Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Their dinner reservation was in The Links View restaurant, which unsurprisingly had a view out over the golf course.
The dress code was resort formal, which meant most of the women wore glamorous dresses and the men wore suit jackets.
Violet felt a little smug in the dress pants she'd found in the hotel boutique.
The floaty top Katrina had teamed with them still felt a little too delicate and sexy for her liking, but overall, it was better than a dress.
And she had pockets. Max wore a light gray suit with a pale blue shirt that brought out the sparkle in his eyes.
His hair was as unruly as ever. No, not unruly, more sexily disheveled.
She shook herself. Why the hell was she even thinking about his hair? The resort was getting to her. It was messing with her mind.
"Why are we eating here?" Violet asked as they all took their seats at a table facing the green. "I liked the fish in The Terrace restaurant. And it was less formal."
Since coming to the island, Violet felt like all she'd done was study what other people were wearing and try to figure out how to fit in. She couldn't wait to get back to real life where she lived in cargo pants and didn't give a crap what anyone thought. Being undercover was exhausting.
"Two reasons." Rodrigo reached for the wine menu. "Evan managed to round up a group of Scottish guys, who he then talked into playing golf on Wedding Island this evening. He's offered to film the whole thing with his brand-new drone."
"What's the other reason?" Violet considered her menu.
She wasn't impressed. She'd really been looking forward to exactly the same meal as she'd eaten the night before.
It was her Glaswegian tastebuds. You found something you liked, and you ate it repeatedly until you were sick of it.
Variety was not the spice of life in Scottish cuisine.
"He's heading our way right now." Rodrigo pointed across the restaurant.
Violet looked up to find Abasi striding toward them, dressed in the more formal uniform of the restaurant waitstaff, and he wasn't happy.
"Hi," he said in a dead tone when he reached their table.
"I'm Abasi and I'll be your server tonight.
Can I get you some drinks to start?" He lowered his voice.
"One dig, just one little quip, and I'm gonna go postal on your arses, okay?
I'm seriously pissed that the black dude is here playing server while you lot drink wine in your fancy duds. "
"Nobody forced you to get a job at the hotel," Katrina said. "You came up with that all on your own." She smiled sweetly.
"Carry on," Abasi said. "Piss off the guy who can spit in your food."
Violet reached for her water, dropped her napkin, bent to pick it up and head-butted Max, who'd decided to help.
"Ow," he said.
Violet snatched the napkin from his hands. "Stay out of my way," she snapped at him.
"I see you two have been working hard on the romance aspect of your cover," Abasi said as he topped up their water glasses.
"People are talking, guys. Word is Violet went ballistic during their dance lesson this afternoon and almost castrated Max here.
Then they had an argument on the way back to their bungalow.
The dance dude is taking bets that the wedding will be called off by tomorrow night. "
Violet narrowed her eyes. "I really didn't like him."
"She didn't castrate me," Max amended, still rubbing his head. "We clashed a little while dancing. It could happen to anyone."
"Spoken like a man who's lost his balls," Abasi said under his breath before standing back. "So, what can I get you?"
"A better waiter?" Violet said.
Abasi stared her down. "Fish with a side of spit it is then."
Rodrigo ordered a bottle of wine and some sparkling water for the table and Abasi wandered off.
Halfway across the room, someone snapped their fingers and called, "My man!
" at him. For a second, Violet thought he might break their fingers.
She held her breath in anticipation, but Abasi managed to control himself. It was a bit of a letdown.
Once they were sure Abasi wasn't going to take out a diner with a fork, Katrina leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "If the staff are noticing that you two aren't the best of couples then Damien will certainly be suspicious. I think you might have to put in more effort, or…"
"Or what?" Violet glanced around to ensure they weren’t overheard, but they were early for dinner and the tables near them were mostly empty.
"Or," Max replied for Katrina. "We call off the wedding.
Honestly, I've been thinking about it. I jeopardized the op anyway and things aren't going smoothly.
I figure if we stage a dramatic break up, then I can leave the island, and you can stay behind to finish the job.
Nobody will think twice about you carrying on with the vacation. I'm sure it happens all the time."
Violet felt everything within her still. "You're breaking up with me?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she'd said. "I mean," she felt her face heat. "You don't think we can pull this off?"
"Couples touch, Vi. They might fight, but they're demonstrative too. Sure, it might not be over-the-top stuff, but there are little touches and looks and kisses that show they're familiar with each other. We don't have that, and people are noticing."
"It's because we don't know each other." Something she'd pointed out on more than one occasion. It was a huge flaw in his plan.
"We do now, a little anyway, and things aren't getting any better," he said. "You jump when I touch you."
"You touch me at stupid times. Like when I'm concentrating on keeping you safe. It's distracting."
"Okay then, but you don't touch me, unless it's to injure me or cuff me to the bed," Max said.
"Wait, what?" Rodrigo sat forward. "You cuffed him to the bed?"
Max ignored him. "We barely make physical contact and people are talking. Romantic couples, ones who are about to get married, touch each other. It's a fact of life." He looked sad and Violet knew he wasn't saying things to make her feel bad. He was telling her the truth.
"I can try harder. I'll touch you more," she declared. "Look." She threaded her fingers through his. Weirdly, it felt like more of a tactical move than handholding. Maybe he was right. Maybe she couldn't pull this off.
"Vi, you're stiff and uncomfortable. You look like you're holding hands with somebody you arrested." Max's smile was sympathetic and understanding. "It's okay. It's probably for the best, seeing as Damien knows I'm here. If we can't pull off being a couple, we can still get the job done."
"You don't mean we. You mean me."
He shook his head. "It's both of us."'
"Liar." She wet her lips, feeling her heart race almost as fast as her mind. "There's no guarantee that you leaving the island would stop Damien being suspicious of me. If I was in his shoes, I'd still keep an eye on anyone connected with you."
"I don't think we have any other option. For what it's worth, I really do enjoy arguing with you. But this is for the best. I think we should stage a big fight later on tonight, in front of as many staff as possible, and end this fake engagement the right way. What do you say?"
Everything within her screamed no. It was a visceral reaction. One she wasn't sure she understood. All she knew was that Max had to stay on the island. With her.
She shook her head.
"No," she said firmly.
"No?" he asked.
"No. This is your mission, and you should be part of it. You've been working on this for years, chasing this guy when no one else could see how dangerous he was. I don't want to be the reason you didn't get to finish your quest and be there when we take the bastard down."
"Quest?" His full lips quirked.
She glanced at her teammates who were watching her with pity. It was clear they agreed with Max that she was blowing the op because she couldn't act like she was in love.
"Who knew high school drama class would turn out to be so important?" Violet muttered.
"It's okay," Max said softly, as he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Not everybody can pretend."
Violet took a deep breath. They needed to sort this, and it needed to happen now. She stood, still holding Max's hand. "Excuse us for a minute. We need to talk."
Then she strode from the restaurant, dragging Max behind her.
Max wasn't sure what was happening, or where they were going, but he didn't want to make a scene, so he let Violet lead the way. Turned out their destination was the disabled toilet. Not what he'd been expecting.
She pulled him inside and locked the door behind them. Like the rest of the resort, it was pristine in its cleanliness. Something he was very grateful for.
"Okay," she said, her back to the door. "We need to sort this out right now."
Max watched her expression shift between nervousness and intent. Whatever was going on in her head, it was confusing her, and that didn't bode well for him. In their short time together, he'd learned Violet struck out when confused.
"What exactly are we sorting?" he said carefully as he perched on the edge of the sink.
She threw up her hands in disgust. "This stupid fake relationship that's what. Pay attention!"
He massaged the back of his neck. "I thought we'd sorted that. Later, we'll stage a public argument—we're good at that—and then I'll go to St. Patrice until you're done here."
"Weren't you listening," she scowled. "I already said no to your dumb idea."
"It might be dumb, Vi, but it's the only idea we've got. We have to do something to salvage this situation, or I won't get the evidence I need to ruin Damien."
"It's not the only idea we have." She squared her shoulders. For some reason, she reminded him of someone waiting for a jury to come to a verdict. "Before we left Houston, Rochelle told me you used to be married. Is that right?"