Page 32 of Unstable

“Awesome. Can’t wait.”

Roman’s lips quirked at her sarcasm. “At least the view is better here.”

“Are you saying my house is crappy?”

Her question seemed to catch him off guard. “No. Just… different.”

“Hmm…” She glanced out at the ocean, watching the birds overhead, but she could feel his gaze on her.

“It does surprise me a little, not gonna lie.”

It was the first thing he had offered voluntarily, and she turned to meet his gaze. “Why’s that?”

“I thought you’d choose something more… extravagant.”

Because he thought she was spoiled and self-centered. She probably should have expected something like that, but his words cut into her heart like a dagger slipping between her ribs.

Her shoulders twitched as she fortified the walls around herself. “The belief that all singers make a ton of money right off the bat with a record deal is a misconception. I got started as a backup singer to some of the more popular artists. It’s only been about a year and a half since I’ve really ventured out on my own. There’s a lot of money tied up in recording, and though I tour, only the headliners make a decent profit.

“When I moved to Florida, I wanted to put down some roots, but I didn’t want to buy anything ostentatious. I’d rather save my money now and live modestly than try to keep up with the Joneses and be broke in ten years.”

He was silent for a long moment, then—“Smart.” He tipped his head her way. “Why Florida?”

Her brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“You came from Nashville, right?” At her nod, he continued. “Why move here if the big country music scene is up north?”

Her expression went completely blank, and she offered a small shrug. “It’s always been a bucket list thing of mine to move somewhere warm.”

He stared at her, as if sensing she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Before he could inquire further, she changed the subject. “I’m getting kind of hungry. What about you?”

“I could eat.”

She rolled her eyes. Such a guy thing to say. He could always eat. In fact, she was pretty sure Roman would never stop eating given the choice. She had no idea how he stayed in shape with as much as he consumed over the course of a day. Though they had avoided each other as much as possible while he had been staying with her, she couldn’t miss the dent he had made in her pantry.

Not that she minded. She was a terrible shopper. She always seemed to go when she was hungry and grabbed all kinds of things that she regretted later. Roman had helped polish off most of her open bags of snacks so they didn’t go to waste.

She slowed to a stop and gestured with her head back toward the house. “Let’s head back and start dinner, then.”

She studied him surreptitiously as they turned around to head home. Well, their home for the next couple of weeks, anyway. Temporary house, temporary marriage. She almost laughed out loud, though she was far from feeling the humor of the situation. Her heart still felt bruised at the way Roman had so easily stereotyped her as a high-maintenance blonde bimbo who was only concerned about appearances. Would he ever see her for who she really was? She seriously doubted it.

Inwardly, she heaved a sigh. He seemed to be acting stranger than normal, and she hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come. She liked knowing exactly where she stood with someone, and now she felt like she was floundering, grasping for purchase. She knew all of this was a fabrication to keep her safe. She just couldn’t stop her heart from wishing it could be more.

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Roman stacked the last of the dishes in the sink and glanced over the bar into the living room where Irina was curled up at one end of the plush sectional, a pair of fuzzy pink socks adorning her feet. The sight made him want to smile. She wore little else in the way of clothing, only a camisole and a pair of tiny shorts, but she always had a pair of those fuzzy socks on. What was with that?

He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Irina’s head swiveled his way. “What’s with what?”

Embarrassed to have been caught watching her, he dropped his eyes back to the sink and fiddled with the utensils for a moment. “Your socks.”

He dried his hands on a dish towel as he glanced over at her again. She lifted one shoulder. “My feet are always cold.”

He cracked a grin. “Have you tried wearing clothes?”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say the rest of me was cold, just my feet.”