Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(77)

We haven’t said anything more to the press, but they’ve been buzzing around us constantly. And pictures of us holding hands as we came and went from my LA house to the airport and then again in New York are all over social media.

It feels as if the whole world is commenting on our relationship. Some people say we should just be left alone to do what we want. Others say we’re disgusting. Sinful. That even without a blood relationship, the fact of our adoption makes our relationship both illegal and vile. Some say we got what we deserved when Eli disinherited us. Others say our parents are horrible.

As for the two of us, we’ve said nothing.

Reporters have been begging for a statement, an interview, anything. And Dallas and I agree that we should give it to them. We’ll do that, but later. There’s nothing they can print that is more than the truth, and we’re hoping that by letting them run loose with speculation, that by the time we officially speak, our relationship will have been so gossiped about it really won’t even be news.

Probably won’t happen, but we can hope.

And besides, even with all the chatter and gossip, we’re both too happy in our new bubble to think about bringing the press into our world just yet.

Now, I turn in a circle, taking in the obstacle course of boxes and furniture. It’s a huge mess—and I have absolutely no idea how we’re going to make everything fit—but I’m looking forward to the challenge. Craving it, really. My life may have literally exploded, but I’m surprised by how much of a relief it is to have shed the secret that Dallas and I have been carrying. So much of a relief that even doing normal, mundane stuff is making me a little giddy.

And, yeah, I feel a bit guilty about that. I know my mom is in a huge funk—not because she thinks Dallas and me being together is bad, but because my dad is being so damned unreasonable. And, yes, because she hasn’t got the balls to stand up to him and support her kids.

I know that Dallas and I are going to have to deal with that. With him. And with the press. And with sideways looks from strangers.

I know that Dallas is going to have to figure out how to regroup on the Deliverance side of things. He can no longer be the King of Fuck—at least not to anyone but me. Which means that Dallas may have to shift his role within Deliverance, and one of the other guys—I think briefly of Quince with his sexy British accent—will have to dive into the playboy role.

These are all real problems, and we’re going to have to find real answers. But for this week at least, I officially don’t care. For the next seven days, I’m all about this apartment and the man I share it with. The real world is out there—I know it. He knows it. And we also know it’s not going away. But for this bubble in time, we’re going to focus on us.

Right now, in fact, I’m searching the room for the box into which I’d packed all the bar supplies. Because Dallas is going to return from clearing out his office soon, and when he does I intend to greet him at the door with a martini—and absolutely nothing else.

I’m interrupted in my rummaging by the buzz of the intercom. I hurry to the door and punch the button on the speaker. “Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Martin,” the doorman says. “But I have a man here who wants to see you, and I don’t think he’s a reporter.”

“Who is it?”

“He says he’s your ex-husband.”

I frown, not entirely sure how Bill got this address—probably my father—but absolutely certain I don’t want to talk to him. I’m positive that the press about Dallas and me has both confused and hurt him, but I’m not in the mood to talk about it. Soon, but not yet. “I’m sorry. Tell him it’s not a good time.”

“He says it’s important. That it’s about Colin.”

Colin?

I start to ask what he means, but instead I tell the doorman to just send him up.

“What’s going on?” I ask, the moment I open the door for him.

“You’re not going to like it,” he says. “Not any of it.”

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “Just say it.”

“You know how we’ve been investigating your brother’s kidnapping?” He stumbles slightly over the word “brother.”

My throat is so dry I can barely speak. Somehow, I manage to say, “Yes.”

“Well, first of all, we weren’t the only ones investigating.”

I look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Someone else was trying to find Dallas’s kidnapper, too.”

“Who?” I walk to the couch, because my knees are so weak now I’m afraid I’ll fall if I don’t sit. It’s Deliverance of course. It’s Dallas and Liam and Quince and the rest of the team. I know that.

What I’m wondering is if Bill knows it as well. But he, thank goodness, is shaking his head. “No idea. I wish we did because—well, I’ll get to that. The point is, we suspected someone else was poking around. We’re certain now.”

I don’t want to ask. I’m positive the answer will be bad. But I have to know. “Why? Why are you sure now?”

He meets my eyes. “Because when we made the move to bring Colin in for questioning earlier today, someone else had gotten to him first.”

Questioning?