‘Nothing’s changed,’ I said gently. ‘We’re not good for each other.’
A frown rippled along his forehead. ‘For the record, I disagree,’ he said. ‘I think we are good for each other.’
My smile turned awkward, but I kept my tone light. ‘To be in a relationship with someone, both parties kind of need to agree that they’re good for each other, Nic … it can’t just be you. It’s not enough.’
Nic shrugged. ‘Take as much time as you need, Sophie. I’ll change your mind eventually.’ His determination puffed him up, made him seem taller.
‘You’re always so sure of everything,’ I said, half-chastising him.
‘That’s because I always get what I want,’ he said, confidently.
Not this. Not me.
I decided to flip the subject before the intensity of where this was going steered us off course. ‘Do you have the gun?’ I whispered.
Nic’s laugh shattered the morning silence. He backed up and made a show of looking all around him. ‘You really don’t have to whisper about guns in this house – you get that, right? This doesn’t have to be a secret.’
‘I don’t want anyone to find out that I’m learning,’ I said quickly.
‘Of course you’re learning. How are you going to drop a Marino if you don’t know how to shoot a gun?’ He regarded me quizzically. Then he laughed again. ‘You are so funny, Sophie.’
Nic pulled a gun from his waistband and my heart did a miniature somersault. I really had to get a grip. ‘Can you hold this for a minute?’ He handed it to me and I took it on reflex, surprised at the weight. It was sleek and silver, with a black bar of colour running along the top. I was extra, extra careful not to brush the trigger as I studied it at arm’s length.
Nic zipped up his coat until it reached just below his chin. Damn, he looked so warm. I was trying not to shiver. I was also trying to look totally nonchalant with a gun dangling by my side.
He gestured at the gun. ‘The safety’s on, you can relax.’
‘I’m totally relaxed,’ I said, forcing a laugh that sounded like a dying hyena. ‘I’ve never been more relaxed.’
I passed the gun back to him, the barrel end pointing away from us, laying it flat on the palm of his hand, like it was an ancient artefact.
He laughed again. ‘You are so cute.’
‘Stop making fun of me!’
‘OK, sorry,’ he said, smoothing his features into a terrible attempt at seriousness. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He beckoned me around the front of the barn.
I fell into step with him. ‘Why are you going in there?’
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, pausing on the threshold to answer me. ‘Where did you think we were going to have the target practice?’
‘Um …’
‘Here?’ he said, gesturing at the open grounds – at the beehives dotting the back garden, at the clusters of trees in the distance, at the back of the house and all those breakable windows. ‘Just out in the open like this?’
‘Um, no …’ I said, looking at my shoes. ‘That would be bad?’
Nic snorted. ‘Bad is one word for it.’
The barn was a huge open space with concrete floors and a continuous line of windows so high up I couldn’t see out of them. Morning sunlight streamed through them, brightening the room. At the opposite end, there were twelve targets lined up in front of the wall – twelve thick wooden bases with black human cut-outs jutting out from them, just like in the movies.
‘Oh,’ I said, realizing exactly what this barn was here for. ‘I get it now.’
Nic was leaning against a long wooden table behind us. ‘You didn’t think he harvested crops here, did you?’
‘I never thought about it.’ OK, maybe a small part of me had pictured a barn stacked to the rafters with thousands of honey jars, all black-ribboned and waiting for their recipients. In hindsight, that would have been a bit much, even by Felice’s standards.
Nic pulled the drawer from the table and rummaged inside. He handed me a pair of safety goggles. I examined them dubiously. ‘Are these necessary?’ I rotated them in my hand. ‘I didn’t think you guys wore safety goggles when you were out doing family business.’ ‘Doing family business’. That’s right, Sophie, act more like a child.
‘Nah,’ Nic said, handing me a pair of foam earplugs. ‘But maybe for your first time, we’ll take some precautions. Just until you get used to the noise.’
I half wished there were knee pads and helmets as well. I was not feeling confident about my skills. I slid the goggles on to my face. They were way too big, balancing precariously on the end of my nose. I pushed them back and they slipped down again. ‘Noooo,’ I said, colouring my voice with dismay. ‘My face is rejecting the glasses.’
Nic pressed the goggle arms towards each other, so they gripped behind my ears better. I stared at his chest, his alpine scent covering me as he fixed them. ‘It’s because your nose is so small.’ He tapped my nose with his finger. ‘It’s cute,’ he murmured, looking at me beneath those thick lashes of his.
It was hard, in moments like this, not to remember the first time we ever spoke, how he looked at me like I was the only person in the world. How he kissed me like it was the first and last kiss he’d ever have. The Nic I thought I knew – the one I thought I needed. There were shades of that desire inside me still, but I had buried them for a reason. I had to remember why.
Nic was distractingly close to me now and my head was exploding with shouts of Don’t you dare touch him! Step away from the enigmatic assassin right now!
I stepped backwards. ‘Nic,’ I said, chastising.
He held a hand up in surrender, the corner of his mouth flicking upwards in a lazy half-smile. ‘I was just saying.’
‘We’re here to work, remember?’ I slipped the earplugs inside my ears.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ His smile grew. ‘Are you ready?’ I could only half hear him. I nodded. ‘OK. Watch.’
He took two steps forward, planting his feet. Raising his arm, he aimed the gun at the other end of the room and fired off six shots in quick succession.
Even with the earplugs, the noise was relentless.
A bullet hole appeared in each of the first six target heads – right in the middle. He pulled a magazine from his pocket and reloaded so fast I barely caught the movement. The next six holes appeared in the left side of the chest of each of the remaining dummies. The whole thing took less than ten seconds.
Twelve targets in ten seconds. And he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He was relaxed, his expression placid, his breathing slow and natural.
When he was done, he lowered the gun, reloaded it and swivelled to face me.
I gaped at him. If I didn’t think too much about the end goal of his shooting, and only focused on the skill, I couldn’t help but feel awed. It was all so quick and effortless. ‘Your aim is …’
‘Unparalleled,’ he finished, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his features. ‘I told you. Your turn.’