Page 28 of Dangerous

Fourteen

Mira

We didn’t speak for nearly a week after that.

I’d expected Blaine to yell at me for breaking his precious rules, but he didn’t. Instead, he avoided me.

I saw him a few times in the kitchen or on the stairs, and once or twice I caught sight of him headed for the shed in the backyard, but we never exchanged as much as a word.

For the first few days, I saw it as a blessing. What had gone down between us had been way too intense, and I was happy to pretend like it’d never happened. Between Blaine’s anger, my own body’s treacherous reactions to his closeness and the run-in with his disturbing brother, playing make-believe was just fine by me. As much as I wanted to get Blaine to respect—and ultimately trust—me, I sorely needed a few days off from all the drama.

But by day four, the peace and quiet had lost its novelty, especially because neither Rob nor Greg, nor any of the other guards, set foot in the house unless it was to carry in my groceries. When I asked if they wanted tea or a sandwich, they always politely declined and then exited the house as if I’d offered them arsenic. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Blaine had hadwordswith his men since I’d managed to sneak out without alerting any of them.

As a result, I was completely isolated, and I was beginning to go more than a little stir crazy. When I woke up on day six afterThe Incidentso nauseous I had to sprint to my en-suite bathroom to throw up, I was done suffering in silence.

I leaned weakly against the toilet after the heaving was finally over, unable to muster enough energy to get off up from the tiled floor.

Great. Just what I needed—a stomach bug.

I stayed on the floor for a good half an hour, until I was reasonably certain I wouldn’t hurl from moving. When I got up, my stomach lurched again, but at least the dry heaves didn’t return. I quickly cleaned my teeth and then pattered downstairs to the front door.

Rob and Greg were back on watch. They both looked mildly surprised at my disheveled appearance when I opened the door, probably thanks to my checkered pajamas bottoms, silk camisole, and sleep-messy hair.

“I need crackers,” I croaked. “And ginger ale.” A pang from my empty stomach made me add, “And gherkins, please,” before I shut the door again, not waiting for a reply. Sure, it wasn’t their fault that they seemingly weren’t allowed to talk to me anymore, but right then, I felt so completely alone in the world that I didn’t have it in me to care whether or not it was their choice to treat me like a leper.

I felt like crap, and no one cared. Heck, if I’d somehow contracted something lethal and died, my so-called husband would likely throw a party to celebrate it.

When Rob popped in to drop off my requested goods approximately twenty minutes later, he found me hunched over the breakfast bar, crying miserably with self-pity.

“Hey now, what’s the matter, love?” He sounded halfway concerned, halfway like he’d rather be anywhere else than trapped with a weeping woman, but instead of fleeing like I would have expected, he put the groceries on the counter and placed a tentative hand on my shoulder.

That one, small gesture of someone actually giving a crap turned my quiet crying into full-on belly sobs.

Rob made a startled noise at the back of his throat, clearly not having expected the Niagara Falls of snot and tears erupting in front of him.

“I-I’m so-sorry,” I hiccuped, doing my best to rein in the torrent of volatile emotions that ripped through my chest. “I’m j-just s-so alone. A-all the time.”

“Mmmh,” Rob hummed, as if that made all the sense in the world. It instantly made me feel a bit better, as if maybe I wasn’t completely crazy.

“Tell you what, why don’t you eat some of them crackers, love, and have a glass of ginger ale? I’ll just give Blaine a call, have him come home to look after you.”

My moment’s relief vanished immediately at the sound of my husband’s name. “No. Not Blaine. He h-hates me.” For some unknown reason, saying it out loud made a fresh bout of tears burst out of my eyes and stain my already salt-speckled glasses.

“Nah, he’s just a bit rough ‘round the edges. You gotta learn to handle him. He’s a Steel alright, but he’s a good kid when it comes down to it.” Rob gave my shoulder a light pat and fished his phone out of his pants. “You just settle down now, yeah? He’ll come runnin’ the second he hears you’re upset.”

“Don’t tell him that,” I sniffled pathetically. The last thing I wanted was for Blaine to know he’d beaten me with his silent treatment—especially when I felt so inexplicably weak. He didn’t need to see me when I was down.

“Don’t be daft,” Rob said as he left the kitchen with a backwards glance over his shoulder, phone already lifted halfway to his ear. “He’s a bloke—he’ll crack at the sight of his wife’s tears. You gotta learn to play the game, love.”

I stared after the big, burly man as he disappeared out of the kitchen and out the front door. Even with my best efforts I couldn’t imagine Blaine being anything remotely close to “a good kid,” but perhaps Rob did have a point. Perhaps a softer touch was what was needed when it came to Blaine. I’d spent all my time trying to be strong and together—and even when I’d failed miserably, I had reacted with anger rather than tears.

Maybe he would indeed react better if he saw vulnerability in me instead.

I grabbed a piece of paper towel off the counter and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. At least it would be pretty easy to show him vulnerability today.

When Blaine walkedin about three quarters of an hour later, my tears had finally stopped, even if my face was still salt-streaked and my eyes red-rimmed. I hadn’t been able to find the energy to go wash my face or even change into regular clothes, so when he rounded the double doors into the kitchen, he found me sitting on a bar stool still in my pajamas and snacking on a gherkin straight out of the jar.

I turned to face him when he paused in the doorway, half a pickle still in my hand. “Hey.”

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