin still in place. “That’s not very polite of you. What would the ladies think?”
Meryl had thought he meant her clearly infuriated form, but Legato’s eyes darted around them, instead picking up on the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered around them. If anything, that enraged Meryl further. Yet again made the humiliating center of attention because of the actions of the men in her life.
“Leave him alone, Legato,” Meryl snapped, surprising herself and the two men near her. “I don’t want you here and neither does he. So scram.”
Legato’s mouth flapped like a fish in the wake of her outburst, but it didn’t take long for him to obey her command, slinking off like a dog with his tail between his legs. Meryl watched as Elendira joined back up with him in the crowd, though when he tried to take her arm again, she pulled away.
The sight brought a victorious smile to her face despite herself, and she turned to Nicholas to tout her triumph, only to find him staring at her with eyes like molten chocolate. Whatever words were about to leave her throat crumbled to dust, blown away in the sandstorm of his gaze.
“Not bad, Shortie,” he said, breaking some of the spell, though those eyes remained locked onto hers. “Guess you really don’t need me. You can handle yourself all on your own.”
That snapped Meryl back out of it, and she huffed in annoyance. Her, “Told you,” was petulant and unnecessary, but it still made Nicholas laugh, so she counted it as some kind of win.
“Come on,” he insisted, tugging at their still-linked arms. “Let’s take advantage of this free food, shall we?”
xxx
After the dramatics of the confrontation with Legato, the night simmered in its usual boring calm. Once they’d snagged some of the hors d'oeuvres from passing waitstaff, the two found themselves greeted by generic couple after generic couple. Some, Meryl recognized by name, others only by their chronic reappearance at events such as this. Yet others she didn’t know at all, only smiled politely as they greeted her by name, laughing together like old friends.
This song and dance was familiar, and Meryl sank into it with practiced ease. It was miserable, of course – she could nearly recite the lines by memory for how repetitive they were – “Hello!” “How are you?” “How have you been?” “How are your parents? Your sister? Your dog?” “Yes, yes, lovely weather lately, don’t you think?” It never ended, and it never varied.
Meryl’s only reprieve came, to her surprise, in the form of her companion. Because he was an unknown quantity in the space, he prompted others to proffer questions outside of the norm, so much so that it was nearly an interrogation in all that they nagged him. But, to her even greater surprise, he had answers for all of them, even questions that others would have considered awkward.
“What does your family do?”
“I was raised by distant relatives, so I don’t really know them.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Right here in the city.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m studying for a degree in education.”
“What do you plan on doing with that?”
“I want to work with underprivileged kids in the inner city.”
Each answer only seemed to garner more praise than the last, all of them hemming and hawing over Nicholas’ seemingly impressive resume. Then again, a little white saviorism went a long way with these people. Meryl knew this all too well.
The true entertainment, however, came once whatever person had staged the interrogation had left. It was presented in the form of Nicholas’ snide comments, all under his breath, all audible to Meryl and Meryl alone. The first time, she was fairly certain he’d meant to keep it to himself, but she didn’t miss the way he lit up when she couldn’t help but giggle in response, and soon enough he was raising the volume just enough that she could hear the comments with no problem.
“‘Work with underprivileged kids in the inner city’ my ass,” he snorted after they made their way back out of the crowd. “Imagine if I told these stuck-up losers I wanted to run the education program at the orphanage I grew up in. What would they say to that?” When Meryl didn’t immediately react, he glanced down at her, and, wrongfully interpreting her silence as umbrage, added, “No offense, Little Lady. You’re stuck up but you’re not a loser.”
That earned him a glare, even if it hadn’t been the issue in the first place. “That’s not – ugh, nevermind,” she grumbled, pulling away from him so she could lean against the wall on her own for once.
“No, no,” Nicholas insisted, those dark bushy eyebrows knitted together above darker eyes. “What were you gonna say? Spit it out.”
“Just – Did you really grow up at an orphanage?”
Meryl had learned many a detail about Nicholas’ life through the night, but none more unexpected than that offhand comment.
Nicholas stiffened across from her, eyes glued to the wall behind her head. “And what of it?”
Meryl regarded him curiously. There was a tension in his frame she’d come to regard as uncharacteristic. His usual casual looseness and ease was replaced by stiff limbs and an impassable expression. She couldn’t help but think that he looked like he was bracing himself against something, though Meryl couldn’t imagine what it would be. It wasn’t like she could hurt him in any way that mattered.
Despite that, she still chose her words carefully. “I think it’s admirable,” she admitted, tone gentle. “Coming from difficult beginnings and wanting to give back.”
Some of that stiffness melted as Nicholas met her eyes again, though his guard was still up in a way she couldn’t ignore. “S’just what I gotta do,” he said with a shrug, but Meryl shook her head.
“No,” she protested. “You don’t have to do any of it at all. I assume you make pretty decent money from this escort business.” It was a guess, but not a wild one considering how much she’d paid for his services tonight.
He gave a grunt as confirmation, and so Meryl plowed on, “I know a lot of people – some of the people here, actually –” She gestured broadly at the ballroom around them, the vapid individuals spinning circles around the dancefloor, around the same boring conversations. “– who would take that money and run as far away from their past as they could. And who have done just that.”
Nicholas’ gaze on her was unwavering in its intensity, but all barriers had been let down. She could see past his veneer, to the small boy beneath who just wanted better for his friends, for his brothers.
“You’re a good man, Nicholas,” Meryl insisted, somehow knowing it to be true despite barely having been in his acquaintance for a few hours. He was kind to her, in a gentle, unobtrusive way. He bullied away her nerves, fought off imposing figures, and redirected conversations into more amenable territory like it was as easy as breathing. All this, while being in an unfamiliar environment, full of people he’d never met and circumstances he’d never entertained. It took a stronger person than she would ever be to survive in those conditions.
Whatever Nicholas found in her eyes, it must have left him wanting, because he broke their staring contest with a sneer. Something in her chest shattered.
“Nah,” he said, and, simple as that, the walls were back up. His smile, when he turned it her way, was full of that fake, oily charm. “Let’s –”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by the call to dinner.
“Let’s get dinner, I guess.”
xxx
Dinner was a sordid affair.
The tables were assigned as they always were, and Meryl was disappointed to find that she’d been seated along with Legato, as per usual. What was unexpected, however, was how he didn’t bother to address her or Nicholas at all, pointedly turning his back to the pair as he conversed with his inattentive partner.
It would be amusing if just hearing his voice weren’t so jarring, its too-loud nasality piercing through the general din of the ballroom like targeted missiles.
“God, does he ever shut up?” Nicholas asked, just a fraction too loud to be kept between the two of them.
Meryl had an inkling that it might have been on purpose when Legato turned to glare daggers at the back of Nicholas’ head before going back to his conversation like nothing happened. Now, though, his voice was noticeably quieter.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. They made familiar small talk with the others at the table, themselves seemingly just as displeased by their table mates as they were. The conversation looped around the same tired topics until plates were finally emptied and cleared away, an implicit signal that they could get up and wander again.
Meryl was just about to tug Nicholas up so they could stretch their legs with one last obligatory lap around the ballroom, when he suddenly yanked her toward the doors to one of the balconies lining the front of the room.
“I need a smoke,” he said, all but dragging Meryl with him like a sack of unwanted potatoes. They barreled through the glass doors together and at once found themselves alone on the veranda. The night was chilled but blissfully silent as the doors clicked closed behind them, blocking out the whiny string quartet and distant rumble of overly polite conversation.
“I can’t believe you,” Meryl huffed, arms crossing to keep in some of her warmth. “How many of those do you smoke a day? You literally just had one, so I don’t understand –”
“You looked miserable in there,” Nicholas interrupted her, eyes focused out on the hotel grounds. He was leaning over the balcony in a way that highlighted the length of his legs, the width of his shoulders. They strained against the confines of his jacket as he flicked open a lighter and held it to the cigarette already sitting between his lips, elbows resting on the railing. His inhale was a slow thing, but slower still was the length of his exhale, the trail of smoke that followed made thicker by the chill in the air. “Couldn’t just leave you like that, Short Stack.”
Meryl felt herself frown even as her heartbeat picked up in her chest. “What do you mean I looked miserable? That’s just how these things are.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t try ‘n make it better, though, right?”
Dark eyes turned toward her then, slotted over the heft of his shoulder. There was something there, some unknown quantity that she couldn’t pinpoint. Whatever it was made her shiver.
It was gone as soon as it had appeared, replaced instead by Nicholas’ condescending smirk. “You cold, Sweetheart?” he leered, though it had less of the bite his earlier remarks had held.
She scoffed, tightening the hold of her hands around the bare skin of her arms. In the short time they’d been outside, gooseflesh had poked up all along their length, and the tip of her nose and ears had begun to burn. “I’m perfectly fine.”
At some point in this exchange, she’d shifted her gaze down to the relative banality of the concrete balcony floor. It was because of this shift in focus – and thus a lapse of her attention – that she failed to notice Nicholas moving toward her until something big and warm was draping itself over her shoulders.
Meryl let out a yelp as she jerked back from whatever had encroached on her space, one of her arms going haywire and smacking against something solid in its effort to deter her attacker.
“Ow! Fucking hell, Shortie,” a gruff voice said. “It’s just a jacket, not a hand grenade.”
Meryl’s senses returned quickly, registering the acrid smell of smoke in her face, the sudden warmth of her shoulders, and the tall figure to her side, rubbing at his arm in an overly dramatic fashion. It was Nicholas – because of course it was Nicholas, Meryl; there was no one else on this tiny balcony – who had just placed his jacket of all things around her shoulders.
Or, attempted to, at the very least.
The aforementioned article of clothing began to slip from its precarious perch, and she reached up unconsciously to pull it back before it fell, scowling deeper when she realized what she’d done.
“What the hell,” Meryl gritted out, “is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me?” Nicholas retorted, lips curling around his cigarette. “I’m not the one who assaulted someone just for bein’ nice.”
“No one asked you to be nice! And if anything you’re the one who assaulted me here!”
“Wha –”
“You laid your hands on me without permission!” she snapped. “That’s the definition of assault, Nicholas, or do you need me to get out a dictionary for you –”
“Not again with the uneducated jokes,” Nicholas groaned, head rolling back to the heavens as if rolling his eyes simply weren’t enough for the situation at hand. “I told ya I’m only one semester away from my associate’s –”
“And I told you that an associate’s in education isn’t going to get you anywhere! You’ll need to get a bachelor’s at least, if not –”
“You fucking – That’s it! Give me back my jacket. Now.”
Meryl started at that, eyes going wide. “What? No!” She jerked away from him, hands tightening their hold and bringing the jacket more securely over her shoulders.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Nicholas growled, making a grab for her. “It’s my jacket.”
“Well, technically it’s mine,” she pointed out as she backed further away. “Or, well, I’m renting it. But either way, you gave it to me! So now I’m going to use it!”
“Yeah?” he leered, stalking ever forward. She realized her mistake as soon as her back hit the railing, the cold metal a stark reminder of her hubris. “And how are you going to stop me from taking it back?” His arms came around to bracket her, one big hand gripping the railing on either side of her body.
Meryl was warmer now, unbelievably warm – from the press of him, the look of him, the smoldering campfire at the end of his still-burning cigarette. His eyes burned just as bright, blackened coals that stoked at the flames in her chest.
“I-I …” her voice was nothing more than a breath, her mind failing to string together anything intelligent despite her earlier ribbing. What fitting payback; he’d managed to make her the idiot.
Her face burned, both from the heat and the shame, and she stuttered on an inhale, breath catching somewhere between her throat and her lungs. Like that, her breath stood suspended, muscles tense, in anxious anticipation of what he might do next.
Then, he stepped back.
“Come on, Little Lady,” Nicholas intoned, letting his cigarette drop to be snuffed out under the heel of his shiny black dress shoe. “Whaddya say we get some of that dessert table before it gets picked over too bad? Then we can call it a night, hm?”
His face was weird. It was … soft. Gentle, almost. There was something there that made Meryl want to cup his jaw in her hands, to rub the pads of her thumbs over those broad cheekbones, to caress in a way she wasn’t sure she had before.
It was a strange urge, but no stranger than the sinking disappointment at his words.
Then we can call it a night.
Meryl … didn’t want this night to end.
She … She didn’t want Nicholas to leave.
The thought was enough to snap her back to attention, blinking as she righted herself, even as the strange sensation that had taken over her seemed to linger. It tingled in her extremities, little pinpricks of discomfort that continued as she nodded in agreement and followed him back inside.
The last of the night passed in a blur.
As promised, they ransacked the dessert table like the barbarians they were, overfilling too-small plates with carefully crafted pastries, only to scarf them down the moment they escaped to an isolated corner of the ballroom.
The desserts were sweet as the end of the night was bitter. Both slid down Meryl’s throat, thick and viscous – both truths she had to swallow for her own sake, as well as Nicholas’.
And just like that, it was over.
The music was still playing, a handful of couples still spinning around the dancefloor, but, despite all that, it was done.
More people trailed out than in, dispersing in clumps and clusters as some went back to the lobby to pick up their valeted vehicles, and others wandered up into the various rooms of the hotel itself.
Part of the latter group, Meryl led Nicholas back to the elevator in silence. They’d spent nearly the entire night latched together at the elbow, but now they stood a foot apart in the empty elevator. Meryl’s arm was cold where it sat empty, her chest aching in sympathy.
The nerves that had plagued her earlier were back, but instead of hot, fiery acid licking up her insides, it was cold, frozen worms squirming around in her stomach, sinking lower and lower with each floor they passed. The faint ding of the elevator signaling their arrival at her floor was deafening; the worms thrashed in its echo.
“Meryl?” Nicholas’ voice broke through some of the ice in her abdomen, and she looked up at his worried gaze. “You coming?”
She blinked, the realization that she’d been standing inside the open elevator for at least thirty seconds, unmoving, hitting her with a wash of embarrassment. Only Nicholas standing to the side and diligently pressing the “open door” button kept them in place.
“Yes,” Meryl said, “yeah, sorry.”
The path to Meryl’s suite was carved in silence save the uneven pad of two sets of shoes on carpet. Nicholas held open her door after she unlocked it with her keycard, and she slipped in under his arm. The door clicked closed behind them, and they were alone.
Meryl busied herself immediately, setting down her clutch and all but tearing out her earrings in her haste to get the heavy weight of them off her skin. Her necklace was next, followed by her shoes kicking off under the table. The moves were as hurried as they were practiced, so it took her a moment to realize that she was alone in her motion.
“You know,” Nicholas said into the heavy room, “my contract. It, uh …”
Meryl turned to regard him tiredly. In an echo of his earlier phrasing, she said, “Spit it out, Nicholas.”
It was hard to tell through the dark brown of his skin, but Meryl swore she could see a hint of ruddiness rising at the apples of his cheeks. “My contract doesn’t end with the party,” he finally managed, though he still refused to meet her eyes. “It also covers … other stuff.”
Meryl continued to stare as he squirmed, until understanding blossomed within her, bringing with it renewed warmth to her face and chest. Her hands came up to rest at the bare skin above the bustline of her dress, as if clutching at nonexistent pearls.
“Wh-what are you implying?” she squawked, taking a step back as if that could protect her from this embarrassment.
Nicholas’ gaze finally snapped up to meet hers, eyes wide and appalled. “Not anything like you’re thinking!” he yelped, pulling back into a retreating position that mimicked hers almost exactly. If it weren’t for the true fear in his eyes, she would think he was mocking her. But, as it was, she began to unwind.
“What did you mean, then?” Meryl ventured to ask. Her hackles had fallen slightly, but wariness still buzzed at the edges of her consciousness, suddenly aware of the threat of a large man alone with her in a hotel room at night. It’s just Nicholas, she was forced to remind herself, further loosening her stance.
“Just that I don’t have to leave if you don’t want me to!” Nicholas insisted, voice no less alarmed than it had been a moment ago. “We can … hang out or something. I don’t know!”
“‘Hang out?’ That sounds even more like a euphemism! What’s next, are you gonna ask me to ‘Netflix and chill’?”
Oh, his face was definitely reddening now, and she watched as he turned almost bashful. “I mean, I was gonna suggest maybe watching a movie …”
“Aha!”
“But not in a weird way,” he insisted, tone urgent. “I don’t know, you seemed. Sad? Tired? I thought you might want to unwind, or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” Meryl muttered in disbelief, even as giddiness floated up in her like carbonation in a newly opened soda bottle. He wanted to stay! A grin crept across her face, unbidden, but she couldn’t help it. Nicholas wanted to stay with her.
She felt like a nervous school girl whose crush had been reciprocated, though it wasn't quite the case. When that bright smile turned on him, his jaw fell open almost comically, snapping shut just as fast.
“I’d love that,” Meryl said, nothing but genuine.
Nicholas swallowed heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with the effort. “Sure,” he said, voice rasping. “Great.”