Chapter 11 Alina
ALINA
Ilean closer to the mirror, carefully applying the final swipe of my lipstick. A sharp knock at the door startles me, making me smudge it slightly.
"Shit," I mutter, reaching for a tissue. "Coming!" I call out, quickly blotting the excess color.
I give myself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the front of the form-fitting dress as I turn from side to side. I smile and have to admit, I look pretty damn good.
Turns out, this is the perfect outfit for a political "couple's" first public appearance.
Another knock, more insistent this time.
"I said I'm coming!" I snap, grabbing my clutch and walking to the door. I yank it open, ready to give the driver a piece of my mind for being so impatient.
But it's not the driver.
Marco stands there, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that makes his broad shoulders look even more impressive. His dark eyes rake over me, and I feel heat radiating up my neck.
"You're early," I manage to say, my voice sounding breathy even to my own ears.
He smiles, clearly enjoying my flustered state. "Well, I wanted to give you these," he says, then holds up a stunning bouquet of red and white roses. "A little housewarming gift."
I take the flowers, inhaling their sweet scent. "Wow," I breathe, "No one's ever bought me flowers before."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. I'm worried I sound too pathetic, too... I don't know—but not like how I want to be viewed. But when I look up at Marco, there's no mockery in his eyes. Instead, there's only curiosity.
"Well, we'll change that, Firefly," he says, his voice low and deep.
I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how close we're standing. "Um, come in," I say, stepping back. "I just need to put these in water."
Marco follows me into the apartment, his presence filling the space in a way that makes it feel smaller, more intimate. I hurry around the kitchen, looking for a vase, anything to put the flowers in, but most of my stuff is still in boxes.
"It's all starting to come together," he comments, glancing around at the half-unpacked boxes. "Starting to feel like home?"
I laugh, maybe a bit too sharply. "Home? I'm not sure I even know what that means anymore."
Marco raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
I sigh, arranging the flowers in a large glass decanter I'd forgotten I owned. "It's nothing. Just, the line of work I'm in—moving around is a thing I do—then there's this whole situation. It's a lot to process."
He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne. "Do you still have any worries?"
"No," I say quickly. "I mean, maybe? I don't know. Governor Harrison's scandal, our fake engagement, I constantly feel that I'm one wrong move away from losing everything," I say, looking at the flowers.
"Alina," Marco says, making me turn to face him.
"You're not going to lose anything. I promised you protection, and I meant it.
You're untouchable now. Please don't worry about any of that shit.
The only thing that should be on your mind moving forward is me," he says with a smile, "and my campaign. "
I force a smile. There's something else that I'm not voicing, something that's buried deep in my subconscious, but it's making itself known: What if I'm not worth it?
What if I can't do it? What if we don't win? He's done God knows what to clear my name and save me from a career-ending event, but what if all this trouble he's gone through for me is for nothing?
"Oh, I've got something else for you," Marco says, breaking me from my thoughts. I see him pull a box out of his pocket, and my heart drops.
"Can't claim you're my fiancée without a ring, now can I? That's the first thing the public will look for."
Marco opens the box, and it's a large round brilliant-cut diamond ring. It's fucking huge. Like 5, maybe 6 carats. I don't know, but I'm absolutely positive it's more than any salary I've ever been paid.
"Jesus Christ," I say, the words coming out before I can even process them leaving my lips.
"Do you like it?" Marco asks.
I'm so frazzled I can't speak. "No, I, um, yes, shit. It's yes," I say finally, grabbing hold of my words, "yes, it's very nice. Perfect, actually."
Marco smiles. "May I?" he asks, shifting the box forward.
"Oh, yes, sure," I say and raise my left hand.
He pulls out the ring and grabs my hand. His grip is soft, gentle, and I can't help but look into his brown eyes. They seem more beautiful than before, and I blink to pull myself away and look back down at the ring.
He slowly slides the ring onto my finger and rubs my hand as he adjusts it. "Fits perfectly," he says.
We stand there for a moment, him holding my hand. I can feel him looking at me, but I can't bring myself to look up. Instead, I just stare down at his hand holding mine.
He slowly lets go of my hand. "We should go," he says. "We'll be late."
"Of course," I say.
As we step inside the elevator, he looks down at me.
"By the way, you look beautiful in that red dress."
I smile and quickly realize it's not simply from the compliment. It's from doing something for someone and having them notice.
Dammit, I think as something pops into my head.
As we make our way down to the first floor, I get this overwhelming feeling that I'm stepping into something far more complicated than I ever imagined.