The Saint. Tiffany Reisz

his eyes the way they were right now—warm and hungry. He had none of his father’s cynicism and all of his secrets. But Nico’s secrets never scared her like Kingsley’s did. She knew one secret he kept from her for her own sake.

      “I know you’re in love with me,” she said, caressing the arch of his cheekbone with her fingertips.

      “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “My feelings are my own. They shouldn’t concern you.”

      “God, you’re so French.”

      Nico laughed and buried his head against her chest.

      “I can’t help it,” he said. “I get it from my father.”

      “Which father?” she asked.

      “The one who raised me. My real father. Not Kingsley.”

      “Kingsley would have raised you and loved you if he’d known about you.”

      “Let me love you since I can’t love him,” Nico said.

      She ran her fingers through the dark waves of his hair. In her younger days she would never have appreciated a man like Nico—quiet, industrious, low-key. He had presence and intelligence but he made no spectacle of himself. He didn’t need to own every room he walked into. He was so self-possessed he felt no need to possess anyone or anything else.

      “Nico, look at me.” He raised his head and gazed into her eyes, the smile long gone from his face. “I’ve known your father twenty years. Twenty. Think about that.”

      “If I can accept that, why can’t you?”

      “It’s not that I’ve known him for a long time. It’s how I know him, what we are to each other, what we’ve been through together.”

      “Then tell me. Please.”

      “Are you sure you want to hear this story?” Nora asked as she settled into the pillows. Nico lay next to her, his arm draped over her stomach.