Vaguely, I noted him stopping us so we were just standing there, touching but unmoving.
“Anya?” I pressed carefully.
“You don’t intend to do it,” he stated.
I stared at him, confused.
“Sorry?” I asked.
His fingers dug into my hips and he declared, “You want me to be happy.”
I felt my head twitch, now more confused.
“I…I don’t get it.” I shook my head. “I mean, yes. Of course. I want you to be happy. Though, I don’t get—”
“But you don’t intend to do it,” he repeated.
At what I thought he was saying, my heart twisted and I had to curl my fingers into his shirt at his chest to help support me.
“Sorry?” I breathed.
“You don’t intend to do it.”
I let him go in order to shift away.
Nick’s fingers went from my hips and his arms rounded me.
Tight.
Slamming me into his body.
“Sebring—”
He bent his face close to mine and barked, “Nick,” so fiercely I winced.
I tensed as I asked, “What’s happening?”
“Got your painting, Olivia. Got your note,” he explained but it didn’t explain anything. “You want me to be happy. But you don’t intend to do it.”
I didn’t intend to do it.
He was right; I didn’t intend to do it.
What he would never know was that I’d die and kill to have the privilege of making him happy.
It just wasn’t an ability life afforded me.
“We both know I can’t be that for you,” I reminded him.
“Yeah,” he bit out like he had to expel the word because it tasted beyond foul. “What you know that I don’t is that you can’t be that for anybody.”
I went completely still.
“Can you?” he clipped but didn’t wait for my answer. “You can’t be that for anybody.”
“Sebring—”
His arms gave me a squeeze. “Nick.”