Why was everything warm in Irina’s apartment? He scratched at his arms. Hot and itchy and—
“You are panicking.” Irina stood right before him—how’d she get there?—and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Why are you panicking?”
There was air moving in and out of his lungs. Of this, he was certain, since he hadn’t done a face-plant into the carpet fibers near his still-ringing cell.
The chirping stopped.
He let out a huge breath. See? Totally breathing.
“Thank fuck,” he whispered.
“What is up with that?” Irina asked, whispering, too.
He glanced to the phone, then to Irina. “My mom.”
“Your mom.” Irina’s eyebrows raised right up.
He nodded. “She’s in town. Wants to meet up. She’s going to ask me to do things. Things that I don’t want to do.”
“Like?”
“Like have a lunch with someone important so she can show me off.” Or rip on his dad and try to convince Knox to cut him off. Or many other things he couldn’t think of right then, like— “Or convince me not to marry you.”
“Then tell her no,” Irina said, as though it were only that simple. “Tell her you’re going to do what you want to do.”
“I can’t.” He didn’t seem to be physically capable of it.
Irina frowned. “Why not?”
“Because she’s my mom.”
“Instead of telling her no, you’re just not going to answer.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
The phone started up again.
“Knox.” Irina still stood before him, still touched him, still…cared? “She’s very persistent.”
He closed his eyes, gulped, and let that lump of whatever-it-was settle square in his gut like it always did when he shared the same zip code as his mother.
He glanced to the window, then to the door. Not that Mom would scale the side of the building, but she’d definitely track him down and knock on the door. Not that tracking him down would be that hard with the photographers placed strategically out front of the apartment building.
“I need to leave for Europe now,” he decided. “Stay there until the wedding.”
That’s when he’d planned to see her next and deal with all her drama. Uh-huh, perhaps a trip through the United Kingdom, hop on a train to France. He could already taste the French pastry he’d have as he meandered down the cobbled streets a full earthly rotation away from the woman who lived to make life hard for everyone around her.
“Knox, the wedding is nearly here.” Irina rubbed at his arms. “You can’t go to Europe.”
“We could get married there.” He snapped his fingers and appreciated his own quick thinking.
“Knox.” She lifted her hands to his cheeks and held his gaze to hers.
This was comfortable, Irina’s touch and her eyes on him. Her concern, because she cared that his night was about to go to shit. He could just stay here in her apartment and stare at her. That would be better than listening to his mom go through her list of reasons marriage was a mistake in person instead of via text messages.
He looked away, because he needed to process this change of events.Think, Jeremy. Think.He pulled free of Irina’s grip.
“Your mom doesn’t want us to get married?” Irina asked, gently.
