Page 36 of What Doesn't Kill You…

Everything within her screamed no. It was a visceral reaction. One she wasn't sure she understood. All she knew was that Max had to stay on the island. With her.

She shook her head.

"No," she said firmly.

"No?" he asked.

"No. This is your mission, and you should be part of it. You've been working on this for years, chasing this guy when no one else could see how dangerous he was. I don't want to be the reason you didn't get to finish your quest and be there when we take the bastard down."

"Quest?" His full lips quirked.

She glanced at her teammates who were watching her with pity. It was clear they agreed with Max that she was blowing the op because she couldn't act like she was in love.

"Who knew high school drama class would turn out to be so important?" Violet muttered.

"It's okay," Max said softly, as he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Not everybody can pretend."

Violet took a deep breath. They needed to sort this, and it needed to happen now. She stood, still holding Max's hand. "Excuse us for a minute. We need to talk."

Then she strode from the restaurant, dragging Max behind her.

Max wasn't sure what was happening, or where they were going, but he didn't want to make a scene, so he let Violet lead the way. Turned out their destination was the disabled toilet. Not what he'd been expecting.

She pulled him inside and locked the door behind them. Like the rest of the resort, it was pristine in its cleanliness. Something he was very grateful for.

"Okay," she said, her back to the door. "We need to sort this out right now."

Max watched her expression shift between nervousness and intent. Whatever was going on in her head, it was confusing her, and that didn't bode well for him. In their short time together, he'd learned Violet struck out when confused.

"What exactly are we sorting?" he said carefully as he perched on the edge of the sink.

She threw up her hands in disgust. "This stupid fake relationship that's what. Pay attention!"

He massaged the back of his neck. "I thought we'd sorted that. Later, we'll stage a public argument—we're good at that—and then I'll go to St. Patrice until you're done here."

"Weren't you listening," she scowled. "I already said no to your dumb idea."

"It might be dumb, Vi, but it's the only idea we've got. We have to do something to salvage this situation, or I won't get the evidence I need to ruin Damien."

"It's not the only idea we have." She squared her shoulders. For some reason, she reminded him of someone waiting for a jury to come to a verdict. "Before we left Houston, Rochelle told me you used to be married. Is that right?"

"Yeah." Why did he feel like any second now, he was going to walk into a trap. "I was young. I married a local weather girl. It didn't last long." He shrugged. "She'd been more interested in fame than a relationship, and when it became clear that investigative reporters didn't court the limelight, she left. She's married to an actor now and lives in Vancouver."

"Right." Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. "So, you know how to get married."

That didn't seem to need a response.

Violet started pacing the very small room. Four steps, turn. Four steps, turn. It was making him dizzy.

"I'm assuming that before you got married there was a whole romantic relationship thing?" she said as she passed him. "Hearts, flowers, over-the-top gestures?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," he said. "Could you stop pacing, it's making me seasick."

She came to an abrupt halt in front of him. "My point is, you know how two people are supposed to behave in the days before they get married."

"Well, yeah, I guess."

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes or no, Max. This is no time for guessing."