Chapter 20
F or a few days, the new life they’d established continued unabated, and neither mentioned the strange interlude in Lainey’s bedroom. The Russians were still deep in party planning. Dexter didn’t tell Lainey how many grandiose plans he had to tamp down on a daily basis, more because he was afraid she’d be disappointed when there was no live chainsaw ice sculpture carving or caviar and blini buffet. Sometimes he wondered if The Russians were as insane as they made themselves out to be or if they enjoyed testing him. Then he remembered that when he first joined the company he cleaned out a drawer and found a list titled, “Hitmen Who Will Work For Rubles” and thought it was always better to err on the side of safety.
As elaborate as their plans sometimes were, they proved a safe distraction from the looming threat of The Hungarians. In their latest endeavor to gain The Popovs’ attention, they had taken out an aggressive billboard that featured four babies in strollers, their faces swapped out for those of the four Popov brothers. It was a safe bet no one outside the industry noticed or cared about the rivalry, but to The Russians it was everything. Dexter wasn’t certain how much longer he could hold back the surging tide of their hostility. And, if he were being honest, The Hungarians annoyed him, too. Why did they have to pop onto the scene now, when they had just added The Bristol account and needed every appearance of civility and class?
Those had become the big buzzwords around the office, along with high road and men. Dexter’s tactic was to try and convince the brothers that real men did the right thing and set their sights higher than petty rivalries. For the moment it was working, but sometimes he felt like he was the second to last drip of water before the tide breached the floodgate. Needless to say there was a lot of tension in the air, which the upcoming party helped to diffuse, at least at work. At home it was another matter.
The problem was that neither Lainey nor Dexter had found the courage to address what would happen after the party. In the beginning it had seemed far off. They’d have a few months, multiple weeks to play at being married, and then it would be over. What neither counted on was how very much they would enjoy their imaginary relationship, nor how hard it would be to see it end. And so, as with everything, they kept on pretending. The party would be fine. They’d deal with everything later. Certainly they’d find a resolution that suited them both, one that didn’t require either of them to search their hearts or make a declaration.
Magic. They were both relying on magic.
At the current moment, Lainey was also relying on work magic, but her rainbow-laced world was starting to fray and crumble. Even after the timely cash infusion from Dexter, things were starting to unravel. There was only so much shifting she could do, only so much sleight of hand before things started to reveal themselves. She was working as hard as she could, taking as many jobs as she could handle, pushing herself beyond every limit. And it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t make enough to cover rent, utilities, insurance, her car, gas, and food.
Fail, fail, fail, fail, fail. The refrain ran through her mind at all times of the day and night. It woke her from a deep sleep, pounding relentlessly like a drum. The only time it was ever on mute was when she was with Dexter. Then it played softly in the background, along with, What will he think of you when he finds out?
That, at least, she could put to rest. Dexter didn’t care about her job. In fact he would probably feel better when she gave up her dream and returned to being a cog, like him. It was much more secure that way, and Dexter liked security.
And yet somehow in a way she didn’t understand, even that thought hurt her, the one that said Dexter would like her better if she had a real job. It wouldn’t be so bad to work for Mr. Weaver, but was it a step backwards instead of forward? Was it an admission of defeat and failure? If not, why did it feel that way? She swore she would never end up like her dad, would never pursue a fanciful pipe dream at the cost of everything real. But how was what she was doing now any different? It had felt different, when she quit her job. She’d had a plan; she’d had orders lined up. But the reality didn’t pan out the way she’d thought. She vastly underestimated how much work it would take to start a business and stay financially afloat. Really, she vastly overestimated herself. Once again and in a different way, she wasn’t enough.
Fail, fail, fail, fail. The words filtered through her mind. She pushed them away, trying to put on a happy face. A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost time for Dexter to come home.
L ainey was sad, or maybe worried. Dexter could tell by the expression on her face. It was the same one she’d been wearing since she mentioned working for Mr. Weaver, and though he should probably be relieved she had an out from her current situation, along with a plan for her future, in reality he felt sad. Dexter wasn’t the type of person who had big dreams. He was happy with the status quo, happy to work a safe job and lead a safe life. But Lainey was the kind of woman who needed her dreams, and for that reason all of them should come true.
“Hey,” he said, resting his shoulder in the doorway of her kitchen.
She glanced up at him with a smile that became more genuine, so deep it made her dimple pop. “Robert.”
“It’s Dexter,” he said.
“Where?”
“You’re definitively insane.”
She laughed and used her elbow to push the hair out of her face. As usual, she was working. She worked constantly, was trying so hard to make it. It broke something in Dexter that she wasn’t succeeding.
“Chocolate fingers,” he noted.
“Completely impaired,” she agreed, sounding tired. Guessing by the amount of chocolate layers on her fingers, she’d been working a while, had been on her feet in the same position for hours, maybe since he went to work that morning. She had to be exhausted, and yet she kept going. It wasn’t fair to try so hard and still not win. Something in his chest prodded painfully, urging his feet forward.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“I’m almost done actually, but thanks,” she said, eyes and attention dropping to her work.
Dexter had no idea why his feet kept walking toward her, only that they seemed unable to stop. And when he was close enough he stood behind her and rested his hands on her hips, using his thumbs to massage her lower back. She paused and melted against him a little.
“How did you know that’s where it hurts?” she asked.
“Lucky guess,” he said, leaning forward to press his lips to that spot where spine met skull, conveniently exposed by her wayward messy bun. He had no idea he was going to kiss her until he did it, but when she gasped and tilted her head, allowing him better access, he knew it was the right thing, the natural thing. Of course he should kiss his wife. Why wouldn’t he?
“Oh, that’s…okay, yes then ‘cause…words hard now…” Lainey murmured.
“How close to done is ‘close’?” Dexter asked, lips migrating to the side of her neck.
“Done…’cause…”
“Words?” he guessed, switching to the other side.
“Yep.”
“Good. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He ushered her to the sink and turned it on, sticking his finger under the tap to check the temperature. When it was properly warm, he tugged her hands under the spray and began washing them for her, removing the layers of chocolate.
“This is nice,” Lainey said, standing still while he soaped and rinsed her. “The caring.”
“You work so hard, Lainey. So hard.”
“’S okay,” she said, suddenly choked.
“Let’s take the night off and do something special,” he suggested.
“Like what?” she asked.
“We’ll go out to eat,” he began.
“With you so far,” she agreed.
“And then…”
“And then?”
Their eyes met and lingered, hands still joined and soapy. “And then let’s see where it goes,” he said.
“Are you hitting on me?” she asked.
“Well, you are my wife. Probably about time I got around to it,” he said.
“Maybe a little past time,” she said.
“Really,” he drawled, pressing a kiss to her palm.
“So…” she began with no idea how to finish, but at that moment someone rang the doorbell.
Their eyes swiveled in that direction. “Are we expecting someone?” he asked.
“Everyone we know is here,” she said. “Maybe a package?”
“We’d better beat the box people,” he said. “I’ll get it. You keep working on this. There’s chocolate in unexpected places.”
“You have no idea,” she said, smiling when he laughed as he walked away.
Dexter opened the door, expecting to sign for a package, and encountered two men instead. One looked vaguely familiar, though Dexter was certain he’d never met him before. Right away the sight of them set off prickles of alarm. Were they grifters? Lainey was that type, easy prey for people with bad intent. She was much too softhearted and prone to fall for a sob story. His hand gripped the doorpost tighter.
“Is Lainey here?” the man closest to him asked. Again, Dexter didn’t care for his tone, a combination of proprietary and condescending.
“Who’s asking?” Dexter replied.
The guy laughed, an unpleasant bark that said he was less than amused by Dexter’s question, despite the fact that he was the one on the wrong side of the door. “Who’s asking,” he repeated, facing his companion. They were both beefy and built and Dexter began to wonder if they had something more nefarious than grifting in mind.
“And who are you?” the first man asked, tone now decidedly belligerent.
“I’m her husband,” Dexter replied and he could practically see the mental bomb land and detonate in front of them as their eyes widened with disbelief.
“What? No,” the first man said while the second man said, “What?” twice.
“Would you like me to give her a message?” Dexter offered, now fully alarmed. Who were these people?
“Yes,” the first man said. “Tell her that her brother would like a word.”