The Sympathy Screw | 18+

Chapter 20 - Don't Get Dressed Yet

Author's Notes:

This chapter's theme song is:

Body by Syd

~-~

"Violet, why are you wearing a wedding ring?"

Nick temporarily broke me out of whatever lust-fueled and half-drunken haze was taking over with those few words.

Shit, I'm married. He may be gone, but I'm still married. I felt tears threatening to prick my eyes. This felt almost like cheating. And why am I trying to move on so soon when he's gone?

A little voice in the back of my head whispered, "But you have his permission." I took a deep breath and soldiered on.

"Nick, it's not what you think," I told him, still standing there in nothing but my undergarments, stockings, and heels, holding that rose.

"Really? Because I think that you must have married that guy and now you're looking to get a one-night-stand side-fuck with the one who got away!" I could see the anger in his eyes at his proclamation.

"It's not like that," I sputtered.

Nick was fuming. "Then tell me what it is like, Violet. And you'd better tell me fucking quick. There are a lot of lines I might cross, but I won't fuck a married woman."

"Can we sit down for a minute?" I asked, "I can explain." I wasn't drunk yet, but I was too impaired to handle this conversation standing.

Nick looked like he was thinking for a couple of seconds and he shifted his eyes around the doorway beside me. "Fine," he growled, and directed me toward his couch. I sat at one end, still not wearing my dress, and he sat at the far opposite end.

I tried to calm him with a soothing voice and I reached my hand across to place it on his knee. "There is a small nugget of truth in that statement, Nick, but that's where it ends."

"Oh? You're not married?" Nick raised his brows, pushing my hand off of his knee.

I exhaled and looked down at the floor, letting my fingers lace together and my thumbs circle each other. "I married Andrew two years ago. But Andrew died recently."

"When recently?" Nick narrowed his eyes at me.

I shifted in my seat. My half-drunk ass needed to explain this better than I was capable of. "Around two weeks ago."

"Great," Nick huffed, "I picked the fucking black widow to put an end to my dry spell. And the body's not even fucking cold yet. I suppose he was some old wealthy bastard? Ugly as fuck and a limp dick, too? And he died under mysterious causes? Left you a huge inheritance? Maybe I'm next? You figured out I owned Club Loca? Eager to be a nightclub owner?"

I couldn't help laughing at his assumptions, the alcohol making me less in control of myself. As if I ever would have intentionally let Andrew die, or sought out a relationship just for money. "Actually, no," I told him, "Andrew had a decent amount set aside, but he was thirty-three, and very attractive. He fucked like a stallion, too. He died from cancer."

Nick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Does that really make this okay, Violet? I can't even, with you right now. I just can't even. Did you really think I -"

"Andrew gave me his permission to be with you after he died," I blurted out, interrupting his rant.

Nick looked at me with sharp eyes as he said, "Violet, I came up here prepared to fool around and maybe fuck a beautiful, single woman - one who I could maybe start a relationship with if the chemistry was right - not to comfort a crying widow about her dead husband."