On the Prowl Page 13

  “Don’t lie to a new friend, Saskia. It will set our relationship off on the wrong foot.”

  Saskia gave an inarticulate cry and dropped her head to the sofa cushions.

  “What is wrong with me?” she groaned, banging her head a few times for good measure. Too bad the cushion wasn’t a brick wall. Maybe that would knock some sense into her.

  “A man,” Corinne shot back. “I thought we’d already established that.”

  “That, and the fact that I must be an idiot to still be here angsting about it. The way he behaved was inexcusable. I should just cut my losses and leave, right?” She raised her head and looked to her friend for agreement. “Right?”

  “If it was that easy, why did you call me and ask me to come over here to talk you out of it?”

  “That’s not why I—” Saskia gave up and set aside her empty cup to rub her hands over her eyes. She laughed helplessly, mostly at herself. “I had to ask you to come here because he told me I wasn’t allowed to leave the apartment without his permission.”

  Corinne sucked in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled, her lips pursed in consideration. “Okay, setting aside for the moment the complete assholery of that whole ‘without his permission’ bullshit, I’d say it just proves the point that after he left the apartment you called me to come keep you company instead of grabbing whatever wasn’t nailed down and running as fast as you could go in the opposite direction of wherever he went. Am I right?”

  “You’re right.”

  “So, what does that tell you?”

  Saskia made a disgusted sound, this time directed entirely at herself. “That I’m a spineless idiot with pathetic taste in men?”

  “Stop that.” Corinne frowned at her. “No one is allowed to call you spineless, Saskia Arcos, least of all yourself. A spineless woman would never have stood up to her big, bad fiancé in the first place, let alone handled him as neatly as you did this morning in his office. You’re a long way from spineless. What you are is, well, kind of submissive.”

  “Submissive?” Saskia couldn’t have felt more shock if the other woman had reached out and punched her. “I’m submissive? Since when?”

  Corinne shrugged. “Can’t say. I haven’t known you that long. But judging by your personality and what you’ve told me about your family, I’m going to guess since you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye. There’s nothing wrong with it. Some people are just born that way.”

  “I am not submissive. Whips and chains? So not my thing!”

  “Good; that will leave more for Reggie.” Corinne chuckled. “I’m pretty sure she and Misha wear out the ones they’ve got pretty regularly. Oh, stop blushing. Reggie isn’t ashamed of who she is, and you shouldn’t be, either. Not that I’m saying you’re exactly the same. There’s more than one kind of submissive in the world, and I’m pretty sure you and Reggie are completely different kinds. Reggie’s a sexual submissive. She likes her man to dominate her in the bedroom; it turns her on. You’re more of a … well, I don’t know what the technical term is, but you’ve just got a submissive personality.”

  “You’re contradicting yourself,” Saskia grumped. “You’re the one who just told me I wasn’t spineless.”

  “That’s because you’re not. Look, stop getting hung up on the terminology and just follow along with me, okay? When I say you’re submissive, I’m not saying you’ll just let anyone who wants to walk all over you. That’s not submission, it’s pathologically low self-esteem, and it’s the sort of thing that requires years of intensive therapy. You just have the sort of personality that means you’re perfectly happy not to run the show, you know what I mean?”

  Saskia just stared at her.

  Corinne sighed. Setting her mug on the coffee table, she leaned forward as she tried a different explanation. “So far, we’ve only known each other a couple of days, right? But let me tell you all the different ways you’ve demonstrated to me, in that short period of time, that you prefer not to take the dominant role. Ready?’

  No, she wasn’t, but she nodded anyway, because that’s what Corinne seemed to expect.

  “Okay, first, when we met at the party, you were perfectly sweet and polite. In fact, you’re like a small-talk guru, but that was as far as you took it. I was the one who put us on a first-name basis, not you. If it were up to you, we would have exchanged a couple of words of chitchat and gone our separate ways. You might have thought later that I was nice and wondered if we would have had anything in common, but you would have left it where it was. Am I right?”

  Saskia frowned. “It was my engagement party. I had responsibilities. I couldn’t just think about who I felt like talking to most.”

  “Mm-hm. Who threw that party, by the way?”

  “What do you mean, who threw it? My parents did. It’s tradition. The bride’s parents always throw the couple’s engagement party.”

  “Right. But who did the planning? Drew up the guest list? Chose the location? Picked the food?”

  “My parents. They wanted to be certain we included everyone who might expect an invitation, and it only made sense to have it at the Predas’ new hotel. But I certainly did my share,” she hurried to add, starting to feel uncomfortable. “I consulted over all the major decisions.”

  “Of course you did. It was a lovely party. And I meant it about those mushroom things.” The woman smiled, but her gaze remained serious and focused. “Second, after we talked a little bit and developed a rapport, I was the one who gave you my card. I passed you my digits, thereby offering the possibility of us making contact in the future and potentially exploring the possibilities in friendship. If we’d been in a bar and at all inclined toward lesbianism, the correct terminology would be that I picked you up.”

  That startled a laugh from Saskia, and Corinne grinned back.

  “Not that you’re not gorgeous,” the reporter continued, “but I’m unfortunately straight and madly in love and lust with my sexy fiancé. But this brings us to point number three—even after I gave you my card with all of my contact information on it, I am still the one who made the next move by calling you the next day and suggesting that we get together and you let me introduce you to my friends.”

  Saskia did not like the direction where this was heading and she struggled to find some way to refute Corinne’s points. Which, unfortunately, were all true.

  It took Saskia a second, but she did manage one point in her favor. “You did call me, but I was the one who suggested coffee!”

  See! See! she wanted to shout. I’m not just a passive follower! I can do stuff, too!

  “You did,” Corinne acknowledged with a nod, “and I was very proud of you. But I will just point out that there are points deducted for only doing it after I already had you on the phone and for letting me suggest the coffee shop.”

  “Hey! I told you I hadn’t been in the city for very long. I couldn’t think of anyplace.”

  Corinne hummed noncommittally. “Then there’s the matter of our conversation over coffee. I’m the one who got it rolling and set it on a personal level, allowing you to treat me like a friend and confide in me the way you were dying to do. And I’m the one who came right out and declared us to be friends. I’m afraid the evidence is stacked against you.”

  “Sheesh. What are you, a lawyer?” Saskia grumbled.

  “Nope, but my good friend Danice is. She’s a total shark. If you ever need representation, give her a call. But in this case, even she would tell you the jury’s a lock. You, my friend, are the opposite of a dominant personality. Which, according to the rules of antonyms in the English language—and I can say this because I’m a writer, so I use words—makes you submissive.”

  Defensiveness made Saskia hunch her shoulders in a resentful shrug. “So what does that mean? That secretly I want Nicolas to treat me like an inanimate possession, so I should just stop complaining about it?”

  “Lord, no!” Corinne scooted closer and gave her friend a one-armed hug. “That�
�s not what I intended to say at all. Not even close. As far as I’m concerned, that man deserves a bloody lip at the very least, but that’s my personality talking, not yours. And that’s my point. You’re the only one who can decide how you’re going to deal with your fiancé, but I think you need to understand yourself and what you really want before you do or say anything irrevocable.

  “You’re not a dominant person, so you’re never going to want Nicolas to defer to you all the time any more than you want him to let you make all the decisions. There’s nothing wrong with that. The important point in all my psychobabble was that you have to realize that not everything is going to be worth fighting over, not to you. You’re the type of person who can be happy living within a certain power structure and a certain framework of rules, so recognize that and then decide which ones you really can’t live with and make those the ones you fight over. If you try to battle over every single thing, all you’ll do is exhaust yourself and make both of you even angrier.”

  It made total sense.

  Saskia quirked the corner of her mouth and looked at her friend. “So, basically, this was all your long-winded way of saying I should pick my battles?”

  “Hey, even Dickens got paid by the word.”

  Impulsively she reached out and hugged Corinne. “Thank you. I appreciate you coming over and talking through this with me. Between this and trying to find the real attacker, I feel like it’s been seven years since the party sometimes.”

  “Don’t worry,” Corinne reassured her. “I know Mac. He’s Danice the lawyer’s husband, actually, and he’s good. If anyone can find the real culprit, Mac will.”

  “That’s good to hear. I think Nicolas is fairly convinced that the only way to clear his name is to find the real attacker and bring him to justice.”

  She hesitated, something Corinne picked up on.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “No, I think it makes sense,” Saskia allowed. “I’m just not sure there’s not something everybody is missing…”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the timing really bothers me. I mean, maybe I’m just being paranoid, but it seems strange to me that the attack would happen on the night of our engagement party, after it had broken up and everyone went their separate ways, but while the Tiguri were still on everyone’s mind. But I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just still sensitive about Rafael De Santos and Nicolas having their little squabble in front of everyone. Like I said, the timing just makes me uncomfortable.”

  Corinne looked thoughtful. “I did see Rafe and Nicolas have a discussion before Rafe left. I think that was right before I talked to you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, they didn’t exactly look like the best of friends, did they? In fact, your fiancé actually looked a little bit mean.”

  “You’re not the only one who noticed. I just worry that someone might have remembered that and taken it the wrong way.”

  “And done what? Used it to try to frame Nicolas?” The reporter shook her head. “That seems like a bit of a stretch.”

  “I know it does, and I’m not even really suggesting that. I just think it might be worth looking into who already had a grudge against De Santos who might want to use the general sentiment against the Tiguri as a kind of smoke screen for an action they already planned to take.”

  Corinne whistled between her teeth. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but Rafe is a public figure. He’s rich, he’s gorgeous, and he’s the head of a powerful organization. The list of people who haven’t wanted to kill him at one point or another is probably smaller than the one of people who have.”

  “I don’t suppose it really matters, anyway.” Saskia forced a smile. “My major in art history didn’t exactly give me a lot of training in digging up dirt on nasty grudges. Unless they involve painters and notorious ballet dancers.”

  “Maybe not, but I happen to be an expert on digging up dirt. If it will make you feel better, I’ll do a little poking around. I can’t promise I’ll find anything, but I’ve always believed it never hurts to take a look.”

  “You would do that?” Saskia felt truly touched. “I think that’s the sweetest thing you could possibly do for me.”

  “No,” Corinne corrected. “The sweetest thing I could do for you would be to kidnap your husband and have him taken in for a lobotomy and forced asshole deprogramming. This is the most practical thing I could do for you.”

  Saskia laughed. “Well, it works for me. Thank you.”

  “No problem. What are friends for?”

  * * *

  Corinne left a few minutes later, leaving Saskia sitting in the den and trying to figure out the best way to follow her friend’s advice. Saskia knew she had made a mistake earlier by issuing Nicolas an ultimatum to change his behavior or consider their engagement over. As he had pointed out, a Tiguri engagement wasn’t that easy to break. In fact, the agreement could only be dissolved if the mated couple failed to conceive after a minimum of one full year of living together. Unless Saskia wanted to condemn them both to another eleven months, three weeks, and four days of living hell, they would have to come to some sort of compromise.

  Besides, in her heart, Saskia knew that she didn’t want to end the engagement. She wanted Nicolas for her mate; she just wanted him to talk to her a little, the way he had in the kitchen last night while she made dinner. Then, he’d spoken to her like a person, asking questions about her life and her hobbies and really listening to her answers. He hadn’t ordered her around or accused her of doing something wrong; he’d just talked to her. When he did that, Saskia found herself even more attracted to him than she had been for the last two decades. Those were the moments when being his mate felt like the most natural thing in the world. Surely they must be able to work out some way to have that kind of relationship for more than thirty minutes at a stretch.

  It must be possible.

  First, Saskia reminded herself, she would have to pick her battles. Which were the ones she really wanted to win?

  It didn’t take long to decide that she didn’t care what he thought or said about her leaving the apartment while he was out yesterday morning. She had left because she was worried about him and angry that she didn’t know where he’d gone or when he’d be back. Leaving him in the same predicament had been a petty form of revenge she had enacted without even realizing her own subconscious intention. It had been wrong, not because she should be required to clear her every move with her mate before she made it but because common courtesy dictated that if she wasn’t going to be where someone expected to find her, she should at least leave a note to explain where she was. She would have done it for a roommate; she could certainly do it for a fiancé. So as far as past mistakes went, she decided the wisest course would be to set them aside and move on.

  She also didn’t think they should waste time arguing about her interruption of the meeting with Mac. She could explain that she had only barged into the office unannounced as a last resort after Nicolas refused to explain about the trouble with the Council that had dragged him out of her bed on their first night together. She still felt he should have opened up to her when she asked, so she didn’t regret her actions. In fact, she would do the same thing again if presented with the same choices. But she would also explain that to her mate—calmly and rationally—and put the responsibility for that back on him. If he didn’t want her to manipulate him into sharing things with her, he could either share of his own accord or give her a good—read: not “because I said so”—reason why he couldn’t share.

  That was where the real trouble lay, and that was the battle she would pick to fight. Saskia wanted to be a good mate to her fiancé. She wanted to do all the things he needed her to do, from running his social calendar to bearing his children. She wanted to be his companion and support him in his decisions. She wanted to love him, damn it, but he had to let her. He had to accept that she wasn’t an accessory but a mate, that in order for
her to share his life, he had to actually share his life with her. She didn’t need to know what he was thinking every minute of every day, but when something happened to threaten him or her or their life together, then she expected to hear about it. From him. That was her one and only requirement, the one battle she could not afford to lose. She just hoped he would be able to respect her stance on that.

  She sat alone in the den for a long time, lost in thought, until the sound of a key in the lock of the front door caught her attention. Her Tiguri hearing picked up the noise easily, and her sense of smell told her immediately that Nicolas was home. She detected none of the sharp, bitter smells of fury that had clung to him when he left, and she felt hope surge in her chest. His footfalls were naturally quiet, but if she strained, she could just barely pick them out. They sounded even but not precisely measured. He sounded as if he was walking, not marching, toward her. She found herself holding her breath.

  Her eyes fixed on the doorway even before he appeared in it. She thought he looked tired, too tired for barely five in the afternoon on a Sunday, but otherwise his expression remained neutral. Not frighteningly blank and hard, the way it had looked the last time she had seen him, just even. And cautious.

  They stared at each other for a minute; then Nicolas sighed and crossed to the sofa, lowering himself wearily to the cushion beside her. He didn’t touch her and he left several inches of space between them, but he chose the seat beside her instead of the chair to the side or the far cushion where Corinne had curled up earlier. Saskia’s heart rose.

  When she spoke, the words ran right over Nic’s, uttered in the same moment.

  “I think we sh-h-hou—”

  “I’ve been hoping we m-m-migh—”

  Each stuttered to a halt. Nic’s mouth quirked. Saskia smiled shyly.

  “You first.”

  Saskia took a deep breath. This was it. She had to take the risk. “I think we should start over.” She had to force the words out, but once they were there, hanging in the air between them, it felt like a vise releasing her chest. “I never should have said what I did this afternoon. I didn’t really mean it. I don’t consider our engagement null and void. I was just upset, but I handled it badly. I apologize. I won’t say you haven’t done anything to make me angry, but I think I’ve done a pretty good job angering you, as well. So I think we should set that aside and let it go. I think we should start over, from here, and agree to treat each other with respect and consideration.”