Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On the Very Edge of Losing It
IRINA
ODoamne.
I clutched at the edge of the bench as the kettle started to rumble in front of me, trying desperately to get my heart to settle the fuck down.
He’d been about to kiss me. Hadn’t he? He’d stared at my mouth with such raw hunger on his face …
And fuck me, I’d wanted him to kiss me. Every cell in my body had been begging to lean just a millimetre closer, just enough for his lips to brush mine.
But I’d chickened out. When the fuck did Irina Rusnac chicken out of a kiss with a certified hot nerd? A hot nerd who was my husband, none the less! I had every right to kiss him!
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I didn’t have every right. He was literally saving me from a shitty fate, and if he didn’t want to kiss me, then forcing myself on him was despicable, no matter how much I might want to.
But if he did …
Next time he looks like he wants to devour you whole, just fucking let it happen!
I forced myself to focus on making his coffee, as per his instructions. Two sugars, a dash of tap water to cool it down. I set it on the bench next to my milky one, fluttery feelings skipping their way around my chest. It was so domestic, making coffee for my husband.
Henry was right. If we were going to pull this off, we’d have to be convincing as husband and wife, and how could we do that if we weren’t even living together?
But how could I tell Kat? Holy shit! What would I tell her? ‘Oh yeah, by the way, I met a billionaire while pantyless at a party, and he offered to marry me so I could stay, so … I’m kinda moving onto his yacht with him.’
I’d known from the start that I couldn’t drag Kat into my fucked up life choices, but it would be kind of hard to live in two places at once. Kat’s life had been busy the last few weeks, but she was smart and observant. She’d know something was up.
I fiddled with the beautiful jewel-encrusted wedding band that fit perfectly on my ring finger. Sapphires were my favourite gemstone, not that Henry could have known that. Or maybe he could, I thought with a smile.
Such a stalker.
Although he’d said it was because they matched my eyes … which, if anything, made it even sweeter.
I’d inspected it last night when I took it off to shower, and I’d noticed the Tiffany and Co. embossed inside it. Who just casually dropped Tiffany’s money on their fake wife—the fake wife who was already getting the better end of the deal?
Someone like Henry Baxter, that was who.
He was not like other men, and not in that cliché romance book sort of way that Kat was always harping on about. Or not just in that way, anyway—a billionaire surprising his fake wife with an expensive ring sounded very much straight off the pages of the stuff she read. But Henry was …
I sighed. He was better than other men. And a beautiful ring in my favourite colour, what a contrast to that other token—the one I kept buried in a box in my wardrobe.
My phone buzzed on the counter. And then again.
I picked it up. There was a notification from Uber that my bread had been delivered—with a photo of an unfamiliar older man with messy salt and pepper hair and a round belly holding the bag.
Something about his dead eyes as he smiled at the camera sent chills tingling through me.
Whoever the driver had left the bread with, it wasn’t Henry, and after last night, and the knowledge that there were journalists taking photos of us, this was not the sort of news we really needed right now.
The other notification was no better.
Stefan: I think the letter from the university has Dad off your back for a bit … but HE is still asking lots of questions. I don’t think he bought it
I reached for my coffee, needing to lubricate my suddenly dry throat. My hand shook, and a little spilt out on the counter as another message came through.
Stefan: Be straight with me—this need to stay longer IS real, isn’t it? You know I’d lie for you if it came down to it, but I need to know what I’m getting myself into. You owe me that much for helping you get your four years of freedom
My stomach rebelled against the coffee. Nauseous, I set it back on the counter with a clatter.
I didn’t want to drag Stefan into the lies as well, it already felt like I was making too many people lie for me.
I just needed everyone back home to give me a few months grace, to get my partner visa sorted, and then I’d be safe from them when they found out the truth.
Hopefully.
Irina: Absolutely real. I partied a little too hard last semester, and I need to make up the credits. I don’t want to bring shame on the family by returning home without a degree after everything that’s been done to let me study over here
Bile rose in my throat at the lies stacked upon lies just in that one text message.
No answer came from Stefan, which I decided was a good thing—that he’d accepted my ongoing excuses and had nothing more to say.
Guilt washed over me that I was deceiving my cousin, the one person who had always stuck by me from the very first time we met.
But no. I wasn’t deceiving him. I was protecting him.
Just like I would also find a way to protect Kat, to keep her from having to lie for me too. Even if it meant leading a double life for a few months.
A commotion of footsteps on the stairs from the main deck had me straightening, smoothing my hair out of my face and pasting what I hoped was a pleasant smile on my face. Henry was doing enough for me already; he didn’t need to be worrying about the Romanian Family on top of it all.
That little secret was my cross to bear.
“She doesn’t leave the yacht without you, me, or one of your security detail.” Henry’s voice was somehow tight and wobbly all at the same time. “At the very least until we know the partner visa is secured.”
“Do you think that’s—”
“I do, Lucian! I don’t say things if I don’t think they’re necessary. We need to mitigate the risks until she’s safe from deportation.”
Cold slithered into my abdomen. What had happened while he went to get the bread? I hitched my smile up even higher, holding my breath as they rounded the stairs and came into view of the kitchen.
“Morning, Lucian!” I squeaked, cursed myself, then continued in a lower tone. “Do you drink coffee? Or is sunning yourself on a rock more your speed of a morning?”
Lucian’s glare was icy, but his gaze darted to Henry, who looked manic, his fists flexing and clenching. This wasn’t the sexy finger flex of Kat’s Mr Darcy, either. This was a man on the very edge of losing it.
“Everything okay?” I asked, voice thin with worry. What the fuck had gone down out there? “Pass me the bread, and I’ll do my best to make these—”
“Shit! The bread!” Henry slid his fingers under his glasses, pressing them into his eyes.
I looked between him and Lucian, confused. Lucian gave a tiny shake of his head. “Bax, it’s not the—”
“It is! I had one simple job—get the bread!” Chest heaving, he started tugging at his hair, eyes falling on the bottle of sprinkles on the bench.
Before I had a chance to blink, it was in his hand.
With an incoherent yell, he hurled it at the wall.
Glass smashed and sprinkles exploded out across the floor.
“Don’t move, Bax,” Lucian said, his voice calm and neutral. “There’s glass and your feet are bare. Let me get the broom.”
With a pointed look in my direction, Lucian mouthed, “Stay where you are,” and left the room. Henry, back to me on the other side of the island, clutched his head and sucked in heavy, rasping breaths that would be doing nothing to help regulate him.
I ignored Lucian’s directive. Climbing onto the bench, I sat on the edge closest to Henry. “Would you like me to hold you?” I asked softly.
Henry’s head snapped up at my words. “No … not gently …” he managed, his words choppy and stilted. “I h-hate gentle touch, when I’m … when it’s like this.”
“I understand. Can I squeeze your shoulders, the way you squeeze your knees when things get overwhelming?”
He turned his head slightly, nodding.
I scooted closer, gripping his shoulders and applying the pressure that I’d always used to help Andrei. “You tell me if you want me to stop, okay? Your body, your choice.”
His muscles were knotted and tense under my fingers, but I squeezed and released in a soothing rhythm, moving down to his biceps, going as far as his elbows before working my way back up to his shoulders. His breathing became less jerky.
“Wrap your arms around me. Here.” He tugged on my wrists until my chest was against his back, my arms forming a cage around his torso. “Tighter.”
I squeezed harder, my cheek pressed against his shoulder. His heart hammered wildly against my forearm, but his breaths began to slow, his fingers wrapped around my arms, squeezing me back.
Lucian appeared, broom in hand. His brows shot up when he saw us, but he didn’t voice his shock. Instead, he efficiently swept a path for Henry to make it past the dining table and clear of the rainbow debris of broken glass and sprinkles.
Henry gave my arms a deep squeeze and released me. I let him out of my embrace, my breath catching in my throat when he turned to me, found my hands and linked his fingers with mine.
“Thank you,” he murmured, and then he left, heading straight for his room and closing the door.
“How did you know?” Lucian asked, words clipped as he brushed the rubbish into a neat pile.
“Know what?” I responded, playing dumb.
Lucian cocked a sardonic brow in my direction. “How did you know what would help him?”
I blew out a breath. “I’m not blind. I’ve seen him self-regulate … often. I figured the same strategy would be helpful, even when he was too far gone to manage it himself.”
Lucian watched me for a long moment, then grunted once, switching the broom for the dustpan and brush. I spun on the bench, hopping down on the kitchen side. My coffee was cold. So was Henry’s. Not that I would have been following him into his room … unless he’d invited me. Which he hadn’t.
“Get dressed,” Lucian blurted, bustling into the kitchen to empty the dustpan. “I’ll take you to collect some more of your things.” When I didn’t move immediately, he sighed. “He will be fine. He won’t want anyone to see him for a while.”
I headed for my bedroom, dressing silently so I didn’t wake a snoring Abernathy. I waited up on the main deck. Easter Saturday was a glorious day, the sky a cloudless azure, the water of Sydney Harbour shooting sparkling reflections back at it. I let the sun soak into my skin.
My phone buzzed again, churning my empty stomach.
Kat: I won’t be home for a few days. Dad’s got Alzheimer’s, I only just found out. I’m on my way to the airport now
I let out a shaky breath. Poor Kat! She didn’t need anything else to be worrying about, what with her strained relationship with her mother and the stress of her confusing feelings for her teacher.
I typed out a supportive message but stopped short of pressing send.
I tucked my phone back into my pocket. I’d call her later, once she’d had a chance to get home and process the situation.
I was too fragile myself to call her now, and she was probably in a rush anyway, trying to get on a flight to Adelaide.
Still, guilt niggled at me. She was my best friend, and she was going through something major. And I couldn’t be there for her the way she really needed me because I was going through my own mess, and I couldn’t even confide in her about it.
Lucian appeared, keys in hand, gesturing silently towards the gangplank. I complied without a single snarky remark, my mind still on Kat and her dad, and Henry’s meltdown, and whatever had happened when he went to get the bread to cause it.
“You’re not what I’d expected,” Lucian muttered as we made our way to the car.
All the combined anxieties of the morning got the better of me, and I snapped, “And what did you expect? A slutty gold digger, out to wring everything I could out of him?”
Lucian didn’t answer right away, opening the marina gate and ushering me through. When we reached the car, as I climbed into the seat and he was about to shut the door, he said, “I didn’t expect someone who would be good for him.”