CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“ITCAN’TBETRUE,” said Alya, staring down at Friday morning’s newspaper over Natasha’s shoulder. “It’s all speculation.”
Natasha’s glasses were fogging from the steam that rose from her sister’s coffee cup, which dangled precariously over Natasha’s pajama-clad arm.
She swallowed, rereading the headline for the hundredth time that morning: Powerhouse Couple Seals the Deal. Underneath the headline, Max’s easy grin beamed at her, his arm slung over the shoulder of Francesca Martinelli. The embrace in the photo looked more like that of friends, but that hadn’t stopped the reporter from including rumors about their personal history. Because of course Max probably had an intimate history with this beautiful woman. The effect of the article hadn’t worn off. Every single time she looked at it, the nausea hit her hard. But no matter how many times the bile crept up her throat, Natasha couldn’t stop looking at it. The two of them were so perfectly beautiful together.
Alya yanked the newspaper out of her hand. “Don’t keep looking at this crap, Natasha. All we know is that the foundation she heads gave money to the breast cancer clinic that the Jensen Family Foundation is setting up.”
“We also know that they were probably a couple a few years ago,” said Natasha, her eyes still on the newspaper, crumpled in Alya’s hand. “Why is he in the photo and not his father?”
“Natasha?”
It took a moment to realize that Alya was waiting for her attention. Slowly, Natasha lifted her gaze. Her sister’s eyes were full of sympathy. Natasha sighed. “What is it?”
“You don’t really believe that Max would so carelessly brush you aside like that, do you?”
“We’ve made no commitments to each other. He’s not tied to me in any way.” She winced at her own words. Even she didn’t buy this argument.
“Really?” Alya frowned. “You truly think Max would do that?”
Natasha took off her glasses and massaged her temples. Finally, she shook her head. No, she didn’t. Everything she knew about Max told her he was careful about hurting anyone. So why did she still feel like throwing up?
“Just talk to him about it,” Alya said softly. “Call him.”
Natasha took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. But I need to calm down a little first.”
She eyed the newspaper once more, but Alya hid it behind her back. “Nope. I’m getting this out of our apartment.”
Her sister headed off to her room, presumably to get dressed, and Natasha flopped back onto the sofa. She propped her legs on the arm and covered her face with a pillow. What the hell had she gotten herself into? The larger-than-life man, the media speculations, the jealousy—she was firmly in Illana Petrova territory. But even with years of watching her mother’s dramas unfold, she couldn’t just get herself to be logical and rational about the article. It was doing crazy things to her insides.
This was Max Jensen, a man whose family had captured the nation’s interest over and over. And probably always would. This wouldn’t be the last time she’d read speculations about who he was with, and any relationship with him would be publicly dissected. Natasha knew exactly what she would be signing up for.
If she called him right now, she’d regret it. Everything in her ached to fight back, to make him see why this wasn’t fair to her, to sever all ties with him—anything to get out from under the jealousy and inadequacy that were seething through her. Feelings she had left behind when she’d moved to Australia. And tomorrow she was his date to the foundation dinner. She threw another pillow over her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m going out to recycle the newspaper,” called Alya from the hall. “I’ll stop at the bakery to pick up something buttery and sugary, too.”
“Thanks,” Natasha mumbled from under the pillows.
The front door creaked open, and Alya said something too softly to hear.
“What?” Natasha called.
Her sister didn’t answer, and the door closed. Natasha took a couple deep breaths, but herserenity nowmoment was interrupted by footsteps.
“Forget something?” she called to her sister.
“Nope.”
The deep, male voice startled her, but she knew exactly who it was. She sat up, the cushion slipping onto the floor. “Max?” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been standing outside your door for a while, debating whether to knock, and then your sister made the decision for me,” he grumbled. He stopped in front of her, and she blinked up at him.
“You don’t look so good,” she said. His hair was standing up on one side, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t been sleeping well.
Max ran his hand through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh. “Thanks. You look hot as ever.”
“Don’t say—”
