Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(23)

Steve notices I have grown quiet, and he laughs. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he says. ‘I was not an FBI agent, although it would have been a lot more exciting than being a geologist. At least from what I see on TV and in the movies.’ His laugh dies down, however, and his expression shows concern. ‘Why is he here?’

He has no idea how loaded a question that is. I have to clear the fear out of my throat so I can speak. I pick up the mug off the kitchen counter and take a sip of the remnants of peppermint tea that lay in the bottom.

‘I think he’s just here on vacation,’ I say after a few seconds.

Steve comes closer, puts his hand on my arm. I am reminded of his marriage proposal, and the awkwardness of that moment returns. He realizes and pulls his hand back, stuffing it in his pocket.

I want to make it better. I want to tell him. The urge is so strong I don’t think I can fight it. And I find myself opening my mouth, the words rushing out.

‘No, no, that’s not right, Steve. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I feel so awful about it. But I know him. From before. Before I came here.’ The relief that comes with the words is palpable. It is as though I have had a balloon inside me and it’s popped.

He is staring at me, his expressions changing as fast as my breaths as he struggles to comprehend. ‘What are you saying, Nicole?’

‘He and I, we were lovers. A long time ago.’

‘Is he your ex-husband?’

Jeanine has been talking, as usual. For a second it annoys me to think that they have been talking about me behind my back. I shake my head. ‘I was never married. But—’

‘He broke your heart,’ Steve finishes for me, his face softening as he believes he’s right.

And he is. In a way. He broke my heart into a million little pieces and left it on that houseboat on the Seine in Paris, along with my old life. I nod, although as I do, I know I have made a big mistake. This is the first clue to my former life that I’ve told anyone here. Who is to say I won’t spill everything? This is all I can allow myself to tell.

‘Did he know you were here?’ Steve asks.

‘No. It was a fluke.’ I reach into the cupboard for a glass and the bottle of cognac. As I pour a finger, I raise my eyebrows at Steve. ‘Want one?’

He frowns. ‘It’s only a little after lunch.’

‘It’s been a long day already,’ I say, realizing I have not eaten since my croissant at the coffee shop, but I knock back the drink anyway, the warmth coating my throat and settling in my shoulders and back, relaxing me.

Steve is confused. This is something I would have done before. Before I was Nicole. When I was Tina. He is bringing her back too quickly. I glance at the backpack, where the laptop is hidden. After Veronica left, I spent the hour trying to convince myself that it would be fruitless to take it out, since I don’t have wireless here.

It only took a phone call to the landlord to ask if he could add wireless to the cable contract; I would cover the whole cost, no problem.

I put the glass in the sink and lead Steve into the living room. I settle on the sofa; he perches at the edge of the rocking chair across from me. He waits for me to tell him. I shuffle through all the things I can say and settle on something.

‘We had a fight. He wants me to go back with him. I told him I can’t do that. Not after all this time.’ The lies slip off my tongue easily. Too easily, like all the others.

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, his hands folded between them. He waits a few seconds, then, ‘Are you sure?’

He is asking me if I’m sure it’s been too long, if I really don’t want to go. His expression tells me he is hoping to hear exactly what I say.

‘I can’t go.’ My tone is firm, because this is the one thing I know for sure. I will not leave this island and my life willingly.

‘So you’re not in love with him?’ His tone is so plaintive, I give him a smile.

‘No. Not now. I was, once.’ As I say it, I remember. The way he would look into my eyes, his kisses consuming my whole soul. It is different now; there is too much behind us.

‘Where did you know him? I mean, where did you live?’

‘Miami,’ I say, but I am thinking of Paris. It didn’t start in Paris, it ended there, but when I am lying in bed late at night staring at the ceiling, that’s what is stuck in my head. We’d thought we’d gotten away. Until that night.

‘I’ve always thought you were from the South,’ Steve said, as though I have confirmed all his beliefs about me.

I chuckle. ‘Miami isn’t “the South,”’ I say with air quotes. ‘It’s full of displaced northerners who think it’s paradise.’

‘It isn’t paradise?’ Steve is careful about asking me these questions. I know he wants to know everything, but he must tread lightly. It makes me want to tell him more.

‘I grew up there,’ I say, getting myself in deeper. I should stop. I tell myself that this is safe, that it isn’t the whole story, that if he tries to find out about Nicole Jones in Miami, he won’t have any luck.

‘Why don’t you ever talk about it?’ he asks, getting braver.

I shrug and bite my lower lip. ‘It’s not paradise.’

He gives a short nod, as though he understands. I have given him the impression that something bad happened to me there, and that’s not too far from the truth. However, he keeps going.