My vision tunnels.
“Fucking hell,” Ryan mutters. “That’s low.”
Lukas shifts uneasily. “You gonna talk to her?”
“I alreadydid,” I snap. “Told her it was over. Told her to leave it.”
Ryan whistles softly. “She’s not taking the hint.”
“She will.” My voice is sharper than I mean, but my temper’s already teetering on the edge. I shove my stick into the boards, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “She doesn’t get to drag Rose into this. There is no scandal and Talia doesn’t get to play the woman scorned.”
Lukas lays a hand on my shoulder. “You want me to flag it with media? Get ahead of it before the press starts sniffing?”
“Yeah,” I grind out. “Do it.”
He nods, skating off. Ryan lingers a moment. “You good?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But I will be.” Because now it’s personal. And I will not let her hurt Rose.
By the time I make it back to my flat that evening, the anger’s cooled into determination. The last thing I want is for Rose to think she’s part of some scandal. She deserves better than that, better than me, even, but I’m selfish enough to want her anyway.
When she steps out of the bathroom, she’s dressed in a simple, soft blue dress that makes her eyes glow. Her hair is loose, and she flashes me that nervous smile that always wrecks me.
“Wow,” I say, stepping closer. “You look unbelievable.”
Her cheeks pinken. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
I glance down at my dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, my jacket clenched in my hand. “Didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the posh people.”
She laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You could show up in joggers and still pull focus.”
“Noted,” I say, offering my arm. “Let’s go before I forget how to act civilised.”
The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet street just on the edge of town, candlelight glinting through the windows. Inside, it’s warm, and full of low chatter and soft music. We get a booth near the back. It’s private enough that it feels as though the world’s melted away.
Rose glances around, a little wide-eyed. “This is fancy.”
“Only the best,” I say. “Though I can’t promise I know how to pronounce half the menu.”
She laughs, leaning closer. “I’ll help you out. I’ve mastered the art of pretending I know what I’m doing.”
“Is that what this is?” I tease. “A fake-it-till-you-make-it situation?”
“Maybe,” she says, eyes glinting. “But you’re not making it easy to concentrate.”
“Good,” I murmur, reaching for her hand under the table.
She lets me take it, our fingers threading together as if they’ve done it a hundred times before. For a while, it’s just us, eating amazing food and enjoying easy conversation, with the kind of laughter that sits comfortably in the air. I forget about everything else.
Halfway through dessert, she tilts her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically. Then I add, “Talia made another move today.”
Her fork stills. “I saw.”
My chest tightens. “Shit. I was going to tell you.”
“I figured.” She gives a small, brave smile. “It’s fine. I know she’s trying to get a reaction.”
