Page 29 of The Unexpected Lineup (Lost in Translation #2)

LET THEM TALK, HAISLEY

HAISLEY

S ilent treatment is a form of art. And I’ve perfected it over the past few days of staying at the loft.

It’s childish for someone my age, sure, but I honestly don’t care.

I’m overwhelmed, hurt and pissed off at everything not going the way I planned.

The raging hormones don’t help, and all I really want is to cry and eat my weight in coffee toffee bar crunch ice cream.

Rasmus paces the kitchen, casting glances in my direction as I silently watch another episode of Gossip Girl curled up on the couch, my walking boot propped on a pillow.

“Haisley.”

I pretend like I can’t hear or see him.

“Come on, quit being so stubborn and talk to me.”

His footsteps retreat down the hall. Great. Maybe he finally got the message and will leave me alone.

Ten minutes later, he’s back. And once I see his face again, I spot that damn smirk I can’t say no to. This man is doing it on purpose, I swear.

Narrowing my eyes suspiciously, I bark, “What?”

His smirk widens. “You finally spoke to me.”

Dammit . I truly did.

I scowl, shifting my focus to the large screen, where Blair is about to kiss Chuck for the first time.

“Since we’re talking now, I have something special for you.”

I do love surprises, but I can’t tell him that. “I don’t need anything.”

“Too bad. It’s already happening.”

The doorbell rings and I’m confused as he walks away to answer the door. What now?

A flurry of voices fills the entryway, followed by two people carrying garment bags and cases.

A woman in a sleek all-black suit strides in, her perfectly lined red lips curving into a smile.

“Haisley, it’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Margot, your stylist for tonight.

And this is Luke, your hair and makeup artist.”

I stare at the man who’s responsible for all this. “What is going on?”

“Date night,” he says simply. “Since you won’t talk to me, I thought I had to do something to get your attention.”

“Your big plan is to throw clothes at me until I forgive you?”

Margot gasps dramatically. “These are pieces of art, couture pieces hand-selected only for you based on the measurements Rasmus was able to get us. ”

“And I’ll make you look like a goddess. Well, more of a goddess than you already are,” Luke adds.

I level Rasmus with another glare. “You really think this is going to fix things?”

Honestly, I’m already softening a bit because he clearly organized this well in advance. But I can’t give up that easily.

“No. But I do think you deserve to be spoiled, and since your ankle is hurting, it was easier to bring them to you.”

Damn him. He’s right. I do deserve a day of pampering.

Margot claps her hands. “All right! We have work to do. Come, come.”

And I follow her, hobbling my way to the guestroom to get ready.

An hour later, I stare at my reflection, unable to deny that my glam team knows what they’re doing.

My hair cascades in soft waves over my shoulders while my makeup is radiant yet soft.

The lacy dark green dress hugs my body and highlights the small baby bump that has appeared in the past few days.

It’s also long enough to cover the walking boot.

Even if I’m still pissed at Rasmus, I feel good. Scratch that. I feel amazing . The woman looking back at me isn’t the same one who binge-watched the same TV show she has seen a thousand times before.

“He’s going to lose his ever-loving mind when he sees you,” Luke whispers in awe .

Margot beams. “As he should. Now, let’s make him regret whatever he did to upset you.”

Luke slowly helps me to the living room, where Rasmus is waiting in a dark-colored suit. His hair is up in a bun, and his beard is freshly trimmed.

Damn him for being so fucking attractive.

When he looks over and sees me dolled up, his entire body goes still. I spot Margot and Luke sneak out in the background, leaving us alone.

“Wow. You look—” he says, his voice low and raspy. His eyes drop to my stomach, and he smiles. “May I?”

I only nod because I can’t deny him this experience, no matter how much he might annoy me.

Rasmus moves towards me and kneels in front of me, his large palms cupping my stomach. He gives a slow kiss on it and rubs small circles over the lace. He whispers something in Swedish, but I don’t ask him what. It’s his private moment with the baby, not mine.

When he lifts his eyes to look up, they’re shining. His entire expression is soft and hopeful. “Haisley, you have every right to be mad at the situation?—"

“Damn right, I do,” I interrupt him.

He exhales and starts to run a hand through his hair before realizing it’s tied back.

“You really think I wanted to tell your dad? Heck no. I panicked. You were hurt, and all I could think about was getting to you. I couldn’t leave without a good reason, so I told your dad to make him understand why I had to get to you and fast. ”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “I get that. But it should’ve been my decision.”

“You’re right.” His fingers softly drum against my stomach. “But I’m not sorry for wanting to be here. I want nothing more than to be part of this journey with you. Every step of the way. No matter what.”

Taking a long breath, I slowly release most of my anger. There’s no point in being mad when his intentions are good. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks hopefully and gets up. “You mean it?”

“I’m still a bit irritated, but I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for keeping your promises and being there. Thank you for being you.”

The smirk is back. “You should know by now that I always keep my promises.”

My cheeks blush, thinking back to our first night together.

“So, now that we have that out of the way. What’s this grand plan of yours?” I ask.

“I thought that because you can’t leave anywhere, I would bring date night to you.”

“You did well. I absolutely loved the time with Margot and Luke.”

“I’m glad. Can I help you to the table?”

He takes my hand and pulls me towards him. I stumble, but Rasmus catches me. His hands linger at my waist, and the closeness sends heat rushing to my cheeks. My hesitation fades and all I want is to kiss him again .

“You okay?” he asks, his breath warm against my hair.

I swallow hard and nod. “I lost my footing for a second there.”

He doesn’t move right away, but once I’ve pulled myself away from him, Rasmus guides me toward the dining table. His hand resting lightly on my uncovered lower back sends shivers through me.

The dining area off the kitchen has been transformed in the hour I spent getting ready. The soft flicker of the candles casts a warm glow over the set table. A bouquet of white roses is in the center, and soft music plays in the background. The food waiting on the table smells delicious, too.

It’s all so beautiful. Thoughtful and tasteful at the same time. I didn’t know he could pull off something so romantic.

“You did all this?”

“I had plenty of time to prepare while they were pampering you.”

I press my lips together to fight a smile. “It looks amazing, Ras.”

Pleased with my compliment, he pulls out my chair. The simple gesture sends a flutter through my chest. I lower myself carefully, watching as he slides into the seat across from me. With practiced ease, he shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

“How many tattoos do you have?” I ask, admiring his tattoos.

He serves me a portion of the salmon. “I don’t think I’ve ever counted them.”

“Guess?”

“Um…Around thirty, maybe? ”

I know he had many but never thought it would be thirty.

“You’ve seen all of me, so it shouldn’t be a huge surprise,” he comments when I don’t speak.

Ignoring his innuendo, I ask, “What was your first one?”

“The star on my left ass cheek.”

I nearly choke on the air, laughing as the memory resurfaces. “I remember seeing the design. What inspired it?”

“I got drunk one night in high school, and my teammate’s brother did tattoos at home,” he shrugs. “What can I say?”

“Wasn’t it painful? I mean, you played hockey back then, and I can’t imagine exercising with a fresh tattoo.”

His face twists in a grimace. “Oh, it sucked. But our coach didn’t care, though. There were four of us who got the same tattoo that night. One of my teammates’ tattoo even got infected and he still played every game.”

“Gross.”

“Totally,” he agrees as he passes me a glass of non-alcoholic sparkling wine.

I thank him. “Do you have a favorite?”

He rolls up his right sleeve some more to show me the detailed snake that takes up almost the entire length of his arm. “This one.”

The details are as breathtaking as the first time I saw it. The scales and the fierce gaze of the serpent make it seem alive on his skin.

“Is there a special meaning behind it? ”

He nods as he cuts into his salmon. “Snake tattoos can symbolize rebirth and change. I got mine before my first professional season. It’s my reminder of all the different phases in my life. The good, the bad, the ugly. Everything that has shaped me.”

“I used to be afraid of snakes,” I admit.

“Did my tattoo change your mind?”

“Maybe.” I wink, taking a bite of the food. The flavors hit me all at once, and I mumble through a hand covering my mouth, “Holy shit, this is incredible.”

His lips twitch. “Just wait until you try the Swedish apple tart I baked for dessert earlier today.”

“That sounds divine,” I take a sip of the drink. “Speaking of tattoos, have you planned on getting any new designs?”

“Of course.” He leans back. “I’ll have a tattoo or two for our little Meatball.”

I look at him skeptically. “ Please tell me you won’t get a tattoo of an actual meatball.”

“Now that you’ve planted the idea…” He glances up from his plate, catching my horrified expression, and laughs. “Relax. I’m only kidding.”

I don’t reply, taking another bite of the food. Rasmus watches me, his expression less playful than before.

His thumb brushes along the rim of his glass. “You know, sometimes I wonder what’s really going on in that head of yours.”

I raise an eyebrow, swallowing. “What do you mean? ”

“You sit here smiling and laughing, pretending everything’s fine…but I can still feel it. There’s this wall you’ve built between us, and no matter what I do, you won’t let me past it.”

I drop my gaze to my plate, nudging a piece of salmon around. “It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?” His voice tightens, edged with something between concern and helplessness. “Because I can’t shake the feeling. What do I have to do for you to let me in?”

I stare at my food, appetite gone, and feel the weight of everything I’ve kept locked inside. It’s not that I don’t want to let him in. It’s that letting him in means exposing the most fragile, fearful parts of myself. The ones I’ve spent years pretending didn’t exist.

I draw a breath, barely audible. “I’m scared.”

He goes still before speaking. “Of what?”

My lips part, but nothing comes out right away. I glance up, just for a second, and the look on his face nearly unravels me. He’s not angry. He’s just patient. Like he knows the truth is delicate and he doesn’t want to break it by pushing too hard.

“Of losing this,” I say at last, my voice low. “Of messing it up. Of people turning something good into something ugly.”

“Haisley…” He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving mine. “We’re not responsible for other people’s opinions. We can’t live our lives under the weight of their assumptions.”

“But I’ve seen what it can be,” I whisper. “When people come up with a wrongful version of your story and run with it. They don’t care if it’s true. They only want something to whisper about over coffee or post about as if they know you. ”

“And I’ve lived it more than once. And I’m still here. Still fighting for a future with you that finally feels mine.”

I hesitate to share my thoughts, even if he’ll understand them. “I really don’t want people talking about me. About you. About us . Not when they find out about the pregnancy.”

His reply comes without hesitation. “Let them talk, Haisley.”

“What?”

“Let them. Nothing else but us matters in this relationship.”

I open my mouth, but the argument stalls on my tongue. “But?—“

“No.” He shakes his head, his jaw tightening.

“Listen carefully. People will talk. They’ll gossip, assuming whatever they want.

That’s what they do. But the only thing that matters is us and how we know the truth.

That’s what I have learned from my past experiences with the press and the public.

I panic about it every so often myself, but the facts don’t change. ”

“True,” I admit softly.

“I’m still giving this thing between us my all. Because you and our baby deserve that.”

My chest tightens, the familiar doubts creeping back in. “But what if?—”

“No what ifs, Haisley,” he interrupts gently but firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Remember when I told you that I used to live in the what ifs. I let them control too much. I won’t do that again and you won’t either. We’re in this together. No matter what they say. No matter what happens.”

His hand rests on the table, open and waiting. When I place mine in his, he curls his fingers around mine like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

His thumb glides over the ring on my finger, and he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Then let them talk.”