Chapter 25 Episode 25

“I’ll have the same,” Branagh adds. “Excellent,” I say. “Why don’t you both take a seat?” They sit at the kitchen counter while Jessa joins me in the kitchen. She’s being suspiciously quiet and I don’t like it. All it takes is one wrong look to raise the alarms again. “You okay, sweetheart?” I ask, placing my hand on the small of her back. She looks up at me. “I… I…” “Yes?” I ask, digging my fingertips into her back. Not enough to hurt her. Just enough to remind her: Play by my rules, or people get hurt. The two big things on my mind are not stacking up in anything resembling priority order. Not a normal, rational priority, at least. Because I should be fairly fixated on the fact that the cold-blooded killer next to me just threatened to bring that campaign of violence to my parents’ doorstep. He was being serious—literally, deadly serious. And yet I’m more preoccupied with the fact that that same killer’s hand is on my lower back, resting right above my ass. With just the lightest of pressures, he reminds me that I have a role to play. His touch sends shivers racing up and down my spine. “You okay, sweetheart?” Anton asks, looking at me with concern that’s so sincere it takes me by surprise. “Sorry,” I say. “This is just… really surprising. You never expect to find the police at your door, you know?” Both cops give me guilty smiles. “We have to check things out when we get a call like that, miss,” the younger one says apologetically. “But it’s clear that nothing is amiss here.” “Exactly right,” Anton says, pouring them both generous cups of coffee. “Can I offer you something to eat? My girl is an amazing chef.” He glances at me as he talks. The pride in his eyes is unmistakable. It’s almost enough to make me forget that we’re playing pretend right now. “Is that right?” Officer Lewiston asks, looking at me with a paternal smile. “Amazing, I’m not so sure, but I’m definitely a chef.” “She’s modest,” Anton insists. “Jessa here is like the Picasso of the kitchen. Her bacon-wrapped shrimp is to die for.” I do a double-take, though his face betrays nothing. I made the bacon-wrapped shrimp as an appetizer for the dinner I served on his yacht the night we met. “Where do you work?” Branagh asks. “A catering company,” I explain. “They hire out their chefs for events and stuff.” “That’s how we met, actually,” Anton says. I give him a questioning frown. Is he really going there? He turns to me. Apparently, he is. “Isn’t that right, honey?” I force a smile onto my face. “That’s right.” “Best night of my life.” Officer Lewiston looks between us with a fond smile. “That’s a nice story. Something to tell the grandkids one day, huh?” “Definitely,” Anton says without missing a beat. “I’m looking forward to it.” His hand is draped carelessly around my shoulders now. The weight is surprisingly comfortable. Dane wasn’t one for public touching. No hand-holding, no squeezing my thigh when we sat next to each other, no wrapping his arm around my waist. It bothered me at first, but then I felt silly for it. Wasn’t it more important that we spent our nights and mornings together? What did it matter if he didn’t want to be openly affectionate? That didn’t count for much in the greater scheme of things. But as I stand there with Anton’s arm around me, I realize how much I was leaving on the table. Being touched, being claimed—it does something to me that words can’t reach. Makes something in my chest unclench just the tiniest bit. “Have we upset you, ma’am?” Officer Lewiston says, his tone softening. I try to shake off the introspection. It’s neither the right time nor the right place, and it’s especially not the right man. Raising my eyes to the officer, I smile as pleasantly as I can. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little shaken up by all this.” He looks me right in the eye, and I realize that I’m starting to make him suspicious again. Apparently, Anton can feel this, too, because he gives me a subtle squeeze on the shoulder that could easily be mistaken for support. Is it completely weird that I do actually feel comforted by the gesture? God, I need to find a f*****g therapist. “Ma’am, is there anything you want to tell us?” Officer Lewiston asks, even as he accepts the coffee from Anton. “I just can’t believe someone would do something like this,” I say. “Call up the cops and report a domestic disturbance. Do you think it’s possible it was a mistake?” “Not impossible,” Officer Lewiston says, relaxing a little. “These things happen.” “Well, no harm, no foul, right?” says Anton. “Say, Officers, do either of you fish? I was just on a trip out to…” The two cops sip their coffee while Anton makes small talk with them. He’s seamless. The way he threads the conversation with little reassurances, painting a picture for the two cops of our pretend life together. “ … Took a vacation to Bermuda last year. Beautiful place, have you ever been? … Bowling league on Tuesday nights… She’s a reader, chews through romance novels like hard candies…” I find myself listening to the fake narrative like a child hearing her favorite bedtime story. For a moment, even I start to wonder if it’s real. He’s that good. When the cops finally finish their coffee, they stand up in unison. “We should get going,” Officer Lewiston says. “We’re taken up enough of your time.” Anton waves them away. “Not at all. I’m sorry I was a little short when you first walked in. I was just surprised.” “Understandable. We’re sorry to have disturbed your evening.” Anton walks them both to the door and lets them out with a smile and a wave, then shuts the door firmly behind them. I stand at the kitchen counter and stare at the two empty coffee cups left behind. A second later, Anton’s shadow falls over me. “That went well.” I look up at him. “Depends on your perspective.” “When did you call the cops?” he asks. He raises his eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that they just showed up? Did they imagine the 911 call?” “Maybe Mrs. Donnelly got suspicious about the ‘doctor’ she met the other day.” “Impossible. I charmed the pants off the old broad.” “Yeah, you do seem to have a natural gift.” He smirks. “Not a gift. Gifts are given. Skills are honed.” Rolling my eyes, I take the coffee cups and turn my back on him as I wash them in the sink. I swear I can feel his presence lurking right behind me, but when I turn around, he’s still leaning against the counter in the same position he was in when I turned around. “I didn’t call the cops,” I say finally. “If only I could believe that.” “Think about it. You were watching me the whole time. When would I have had the time to make the call in the first place?” “You could have asked someone else to make the calls for you.” I shiver. “I’d never involve anyone else in this nightmare.” “Maybe whoever’s helping you wants to get involved,” he suggests. “Maybe whoever’s helping you wants to play the knight in shining armor.” I frown. “What are you implying?” “That you like to rebound fast.” I glare at him. “Jealous?” “Would you prefer it if I was?” he asks. He steps around the counter and saunters towards me. I shake my head. “Anton…” “Don’t do this,” I whisper, gesturing between us. “I’m not a threat.” His eyes gleam with a kind of anti-light. Like they’re sucking it in instead of reflecting it out. “You know what?” he says. “I actually believed that before tonight. Now… not so much.” I feel fear snaking down my spine, but I manage to keep it from overwhelming me. What was Freya thinking, calling the cops on Anton? As if that would stop a man like him. He could have easily put a bullet into each officer that walked through the door. Then one into me, for good measure. “It was just a coincidence,” I say. “Bad luck.” “I don’t believe in coincidences. And I make my own luck.” “Anton,” I say, stepping towards him for the first time that I can consciously remember, “I swear to you: I’m not the one who called the cops.” “I don’t know,” I lie immediately. “I have no clue, but I did not ask anyone to do it.” He stares down at me for a long moment. Then, thank God, he nods. I’m not sure if it’s an I believe you nod or an I don’t give a s**t about arguing with you anymore nod. Either way, it lets me breathe again. “It wouldn’t have helped either way, you know,” he remarks. “Nothing they can do to me.” “Meaning what? You’re above the law?” “So then you don’t have to worry about anything, do you?” I ask. “Even if I went to the cops, no one would believe me.” “Doesn’t mean I don’t need my phone.” “So it is important?” I ask. He gives me an ironic smile. “It belongs to me. Of course it’s important.”