Delaney James has it all: a handsome husband who just made partner at his law firm, a gorgeous townhouse in NYC's Upper East Side, and a blossoming career in fashion journalism. Life is perfect - until her husband leaves her for another woman. With...
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I wake up the next morning expecting to find Nico's gangly limbs wrapped around me, a puddle of drool on the pillow where his head rests, but I'm alone. My eyes feel puffy and dry, and my head hurts, which could be the result of drinking on an empty stomach, but I'm sure it's because I sobbed myself to sleep. Before I can drag myself out of bed to get a glass of water and some Advil, Nico bursts through the bedroom door with his hands full.
"Are you alive?"
"No," I mumble. I throw my arm over my face to block out the early morning sun. "Tell my family that I loved them."
"That's too bad, gorgeous, because I have goodies," he announces. He flops onto the bed, causing my already churning stomach to flip, and crosses his long legs at the ankles. "A venti iced caramel macchiato from Starbucks, an almond croissant from Manhattan Mocha, the largest bottle of Smart Water I could find and four extra strength Tylenol."
"Thank you." I sit up as I take the bag and coffee from his hands and kiss him on the cheek. "This is why you're my favorite. You always know exactly what I need."
Hoping a few bites of food will settle my stomach, I pull the croissant from the bag and tear off a piece, but the second the buttery aroma invades my senses, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand and swallow the vomit that's quickly rising in my throat. I drop the croissant in Nico's lap, chuckling to myself when he shrugs his shoulders and eats half the pastry in one bite.
Coffee though, that's my savior – a rescuer I need more often than I'd like to admit – and one of the only things I can keep down when I'm hungover. So, when I wrap my lips around the signature green straw and the creamy, caramel flavor slides down my throat, I can't help but tilt my head back and moan.
"Would you like me to leave so you and your macchiato can be alone?"
"Maybe," I say. "At least my macchiato won't sleep with its assistant."
Nico turns to me, smiling sympathetically, and bumps my shoulder with his. "How're you feeling? And I don't mean from all the bourbon and MSG."
"In a word – awful." I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh. "Why can't you be madly in love with me? It would make my life so much easier."
"I am madly in love with you," he says. He presses his lips against my forehead. "Just not in the way you want me to be."
Unfortunately, he's right. Nico loves me fiercely, but I lack a certain appendage he prefers, so no matter how deeply we love each other, a romantic relationship will never be an option.
Nico came out to his parents when he was in high school, although if you ask him, he was never really in. He never felt the need to sit them down and tell them he's gay. He figured they already knew, but when his mother asked him if he'd officially made Sloan his girlfriend yet, he realized they needed clarification. They were upset at first, and his mother cried, but in the end, they told him they'll always accept him for who he is and love him no matter what. To this day, he still hates the fact that his sexual orientation causes constant concern from his family, but he knows they're just worried about him and the hurt he might endure from the world's close-minded opinions.
