That was almost enough to make me smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ll distract her and get her thinking about something else.” He reached for my hand and touched my ring.
Wedding bells. He didn’t say it, but I got the message. And of course that was what my mother would think. A man in Gideon’s position didn’t come back to a woman through her mother—especially one like Monica Stanton—unless his “intentions” were serious.
That was an issue we’d tackle another day.
FOR the next hour, Gideon pretended like he wasn’t hovering. He stayed close, following me from room to room on some pretext or another. When my stomach growled, he tugged me immediately into the kitchen, pulling together a plate of sandwiches, potato chips, and prepared macaroni salad.
We ate at the island, and I let the comfort of his attentiveness soothe my nerves. As rough as things were, he was there for me to lean on. It made a lot of the troubles we were facing seem surmountable.
What couldn’t we accomplish, as long as we stayed together?
“What did Corinne want?” I asked. “Besides you.”
His features hardened. “I don’t want to talk about Corinne.”
There was an edge to his voice that niggled at me. “Is everything all right?”
“What did I just say?”
“Something lame that I’m choosing to ignore.”
He made an exasperated noise, but relented. “She’s upset.”
“Screaming upset? Or crying upset?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. There’s a difference between being mad at a guy and being a teary mess over him. For example: Deanna is mad and can plot your destruction; I was a teary mess and could barely crawl out of bed every day.”
“God. Eva.” He reached over and set his hand over mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Cut it out with the apologies, already! You’ll make it up to me having to deal with my mother. So is Corinne mad or teary?”
“She was crying.” Gideon winced. “Christ. She lost it.”
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with that. Don’t let her guilt-trip you, though.”
“I used her,” he said quietly, “to protect you.”
I set my sandwich down and narrowed my gaze at him. “Did you or did you not tell her that all you could offer was friendship?”
“You know I did. But I also deliberately fostered the impression that we might be more, for the sake of the press and the police. I sent her mixed signals. That’s what I feel guilty about.”
“Well, stop. That bitch tried to make me think you’d banged her”—I wiggled two fingers—“twice. And the first time she did, it hurt so bad I’m still getting over it. Plus she’s married, for f**k’s sake. She’s got no business making moves on my man when she’s got her own.”
“Back up to the part about banging her. What are you talking about?”
I explained the incidents—the lipstick-on-the-cuff disaster at the Crossfire and my impromptu visit to Corinne’s apartment, when she’d tried to play it like she’d just got done screwing him.
“Well, that changes things considerably,” he said. “There’s nothing more she and I need to say to each other.”
“Thank you.”
He reached over to tuck my hair behind my ear. “We’ll eventually be on the other side of all this.”
“Whatever will we do with ourselves then?” I muttered.