Page 12 of The Villains We Make

She tilts her head, eyebrows furrowed.

“Arson, remember? Not to mention slamming my SUV into Ethan’s limo, that prick. Also, they think I kidnapped you.”

“You did.”

“I want you safe before they get to me. My lawyer is prepared and will get me out as soon as possible, but Sly Fox has some sway, although not so much in Boston as Sinistral.”

“We don’t have a marriage license. We can’t get married without one.”

“Done. I have some sway too.” I pull up the email and show it to her.

She takes the phone to look at it then hands it back to me.

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” She glances back out the window, at the snow that won’t stop falling. “What were you doing at my house the night of the gala?”

Ah. Yes. Of course, she’d ask, but I can’t tell her just yet. I can’t tell her the man who raised her as his daughter is not her biological father. I can’t tell her that her mother didn’t drown accidentally, that she committed suicide on Ophelia’s birthday with a note that said she couldn’t stand the sight of her own daughter.

“I remembered something from years ago,” I say, pausing. “You probably don’t remember. You were home from school when Sly sent me over to give your dad an envelope. You let me in and?—”

“I remember. I got in trouble later because I barged into dad’s study.”

“He was surprised when you opened the door, that’s for sure. And I saw what he was doing.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“He was hiding something beneath the floorboards and I thought maybe he’d hidden that envelope Sly had me bring over.”

“So you went back to get it?”

I nod.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. Something about how Sly had been that day had stuck with me.”

“Was it there?”

I nod, keeping my gaze steady on hers, knowing I’ll have to lie when she probes, hating to because I don’t want to be just another man who lies to her. But I have justification for what I will omit. She can’t hear this, not now, not until I know everything. Given what she’s been told so far, it will finish her if she hears it now.

“What was in it?” she asks cautiously.

“Newspaper clippings about your dad kidnapping your mom.”

“What?” She shakes her head. “And you didn’t think to tell me when you saw me that night?”

“I hadn’t read them through yet.” A half-lie.

She studies me. Can she see through me? “You told me once I’d only marry for love,” she says, surprising me by changing the subject.

I nod, jaw tight.

“What about you? What will you marry for?”

This is a question I don’t expect and don’t know how to answer. My phone rings in my pocket. It’s Nigella. I recognize her ring tone. I reach in to silence it.

Ophelia doesn’t wait for me to answer. She exhales, then turns her back to me. “There has to be another way.”

I study the exposed skin of her shoulders, remembering how she felt in my arms when she gave herself to me. When she was mine. I reach up to lift her hair over one shoulder gently and trace the weal left by Ethan’s belt, knowing I’m doing the right thing. She shudders and when she goes to pull away, I set my hands on the windowsill, trapping her.

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