Page 62 of Unapologetic Love Story

In her high heels, she was almost as tall as him. He was close enough for her nose to be level with his chin. He moved even nearer, the cushion between their two torsos acting like a stylish, Cretaceous chaperone.

A part of Raina had expected him to stay away. A part of her had anticipated the rejection, even prepared for it. Now he was in front of her, she wondered if it was just another day in his ever-moving, fluid office. She was his assignment and perhaps he wanted to catch her off-guard.

She remembered her vow to tell him the story was off. But no words came.

‘Why did you come?’

He answered without any hesitation. ‘Because you asked me to. Because you’re here.’ He took a breath and then added, ‘Because I want to matter to you.’

She dropped the cushion. It gently hit the tiles beneath their feet and neither of them took any notice. Raina reached up a hand to touch the sharp, spiked stubble on his well-defined face. All hard lines where hers were soft.

Matt had always refused to shave his beard, and Raina had secretly hated it. She would never tell another person how to live or what their body should look like, but inside she’d loathed it.

Tom Branimir was shaved to perfection.

‘Raina, people are asking for you.’

Raina leapt away at the sound of another voice in the room. Tom didn’t move an inch. She bent down to retrieve the cushion, returning it to its packaging. Solana stood in the doorway with an expectant smile, clearly oblivious to what she’d almost walked in on.

‘Coming,’ Raina said hoarsely.

She brushed by Tom but he caught her hand in his for a split second, gently rubbing her palm with his thumb before letting her go again.

She staggered out of the room, smiling at Solana as she passed by.

Once she was gone, Tom’s shoulders dropped. He exhaled bitterly.

‘Is that a cushion?’ Solana demanded, grabbing the large velvet object from the island.

‘Yes,’ Tom said, looking at the door and wondering whether he should leave into the night or march into that living room next door and insist he and Raina finish whatever they’d almost started. ‘I thought she’d like it.’

‘She loves Liberty.’

‘I know.’

They both had soft undercurrents of ownership in their voices. Tom knew she had more right than he did, but he couldn’t help it. The momentary dropping of Raina’s mask, that brief allowance, it had given him too much perilous hope.

‘If you need any background on Raina for your article, I’m your girl,’ Solana said buoyantly. ‘I know it all. She picks at her lips, she hates sunscreen, she won’t wear anything with buttons. I know her better than anyone.’

Tom carefully logged away those little breadcrumbs in his memory. ‘Interesting.’

‘Don’t worry if she seems a little distant today,’ Solana went on. ‘We had lunch with the parents, before driving back here. And I’m being generous with the word “lunch”.’

Tom leaned on the bar, watching her with interest. A neurological pen swept across an invisible page, noting down everything this younger sister was willingly choosing to divulge. A writer always took notes, even if no story was in sight. Pepper Cousins had been right about that. ‘Why?’

‘Our mum has policed our food since we could crawl. Raina especially. She went from strong to curvy, like, overnight, as a teenager, and Mum never got over it.’

Tom could see that Solana was still young for her age. She was pouring out all of this information as a way to impress him, and if he were being gentlemanly, he would ask her to stop. ‘Raina looks perfect.’

‘That’s what I always say, but Mum always needed us skinny. We left the house today before she could get too deep into her cups and start lecturing us about portion control.’

‘An alcoholic?’

Solana was still playing at being an adult as she considered the question. ‘High-functioning, maybe. But don’t put that in – Raina hates functioning labels.’

‘Why did Raina start the podcast?’

There was an edge of desperation to the question. It was the one he kept returning to, and while Solana wasn’t the person he wanted answers from, he would take any clues he could get. His need to know for a story, and his need to know for his own sanity, had started to blur and blend together. It was harder than ever to keep things separate.