Chapter 40 Bear the Load
CHAPTER FORTY
Bear the Load
IRINA
My fingers were numb as I fumbled the old-school phone back into its cradle. The female police officer, who had been told to wait with me while I made my one allotted phone call, jerked her dirty blonde head and, with a sniff, walked off. On shaky legs, I followed.
The station smelt like decades-old cigarette smoke—the kind that had absorbed into every porous surface years ago and refused to dissipate.
It turned my stomach, and I swallowed back bile as I followed the uniformed officer through the narrow hallways.
As we approached the interview room, the arguing voices of the two detectives who had brought me in became clearer.
“It shouldn’t matter that her husband’s a billionaire! She’s broken the law!”
“But if she’s telling the truth, and there was a fuck up with their marriage licence, we don’t need some rich tech geek shining a light on failing government systems.”
I dug deep for a scrap of the Ri who would stand up for herself. It was tiny, and fragmented, and buried so deep, but I grasped it and clung to it as the female officer stepped aside and ushered me back into the room.
“I am telling the truth,” I insisted, my voice wavering only slightly. “You have the proof in your hands. I am married to an Australian man and have been since before—”
“Sit down, Miss—Mrs Baxter,” the detective sighed. I did, crossing my arms to hide my shaking, sweaty palms, and scowled at them. It was the only expression I could manage that was keeping the terrified tears at bay.
“Can you run through the timeline of your relationship with Mr Baxter for us, please?”
I blinked. “Are you assessing my application?”
The man stared at me for long enough that I had time to track the progress of a bead of sweat making its painstaking way down my spine.
“No. We aren’t from the Department of Home Affairs. But anything you can tell us about your relationship, and this alleged mix-up with your marriage documentation, may determine whether we immediately deport you.”
My brain snagged on the word ‘deport’ and refused to process anything else.
“Mrs Baxter? Irina?” the detective prompted. I swallowed, forcing myself to think, to speak, to do something to save myself.
Henry didn’t put himself through all of this for you to choke at the crucial moment!
“Henry slid into my Tickle DMs, midway through last year …”
I launched into the story that we had concocted that day in the spa. Their deadpan expressions gave nothing away, but every nerve in my body vibrated with the urge to run, to escape. They wouldn’t believe me. They’d see right through me, and I’d be deported before Henry could come to save me.
Forcing the darkness away, I focused on the memory of warm water, and teasing him until he blushed, and the kiss we’d shared, the one that had triggered his platonic-in-private rule.
The rule I resented as much as I clung to.
“… And we would have applied for my partner visa before my student visa expired, but something—”
“WHERE IS MY WIFE?!” a deep, furious voice boomed in the hallway outside, and my insides turned to jelly.
“I’m sorry, sir, she’s just in—”
The door burst open, and Henry, jaw tight and green eyes blazing, swept into the room, his gaze locking on me.
I burst into tears.
My vision blurred under the ferocity of them, my chest heaving as I sucked in frantic gasps of air.
Warm arms wrapped me up in comfort, soft lips found my temple.
“I’m here, Catnip. It’s all going to be okay.”
“Th-thank you!” I choked, clawing my fingers into the back of his shirt and refusing to let go. He didn’t make me. His hands just continued rubbing soothing circles on my back.
“You can’t just barge in here!” one of the detectives protested. I clung tighter to Henry. “This is inappropriate!”
“Do you know what’s inappropriate?” Henry asked, voice low and dangerous and rumbling against the side of my face that was pressed into his chest. “Detaining a woman who has done everything she could to follow your rules in the face of online systems that are outdated and underdelivering.”
“We’re only following instructions from Home Affairs, Mr Baxter. We have no jurisdiction over their procedures.”
Henry grunted in disgust. “You arrested my wife, who would have already had a partner visa approved if it wasn’t for the rundown state of government IT despite being aware that she has a pending application, and—”
“A denied application,” one of the detectives interjected. I froze, barely daring to breathe.
“Denied only because of incompetence on your end!” Henry argued, without missing a beat, his palms still making rhythmic circles in my back.
Had he known that my visa had been rejected, or was he just that good of an actor?
“And since you’re aware of that, you should also be aware that we were advised to go offshore and reapply.
I asked for our conversation to be noted in her file. ”
Offshore? This was all news to me. My chest felt tight for a whole new reason.
“And yet here she is. Very clearly not offshore.”
“Do you know who I am, detective?” Henry asked acidly.
“Don’t go throwing your money around in here, mate. It won’t turn out how you’d like it to.”
“That’s not at all what I was doing, I can assure you.”
“Then get to your point, Mr Baxter.” The detective sounded bored. Henry’s pecs twitched against my face.
“If you release her to me, now, I have the means to ensure that we leave the country within the next forty-eight hours.”
“And how can we trust that you’re not lying?”
A rough, furious sound rumbled in Henry’s chest. “The same way we will have to trust that when we apply for another government document, it won’t get lost in the maelstrom of chaos masquerading as an online operating system. I suppose it’s an exercise in faith, for both parties.”
Henry stood, lifting me out of the chair and setting me on my feet. I hurriedly wiped my eyes and ran the back of my hand under my dripping nose. His arms never left me.
“You know where we live. You can come and check on us. If she’s still there two days from now, you can arrest us both, I don’t care. I’m prepared to play by your arbitrary rules to ensure that this woman stays with me.”
My legs turned to liquid, and I tightened my grip on Henry to stay upright.
“Are we in accord?” he prompted.
“We’ll be keeping a very close eye on you both,” the detective muttered. “But yes—if you leave the country, her file does state she is able to reapply.”
“Good. I’ll be taking her home now.” Henry’s tone brooked no argument. Keeping one arm around my waist, he dug a business card out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. “If you need to talk further, you talk to me.”
He guided me towards the door, leaning closer as he opened it for me. “Did they confiscate any of your belongings?”
I nodded. My phone had been taken when they brought me in.
His nostrils flared. “I’m so sorry, Catnip. I’ll get this sorted, and we’ll get you home.”
“Okay,” I managed. His hands came up to cup my cheeks, and I lifted my swollen, teary eyes to his face.
“I hate that this frightened you so much,” he whispered, his eyes tortured. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about your visa. I thought …”
“Later,” I told him. “Let’s just get out of here.”
I hung up the phone, the pretence slipping from my face.
Fuck, I hated lying to Kat. But there was no way in the world that I was confessing that I had to leave the country until this whole mess was sorted out.
I’d already shocked her enough that morning when the police had knocked on the door and she’d learned about my marriage as they arrested me.
The deception was a heavy coating on my tongue, and I longed for a glass of vodka to hopefully burn the guilt out of my mouth. I went to stand, the bar stool making a grinding sound on the floor.
Henry looked up from the bubbling pot of pasta he was stirring on the other side of the kitchen. “Is it later yet?”
“Later than what, exactly?” I asked in confusion.
“Later enough that you’ll allow me to apologise.” His eyes flicked away to the bubbling water. He fished out a piece of spaghetti and bit into it.
“Aren’t you supposed to throw it at the wall to test if it’s ready?” I asked.
He turned back to me, a faint smile twitching. “That’s a complete fallacy. Taste testing is the only way to know. And it’s not ready yet, so …” He crossed the kitchen and leaned on the bench, making that intense eye contact that he seemed to reserve only for me.
“Is it later yet?” he asked again.
My face heated. “I don’t need you to apologise, Henry, I—”
“But I need to apologise. I thought that keeping the information from you until I had everything ready to leave the country with you was protecting you …” He huffed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I shouldn’t have lied to you, Ri.”
“I forgive you,” I said hurriedly, my stomach tightening at the mention of lies. “You were right to keep it from me. I would have just spent the last couple of weeks panicking about it, if I’d known, and … did you say leave the country with me?”
Henry’s eyebrow quirked quizzically. “Is that okay?”
O Doamne, it was more than okay. And it shouldn’t be okay.
“I thought, when you were saying that to them in the station, that it was just for the act … you have a business to run, Henry! I’m not—”
His fingertips slid across my cheekbone and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You are.”
I snorted nervously, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to say that you’re not important enough for me to abandon my business. Or something along those lines, anyway.”
He was right, damn it.
“But you are important enough. And …” He straightened, making a sweeping gesture. “What’s the point of having a yacht if I can’t take it into international waters from time to time?”
My lips parted. “We’re taking the Girl on Fire out to sea?”