Chapter 7 #2
“Do people call you Ink because of your last name or tattoos?”
He stared at her. “Both, probably.”
She nodded slowly. “Right.”
Something was… off. He dipped his chin at her. “Rina?” Her head came up, but her gaze skittered away. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. Well… I was just thinking… wondering…” She trailed off, then tried again. “I mean, I know things…”
He peered across the table at Rina, who continued to babble nervously. What was he missing?
“What if…? I, um…” She drew a deep breath. “God. Why is this so hard?”
“Come on, Rina.” He set his fork down and leaned back, irritation welling up and spilling over. “Just spit it out already.”
Huge blue eyes met his and held for a second. “What about you?”
“Me?” He blinked at her, his mind scrambling to process her question. “What about me?”
Her cheeks blazed fire-engine red. “Would you… marry me?”
The force of the bomb she’d just dropped knocked him back in his seat, and all he could do was stare at her for several long seconds.
She watched him intently, blue irises swirling with a mixture of hope and apprehension, but he couldn’t formulate words.
He had to be hallucinating, because there was no way this woman had just proposed to him.
Right?
“Marry you?” Somehow he managed to choke out the words.
She bobbed her head. “Just pretend—just until this is over.”
“Rina…”
“Please, Roman. I—” She leaned in, reaching one hand toward him, and he automatically recoiled. Her face fell, and her eyes followed her hands as they fell listlessly to her lap. “I’m sorry. I just…”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Pretend to be married—really?
Abruptly, Rina pushed back her chair and snatched up her plate. He turned in his seat as she brushed past him and set her plate in the sink. “Rina, listen—”
She whirled toward him, holding her hands up, palms out. “No. It was my fault. I never should have asked. Just… don’t worry about it. It was stupid. Let’s pretend this never happened, okay?”
He opened his mouth again to speak, but she was gone.
Heaving himself up from the chair, he set his dish in the sink, then went out to do a perimeter check.
Outside, he snuck a glance through the bedroom window.
Rina—what he could see of her—sat on her bed, legs curled up like a child as she hugged a pillow close to her chest.
He felt bad for her—really, he did. But was a pretend marriage really the answer to this?
The idea had merit, to a point, but he and Irina had enough drama to work through.
He had a feeling this would only make things worse.
She was a budding superstar; if he were to play husband to her, he would be dragged into the limelight, a place he had no desire to be.
It could jeopardize both his job and his future.
So much could go wrong, and they’d still be in the same boat they were in now.
He hadn’t meant to react as badly as he did. The woman constantly had him on guard, almost defensive, but he still felt like an ass for hurting her feelings. He locked up as he headed inside for the night, then made his way down the hall to Rina’s room.
A sliver of light shone from beneath the door, and he placed his hand on the knob. It was locked. He lifted his hand to knock, but common sense kicked in before he rapped on the door. She was already dejected and embarrassed. He didn’t want to risk exacerbating the situation.
Instead, he headed to the couch and sat heavily, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. Thank God Rina was one of those women who appreciated function and comfort over design, and he could actually spread out. He settled in for the night, but the more time passed, the worse he felt.
He couldn’t explain why, exactly, but that crestfallen look of hers killed him.
He couldn’t imagine the guts it took to ask him something like that, especially given their recent past. She’d looked so ashamed, so embarrassed, which was probably why it bothered him so much.
Rina was normally so vibrant and vivacious that her reticence was completely abnormal.
By the time morning finally rolled around, he was exhausted from guilt and lack of sleep.
A soft sound drew his attention to the archway between the kitchen and living room, and he sat up, glancing over the back of the couch just in time to catch a glimpse of Rina.
She threw a quick look his way, and their gazes locked for a moment before her cheeks blazed and her eyes dropped away again.
She slunk into the kitchen, and he let out a sigh.
If he was hoping things would be better that morning, he was bound to be disappointed.
If he knew Rina, though, she’d ignore him at all costs and pretend that last night never happened.
He didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad.
Things between them were already so tense, it wouldn’t take much to break the tenuous balance.
Scrubbing one hand over his face, he pushed to the edge of the couch and shoved his feet into his boots.
Grabbing his phone from the end table where it sat charging, he stowed it in his pocket and headed to the front door, then made his way outside.
Even though it was barely after seven, he locked up behind him as he started his perimeter check.
It was probably overkill, but after everything that had happened recently, he wasn’t willing to risk her safety.
After he made sure everything was secure, he sat down on the wide porch step and dug his phone from his back pocket. He tapped Knox’s number, and his knee bounced nervously as he waited for the call to connect.
“What’s up, Ink?”
Knox sounded a little short of breath, but as an early riser like the rest of them, he guaranteed he’d been up for well over an hour working out.
“Hey. Any update on the brake lines yet?”
“Not yet. The guys from the precinct are checking the valve for prints, but I haven’t heard anything yet. One of the guys will be over after the locksmith leaves. He wants the old doorknob from the garage to see if the internal mechanism has been tampered with.”
“I’ll make sure to bag it and set it aside.” He fell silent for a moment, his mind spinning, anxiety making him jumpy. “So with no evidence, what does that mean?”
“You’re stuck for now,” came Knox’s reply. “Louis and the studio still want her under surveillance until they get this guy.”
“Do they have any leads?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Knox said. “At least, nothing solid.” He seemed to know instinctively that something was on his mind, because he cautiously continued. “Why?”
“Just thinking,” he said slowly. “It occurred to me that we might be able to get this guy’s attention, get him to slip up.”
“What are you thinking?”