CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raina hated herself for what she was feeling.
Sitting across from the man who was potentially writing a hit piece about her, but wanting to wrap her arms around him.
She flexed and pointed her bare feet, being careful not to touch the damp stone floor.
Having Tom Branimir open up about such a wound, it was like catnip to Raina.
‘Is that why you went so hard on that piece?’ she asked carefully. ‘The woman telling people they could cure cancer with oils and vibes?’
He squeezed his ice cube and shrugged. ‘Possibly.’
‘It all makes sense now,’ she said gently. ‘Your articles are amazing. But you take it all so personally. As if you’re the one they were trying to scam. But I get it now. You’ve seen the other side.’
He avoided her gaze and she wanted to brush his dark curls out of his eyes.
‘Something like that.’
Raina could have cried. But she changed the subject instead, sensing his need for a distraction.
‘I was Pepper’s cleaner.’
He glanced up in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Broke up a fight she and her boyfriend were having one time. With a toilet brush. And we’ve been best friends ever since.’
Tom threw his head back and laughed. ‘That’s great copy.’
‘Feel free to use that story.’
The ghost of the story he was writing sobered the mood.
Raina allowed the last of her ice cube to melt and then pressed her palms together.
She wanted to believe that Tom ‘Blue Tick’ Branimir was here because he found her interesting.
Charming. Maybe even enchanting. But the brutal realist that lived in the basement of her otherwise romantic heart told her that this just wasn’t true.
‘We should leave each other alone, Tom,’ she said quietly.
He pulled his makeshift seat a little closer. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you do write about me, I don’t want to end up looking a fool.’
‘I would never make a fool of you, Raina. It’s not possible. But I’m not down here for work.’
His eyes felt so intense and her skin had heated, despite the ice. ‘So you want to be friends?’
He hesitated. ‘Friends?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘What else?’
He gave her a look of displeasure but didn’t fight her on it. ‘Friends.’
‘Yes.’
An awkward silence.
‘As a friend,’ he said sardonically, ‘can I ask why you seem so blue?’
She was surprised. Pepper hadn’t noticed. No one else had. ‘Do I?’
‘Yes, Raina.’
She flipped through her mental scripts, wondering which blasé answer to pick. But it was hard to lie to him. He was so big and so close, and his gaze was all-encompassing.
‘I have this heaviness in me,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. ‘It gets worse when good things happen.’
‘Good things like award nominations?’
‘Yes. I feel . . . the weight of it all.’
‘Of being different?’
She noticed his use of ‘being’, rather than ‘feeling’. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well,’ he said, moving closer once more. ‘As a friend, but also as someone who’s researched you pretty heavily, I don’t know how you do it all without going mad.’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘The job. The questions. The role model shit.’
‘I’m not a role model.’
‘Yes, you are. They’ve stuck a spotlight on you and made you the flavour of the month. That comes with all kinds of shit you didn’t sign up for. It only happens to women, and it always leaves them burned out. I don’t know how you’re doing it.’
Raina felt as if he’d reached over and ripped off her mask. ‘I—’
‘I kick myself every fucking day for the stupid, ignorant shit I said to you during our first meeting. And I’m a smart guy who should have known better.
So, you must hear that crap all day, every day.
Plus, your fans are loud. Which is great.
But loud fans mean louder haters. And I’ve seen some of them.
Forget the anonymous trolls, everyone has those (though yours are on another level).
That politician who said you were trying to glamourize disability?
The alt-right YouTuber who tried to get you—’
‘Tom.’ She held up a hand. He was reading her soul and it was unbearable. ‘I get it.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said carefully. ‘You don’t get how fucking great you are, but that’s fine. I can tell you. As your friend. You’re like fucking Clark Kent.’
Raina squinted at him and then stifled a laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m what? Like, the comic book?’
He blushed, which made her giggle. ‘So, I read comics as a kid.’
‘You like Superman?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Cynical, jaded Tom Branimir likes Superman? I thought you’d be a Bruce Wayne guy for certain!’
‘Absolutely not,’ Tom barked, making her laugh all the more.
‘He does jack shit for Gotham; he’s an establishment hack.
Superman actually cares about doing good, not because of the optics, but because it’s the right thing to do.
He doesn’t look at the outcome; he does good because he has to. He chooses to!’
Raina smiled gently. ‘Okay. So you loved Superman. And now you’re Lois Lane?’
Tom’s eyes widened at the observation, and suddenly they were both laughing. Hysterically.
‘Damn,’ he finally said. ‘You’re right.’
‘I know I am.’
He grew serious again. ‘But you need to stop being Clark Kent and start being who you’re meant to be. Which is fucking Superman.’
‘Tom Branimir,’ Raina said gravely. ‘If you’re getting at the “autism is a superpower” shit, don’t. I tried telling myself that as a kid, but life knocks that right out of you.’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean people fucking need you.
I’ve read all the comments from your followers.
I’ve seen the impact. You’re doing something important.
That’s why you make the right people mad.
So, stop acting like a small-town Clark Kent.
Pretending you’re just doing a civic duty, keeping your head down and hunching over.
Stand tall. Like the goddamn hero they know you are. ’
Raina stared at him for a moment. She felt like she’d been dropped. Like the air had been punched out of her lungs. She knew she had to say something, or she would end up falling into him.
‘I’m having a birthday party this weekend.’
He looked taken aback. ‘It’s your birthday?’
‘On Sunday, but the party is on the Saturday night.’ She touched his calf with her foot. ‘You can come, if you want.’
His eyes followed her touch. And then, to her astonishment, he nodded. ‘I’d like that.’
‘It’s going to be a small affair compared to Pepper’s birthday. We’re prepping for that already.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Hers is going to be Gatsby themed.’
Tom groaned. ‘Of course.’
‘I’d invite you, but she might make you put on a tux and serve the drinks.’
‘Yes, she really fucking hates me.’
‘Well . . .’ Raina swung her feet gently. ‘I guess she’s just worried for me. And whatever you end up writing.’
She could feel him watching her, his gaze almost a physical touch against her skin. ‘I’m not going to ruin you, Raina.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she said weakly. ‘Men always say that.’
A pause fell between them and Raina felt exposed, like prey that had wandered too far from the thicket. It was now almost impossible for her to keep that mask on when she was around Tom Branimir. The ice queen melted. The indifferent wallflower wanted to dance.
The real Raina wanted to muscle her way forward and bask in the open for once. She wanted to be fully wrapped around this man. She wanted his hands all over her and her perfume on his sheets.
‘Major congratulations on the award nominations,’ he said, his voice deep and full of genuine warmth. ‘No one deserves it more than you.’
‘It’s not too frivolous?’
He smiled, chastised by the reminder of his earlier words. ‘No. Not at all.’
They gazed at one another for a moment before he spoke again, this time with a drop of remorse.
‘I’m sorry for how I’ve been. It’s not me. That night at the V I just lost all of my . . . I don’t know. My colour, I guess. Everything got kind of sepia-toned after Mum died.’
Raina fought a wave of emotion. ‘You’re not a dick, Tom.’
She watched his pupils dilate at her use of his name.
‘I’ll text you the address of the party,’ she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful and platonic.
‘All right,’ he said softly.
She moved to jump off her stool but realized her feet were bare.
‘Shoes,’ she said to herself.
Tom reached for her heels before she could. He took one foot with a gentleness that sent shockwaves through her arches, while he carefully slipped it into the correct shoe. Without thinking, she presented her other foot so that he could do the same.
He wrapped one hand around her ankle to hold her foot steady and she pointed her toes, waiting for the second shoe to slide on seamlessly.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he gently pressed his thumb against the arch of her foot.
It felt incredible. She had to suppress a moan.
‘I’ll text you the address,’ Raina repeated.
His dark eyes met hers. If he’d noticed her breathless second utterance of the banal statement, he didn’t say so. ‘Please do.’ Then he slid on the shoe.
It wasn’t until later she realized that at some point, she’d no longer been able to feel the cool breeze from the ice box. Just his hands.
She found herself dreaming strange things. One woke her with a start while she took the coach from Victoria to Oxford. She’d drifted off before they’d passed Marble Arch.
Dreaming about firm hands and cold cellars.
She was having lunch with the family. Technically, it was to celebrate her birthday, but Raina had a fair idea of how the afternoon would go. Or at least where it would end. Family gatherings were nothing if not predictable.
As she walked up the quiet street in Woodstock, she remembered why she loved London. Only when leaving the city did this feeling hit, and Raina was always relieved to know it was still there.
She knocked on her old front door before letting herself in. She could hear the dogs barking and her father shouting at them to be quiet.