Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I WAS LOSING him.
It had been three days since our argument, and things were different between us.
Colt didn’t go out of his way to touch me anymore.
We held hands on our walks, but I always initiated it.
When I’d asked him what was wrong, he’d insisted nothing was.
Unfortunately for him, I was also trained in interrogation tactics, and I’m twice as stubborn.
On day two, he relented and admitted that he was “just thinking about things.” I, of course, asked him what sort of things had him so preoccupied, to which he’d given our assignment all the credit.
This, by nature of my sixth sense and eyes that can see, was determined to be a lie.
It was a lie he seemed determined to stick to, though, and no tactics would get him to reveal the truth, short of threatening his clothes iron again.
Which I seriously considered. But convincing my sort-of-boyfriend to keep liking me by endangering his most prized possession seemed like a new low, even for me.
So I’d stopped initiating anything and finally resigned myself to the fact that he was pulling away. Maybe finding a tactful way to end whatever romance existed between us and still live peacefully as fake spouses.
I’d given him all the pieces. Even the jagged ones that were peeling around the edges and creased down the middle. I’d gotten a taste of what it felt like to have him put them together, little by little, like the process was precious to him.
He just didn’t like the final picture, I guess. Not worth the effort, maybe.
This morning, I couldn’t take the crushing weight of my thoughts anymore, and I’d texted Vivienne begging her to get coffee with me. Until my ballroom class tonight, it would be me, myself, and my crippling dread alone in the house.
I waved at Vivienne from the booth table I’d secured for us, the muscles in my face foreign as they formed a smile. The hired bodyguard accompanied her, along with the hulking bald guard with a deeply cleft chin, whom I’d not-so-lovingly dubbed ButtFace.
Vivienne grinned when she saw me, practically bouncing with each step until she could greet me with a hug. Her blonde ponytail bounced with her, contrasting beautifully with her royal blue dress.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” I gushed—and I meant it. “I’m going a bit stir crazy at home.”
“Girl, me, too.” She eased into the booth, stopping short when ButtFace tried to sit next to her. She batted her lashes at him and smiled sweetly. “Would you mind ordering for us, please? Get whatever you’d like, too. I’ll have a hot chocolate, and Gavin will have . . .”
She looked at the hired bodyguard expectantly.
He looked away from his routine scan of the room to shake his head at her. “I’m good, but thank you.”
“It’ll look a little weird sitting in a coffee shop without a drink, don’t you think?” Vivienne pressed. Her lips formed a pout, but there was a cunning gleam in her eyes. “You should get something. Maksim’s getting something, aren’t you, Maksim?”
Now she turned her pout to ButtFace. He hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, either swayed by her logic, charm, or not wanting to cause a scene, he relented.
“Yes. A… smoothie,” he grumbled, squinting at the menu above the cashier counter.
Gavin sighed, though his mouth twitched much in the same way Colt’s did when fighting a smile. “In that case, I guess I’ll get a smoothie, too.”
ButtFace grunted and lumbered to the cashier counter, scowling over his shoulder at us the whole time.
“That was impressive,” I mused, lifting my decaf latte at her in respect. The scent of coffee and steamed milk invaded my nostrils. “Can you cry on demand, too?”
She laughed, her smile bright and genuine. Just like it had been at the spa. “Not yet, but maybe I haven’t tried hard enough.”
“Don’t believe her,” Gavin teased, still scanning the room. “She convinced Dante to host a funeral for a baby bird yesterday.”
“Because it was heartbreaking,” Vivienne protested. She cast a surreptitious look in ButtFace’s direction before continuing. “Those tears were real, I’ll have you know.”
“What about the tears when you convinced Sean to run to the supermarket at ten o’clock at night because you were out of ice cream?”
Vivienne sniffed delicately, her cheeks pinkening. “Pregnancy cravings are a real and serious thing.”
I watched their back and forth like a tennis match, utterly befuddled.
Had I completely misread everything on Sunday?
Because she and Gavin were almost acting like they were…
friends . And if her other guards got her drinks and hosted baby bird funerals and bought her ice cream late at night, maybe she was friends with all of them.
And if that were so, I’d convinced myself she was a victim because I’d wanted her to be.
I’d wanted so badly for her to be innocent, to need rescuing, because that would absolve some of my guilt.
I’d looked at everything through a distorted lens until I saw the reality I wanted.
The one where there was a third option waiting at the end of this.
Colt was right.
The reminder of him and our most recent argument sent a fierce ache through my chest, and I absentmindedly rubbed at it.
“You okay?” Vivienne asked, gesturing to where my hand still rested on my sternum.
I snapped my hand away and into my lap. “Oh, yeah. It’s nothing. Just heartburn.”
She groaned in sympathy, her head tipping back. “Heartburn is the worst . I’ve never popped as many antacids in my entire life as I have this trimester.”
She reached for her purse but hesitated ever so slightly as she sent another glance in ButtFace’s direction. He was giving his order to the barista, temporarily distracted from his scowl-fest. The grinding of coffee beans and the whir of steaming milk drowned out whatever he was saying.
“Here.” She pulled a travel-sized pack of antacids out and offered them to me. “These should help.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—” I cut my protests short when I realized someone who supposedly had raging third-trimester heartburn probably wouldn’t decline the offer of relief and snatched the bottle from her.
After shaking two into my hand, I returned it and smiled gratefully.
“Thank you. I’m not sure what I’d do without you. ”
I wouldn’t have gotten this far in the assignment, for one.
Or been given the assignment in the first place.
Without her, there wouldn’t be a Lamaze class opening to exploit, let alone a chance at getting close to Charles in any way.
Colt and I would still be bitter rivals, inconveniencing each other at any given opportunity just to get a rise out of them.
With the dread stabbing my insides like a porcupine, I almost would’ve preferred that.
Almost .
Vivienne dropped the bottle back in her purse with precise movements, never looking away from me as she did so. She smiled, soft and genuine. “Me, too. It’s been a long time since someone invited me out for a coffee.”
And even longer since she’d been able to accept, surely. Whether she was friends with her bodyguards or not, they were a major buzzkill.
“Honestly? Same.” I popped the antacids into my mouth, using the motion to clock ButtFace’s position at the counter, where he was currently picking up the drinks. “I guess I’m not always the most pleasant to be around.”
Especially to a certain freckled, regimented, unfairly hot FBI agent who shall remain nameless.
“What? Of course you are!” She shrugged and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “Besides, even if you weren’t, everyone has bad days.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Even you? Because I can’t imagine anyone not tripping over themselves to be your friend.”
She snorted. “That’s kind of you, but you’d be surprised.” She cast another glance in ButtFace’s direction, her voice lowering to a mumble. “I think I’ve had more bad days than good lately.”
The itch at the base of my skull returned. Again, without any evidence to back it up. If anything, her interactions with the bodyguards were evidence against my hunch.
ButtFace was only a few paces away now, and Gavin was still here, so I didn’t risk letting on that I’d found her remark odd in any way.
And, though it took significant willpower, I didn’t react when ButtFace sent a scathing glare at Gavin for being the lucky duck to sit next to Vivienne while he sat down heavily next to me.
He smelled like tobacco and washing machines.
“Some people believe in the power of speaking things into existence.” I lifted my latte in a toast. “So, to finding true friends and better days ahead.”
“Hear, hear,” Vivienne cheered heartily, tapping her hot cocoa against my cup.
Gavin looked hard and long at me, his stare nearly rivaling my squadmate Isaiah’s on the scale from unsettling to I-can-see-every-crime-you’ve-ever-thought-about-committing. Then, almost reluctantly, he raised his smoothie in agreement.
ButtFace side-eyed us all like we’d lost our minds, but joined in the toast, too.
Vivienne and I filled the better part of an hour chatting, covering all sorts of topics as long as we never touched on anything deeply personal. Just like when we’d had dinner and lunch together, she avoided vulnerable subjects like the plague.
At this point, I was starting to wonder if our spa day was a fluke.
Until we were about to leave, that is.
She stood from the table, her hand resting on her bump as she inhaled the rich scent of coffee and chocolate in the air. “I’m going to hit the ladies room real quick, or I think I might burst. Do you need to go, too?”
Her expression was perfectly natural and unassuming, but that same gleam I’d noticed while she’d been talking to ButtFace earlier sparkled in her eyes. I jumped at the opportunity, both to talk with her alone and take care of pressing business.
“Yes, please.” I touched my bump as well, using the opportunity to help me keep from bumping it along the table as I scooted with absolutely no dignity whatsoever out of the booth. “That latte has gone completely through me by now.”
ButtFace’s scowl intensified as he and Gavin waited outside the restrooms for us. Vivienne smiled sunnily at him, undeterred.
The second we’d both taken care of business and were washing our hands at the sinks, she leveled me with a no-nonsense stare in the mirror’s reflection. “Okay, real talk. What’s up, Lex?”
My blood ran cold. She couldn’t possibly know who I really was, right? Was that why she’d been acting weird since the spa day?
I played dumb, furrowing my brow and frowning. “What do you mean?”
“You seem kind of sad, okay? More quiet than usual.” Her expression softened, and she set to drying her hands. “What’s really going on? You wanted to get your mind off something.”
I blinked hard. How on earth had she picked up on that? Had I really been that obvious? This was why my mask of neutrality was so handy—so stuff like this wouldn’t happen in the first place.
She laughed, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. “You weren’t a total drag or anything, I promise. I just used to do the same thing after every failed treatment—ask my sister to meet me for drinks. So when you weren’t quite as enthusiastic as always . . .”
“Oh.” I nodded, a flicker of relief racing through me. “I, uh… yeah. I guess I am a little down. Colt and I just had an argument, that’s all.”
That was perfectly normal for couples, right? Even happily married ones?
“Ahhh.” She drew the sound out, her head bobbing sagely as she tossed her paper towel in the trash. “I take it neither of you has apologized yet?”
My cheeks heated, turning an incriminating pink in the mirror. “Well, no. Not yet.”
Were apologies really necessary? We hadn’t done anything truly upsetting to each other, had we?
I hadn’t watered down his juice or switched his shoelaces or called him any names in a while now.
Was that what he was waiting for—an apology?
It was possible, but he would’ve told me that, wouldn’t he?
Most people probably wouldn’t, but he was different.
Vivienne hummed in acknowledgement, waiting until I’d finished drying my hands, too, before imparting any wisdom.
She rested her hand on my arm, her expression open and kind and exactly the type of thing that would make it so painful to betray her.
“You two will work it out, I’m sure of it.
You love each other. Anyone can see that.
Sometimes you just need to remind yourself why when your husband is driving you up the wall. ”
I chuckled, choosing to ignore the way my heart pounded at the way she’d so casually mentioned how Colt and I loved each other. “Oh, I have no problem remembering the ‘why.’”
“Ah, so he’s the one who messed up. I see.”
I recoiled. My brain sputtered like a leaky showerhead. “What? No. That isn’t what I said.”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” Vivienne grinned, stopping short of opening the door. “Your dance class is tonight, right? At the rec center?”
I stared blankly, trying and failing to follow the thread of the conversation. “Yes?”
“Which dance are you teaching now?”
Again, I could only manage one-word sentences. “Tango. Why?”
That gleam in her eyes returned, and her smile curled into a mischievous one. “Oh, no reason.”