“They held her without food or water, Nicholas!”
“Yeah—for about three hours! But I know how much she missed her champagne.”
James threw up his hands in exasperation.
“That’s not the fucking point!”
“That’s not the fucking point!” Nick echoed, mimicking his inflection with a sly smile.
Having been born in London, James’ accent was far heavier than Nick’s. It came through especially strong when he was drunk, or tired, or listing things off like he was doing now.
I shook my head with a grin, taking another sip of hot chocolate.
“Honestly, it’s like listening to drunken kids.”
“I’m not having this argument again,” James declared, pouring a generous splash of schnapps into his drink, before reluctantly passing it to Nick.
“Well I think that’s for the best.” Nick bypassed the chocolate entirely and drank directly from the flask, refusing to accept even an ounce of blame. “And didn’t she steal another million from you. I’m glad you dumped her! Let’s forget about that. Bury the bygones, and all that...”
The conversation slowly drifted back to normal, as I much more quickly drifted off to sleep. How the two men were still awake and drinking, I had no idea. Perhaps it was the fact that I didn’t have the constitution of an Irish sailor, but the champagne alone had lulled me into a near comatose state. The hypnotic dancing flames didn’t help either.
In the end, I finally gave up the ghost, closed my eyes, and leaned back against Nick’s chest. His arms wrapped instantly around me, as his lips brushed against the top of my hair.
The conversation continued on for a while—both men speaking in soft, murmuring voices as I drifted happily off to sleep.
At least...I tried to.
My breathing evened out, and I slumped lifeless in Nick’s arms. I just couldn’t take that final step—and drift fully away out of consciousness.
I really did try. And they certainly thought I must have, otherwise there’s no way they would have ever kept talking the way they did...
“So...” James began softly. “Abigail Wilder, huh?”
I felt Nick stiffen slightly behind me, unsure as to what he meant.
“...and?”
James chuckled.
“And—nothing. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“Surprised?” Nick’s arms squeezed subconsciously t
ighter around my waist. “Why?”
James chuckled again.
“Because it’s Abigail Wilder.”
“Why the hell is it so surprising that I would be with Abigail Wilder—”
“Because you don’t date girls like Abigail Wilder.” There was a slight pause, then James clarified. “I mean...you don’t date girls like Abigail Wilder. You should. She’s a thousand times better than anyone you’ve been with before. She’s gorgeous, smart as a whip, and I love her to pieces—you know that. It’s just...she’s not the kind of girl you’ve ever dated before.”
The pause was much longer. So long, that I was beginning to tense up myself. Then, Nick finally answered. In a voice so soft—I could scarcely hear it myself.
“I know.”
I waited. James waited. Then we waited some more.