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NOW
DAPHNE
I exit the elevator onto the eleventh floor before making my way toward the service stairwell at the end of the hall. I’m careful to not draw attention to myself, though I’m not sure how inconspicuous one can be wearing a wedding dress and carrying a porcelain unicorn statue. I’m not sure why he wants it, but it was the one thing Nicky asked I bring today when he told me to meet him on the roof.
It wasn’t easy to get away. My mother was furious when I exited the bridal suite, having previously forbidden me to engage in any form of a First Look with my future husband. In all fairness, she didn’t say anything about current husbands.
Clearing the last few stairs, I reach the top of the landing, shoving my weight against the heavy exterior door giving access to the hotel roof. I step out into the sunshine, glancing around the ground for something to prop the door open so I won’t get locked out.
“You can let it close.” Nicky’s voice draws my attention to the left where he stands. “It won’t lock.”
Thank goodness it won’t, because it slipped free of my hands the moment I caught sight of him. Nicky stands at the far end of the roof, his typically tousled hair slicked back, giving me an unobstructed view of those beautiful baby blues. They seem to shine brighter than ever as they’re complemented by the rich navy color of his tuxedo jacket which—as I draw closer, I can see—has a faint silver paisley pattern printed throughout fabric.
I smile at the sight of his unique style, loving the way he offers glimpses of his true self. Glancing down at his black slacks as I come to stand before him, I gesture toward his dress shoes with my chin.
“No Doc Martins today?” I ask with a smile before lifting my gaze to his.
Nicky doesn’t respond. He simply stares at me, his face bearing a look of complete and utter awe as his mouth hangs agape. His eyes travel down the length of my body, taking in the sight of the delicate ivory lace that clings to my form, before returning to settle on my face.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers stroking the length of my jaw. “How am I supposed to watch you walk down an aisle to someone who isn’t me?”
I swallow against the lump in my throat, determined not to cry. “It will all be over soon. You and Rico figured out the room location. Kellerman’s ready to go. All we need is Elliot and this Yuri asshole to be a couple of Chatty Cathys and boom—you’re in the clear.”
Nicky continues to stroke my face, his chin dipping into a slow nod. “You still gonna feel the same about me when I’m no longer king, demon?”
Shifting the unicorn into one hand, I use the other to straighten the length of his lapels. “Your crown has never defined you, Nicky. Neither should my opinion of you.”
“Your opinion is the only one that matters.” He lowers his hands to the flare of my hips, his gaze never breaking my own. “Ask me again how much you mean to me.”
My lungs draw in a deep breath as the question that singlehandedly shattered my heart threatens to do so again. My lips part, my body beginning to tremble as I force the question from my mouth.
“Scale of one to ten, Nicky… how much do I mean to you?”
The air stills around us, my breathing suspended as Nicky’s hands slip back into my hair, tilting my head up to his. “I need to tell you a story, baby.”
***
THEN
NICKY – Age 16
“Jones!” I call for her as her phone continues to vibrate with text notifications on the kitchen island in front of me. “Your phone’s going berserk!”
I’m sifting through my bowl of Lucky Charms in search for the last of the marshmallows when she enters, hopping up onto the stool beside me. Reaching over for her cell, she swipes into her messages where she begins scrolling through the plethora of texts Daph’s managed to send in the fifteen minutes J’s been upstairs.
Girls, man. How could they possibly have that much to talk about all the time?
I continue to eat my breakfast, periodically glancing over to skim my sister’s conversation because, let’s face it, to say I’m an overprotective brother would be an understatement.
It’s mostly random bullshit. Typical eighth grade gossip. Nothing really stands out, until my eyes snag on one text in particular that has my brow furrowing in confusion.
“Why does Daph less than three you?”
My sister glances over at me like I’m batshit crazy. “What?”
I motion at the screen with my spoon, drawing her attention to the specific text.
DAPH: I <3 U.
