The Forbidden Throb Chapter 84

Daniel's POV:

The morning air carried that particular crispness that came with late November in Boston.

I pulled up to the visitor's parking near the administration building.

A knock on the passenger window jolted me from my thoughts.

Nicholas emerged, AirPods already in, phone clutched in one hand.

When I pressed the button, he slid into the passenger seat without meeting my eyes, immediately hunching over his phone screen. The blue-white glow reflected off his face as his thumbs moved frantically across some mobile game.

I pulled away from the curb, the engine purring with mechanical precision. The silence stretched between us.

Nicholas's reflection in the windshield showed him stealing glances at me every few seconds, his jaw working like he was chewing through possible conversation starters and rejecting each one.

*Good. He should be nervous.*

"So," Nicholas finally ventured, his voice carefully casual as he paused his game. "Are we... talking now? Because the whole silent treatment thing is getting old."

I signaled for a turn, executing it with the same precision I brought to every incision. "We're talking now."

"Great." He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly. "Because I wanted to say—"

"Do you know what today is?"

The question landed like a scalpel cut—quick, clean, unexpected. Nicholas blinked, his fingers freezing over his phone screen.

"Friday?"

"Try again."

I watched his reflection frown, then glance at the date on his phone. His eyes widened slightly—there it was, the moment of recognition followed immediately by the scramble to cover.

"Oh. Right. Mom's birthday." He cleared his throat. "I was going to—"

"I already ordered something. Tiffany. Pearl necklace. They have delivered it to the London apartment with your name on the card."

Silence. Then, quieter: "Thanks."

"You're welcome." I took another turn, this one toward Back Bay. "You might want to check the family group chat. Sophia kept posting. Time difference—they already start celebrating in London."

He pulled up the chat immediately, scrolling through what I already knew would be dozens of photos from Mother's birthday celebration.

The Belgravia townhouse drawing room. Champagne. Afternoon tea from Fortnum & Mason. The usual performance of wealth and affection.

Nicholas scrolled in silence for a moment, then suddenly froze.

His thumb hovered over the screen, his face going carefully blank in that way that meant he'd seen something he didn't know how to process.

"Have you..." He cleared his throat, not looking up. "Have you checked the group chat?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice neutral.

I knew exactly what he was seeing. Mother in the pearl necklace, radiant in the Chanel dress Sophia had selected. The caption gushing about her *thoughtful Nicholas* and her *darling Sophia*, complete with heart emojis and effusive thanks.

But my gift—the painting from that auction house. She said that she no longer appreciates that particular artist's work. And that she's having it returned.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut.

"Daniel." Nicholas finally looked up, something almost like guilt flickering across his face. "Look, I know Mom can be... She's closer to Sophia. And she's always been lenient with me. But with you, it's like...so distant."

"It's probably because you grew up with Grandfather," Nicholas continued, warming to his theory now. "You were always at his house, shadowing him at the hospital. And even now. You and Mom—you never really..."

He trailed off. "And then there's the whole marriage thing. She's been trying to set you up for years and you keep refusing, so maybe she's—"

"Nicholas." My voice cut through his rambling like a scalpel. "Stop."

He blinked. "I'm just saying, if you were more—"

"This isn't the reason." I kept my eyes on the road, my voice level. "There are other factors at play. And you don't need to care about this. "

Nicholas closed his mouth. His fingers drummed against his phone case, clearly wanting to probe further but recognizing the wall he'd just hit.

"Your credit cards," I said, shifting the conversation. "You wanted to discuss them?"

"Yeah," Nicholas said carefully. "About that. I thought maybe we could... talk about reinstating them? I've been good. No more—" He gestured vaguely. "You know. Excessive spending."

"That's not why they were frozen again."

Nicholas's head snapped up, confusion flickering across his face.

I pulled into a parking spot in front of a coffee shop. "Think harder."

"I don't—" He stopped, frustration creeping into his voice. "Daniel, just tell me what you want me to say."

"I want you to *think*." I turned off the engine, the sudden silence emphasizing my words. "Not guess. Not perform. Actually examine your actions and identify what warranted consequences."

The coffee shop's interior was warm and dimly lit, the scent of espresso and cinnamon hanging heavy in the air.

I ordered two cups of black coffee and led the way to the booth, sliding in with my back to the wall.

Nicholas slumped into the seat across from me.

I could see his mind working, cycling through possibilities.

"Let me give you a hint," I said quietly. "It has nothing to do with money."

Nicholas stared at me, genuinely confused. Then something flickered across his face—recognition, maybe.

"Does this..." He swallowed. "Does this have to do with Emma?"

"Keep going."

His fingers drummed against the table, that nervous tic he'd had since childhood. "I mean, I know you said to leave her alone, but I just—I wanted to talk to her. Clear the air. Is that what this is about?"

"Then what did you do, Nicholas?" My voice remained level, clinical. "Specifically."