Page 52 of Bloody Lace

I’ve been mostly on my own for my adult life. My parents were decent enough growing up, but they wanted me to do something solid with my life. Something dependable. A forty-hour a week salaried job that came with a paycheck and benefits, so they’d never have to worry about whether or not their little girl was okay. I didn’t do that, and it put a rift between us. They don’twantto worry about me, so they detached.

I’ve had Dahlia since college, but she’s my only real, close friend. I learned to be independent. To take care of myself. Tokeep my worries and fears mostly inside, because I’ve never wanted to overwhelm Dahlia with them.

The thought of someone defending me,protectingme—even in such a completely unhinged way—makes me feel a warmth in my chest that is entirely inappropriate for the situation.

“You can’t go around cutting pieces off of people.” I tighten my arms around myself, still having trouble coming to terms with what’s going on here. Dimitri chuckles darkly.

“I can, Evelyn. It’s what I do.”

I blink at the box. “What is he going to do without a finger? He—” I feel insane, worrying about a man who clearly intended me harm, but this entire situation is insane. I don’t know how to think normally about it.

“Evelyn.” Dimitri’s voice is suddenly patient, as if he’s trying very hard to get through to me on this. “He’s dead.”

“He’s—” My hand flies to my throat. “Oh.”

“Evelyn.” Suddenly, Dimitri is right in front of me, both of my hands in his, like they were on our wedding day. “This marriage might not be real. It might have an expiration date. But half of this deal is mine, and I made you a promise. Lasting or not, Iamyour husband for now, and I have a responsibility to keep you safe. I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish that, up to and including this. Worse, if need be. Do you understand?”

I stare at him, horrified. But under that horror, there’s that same warmth, blooming through my chest. A feeling of safety, of being cared for, that I’ve never felt before. I try to remind myself that this is the same man who bent me over that desk yesterday, who spanked me to teach me a lesson, but that memory doesn’t land quite the way it did before. It feels colored differently now. Like he did it because he was afraid I’d get hurt. Like there’s more to it than just the surface level of what it is about it that upset me.

“I need—” I pull my hands away from his, taking a step back, and for a moment I see a flicker of something that almost looks like disappointment on his face. “I need some space. I’m going to go to the boutique. I’ll take Gus with me,” I add, holding my hands up in surrender before he can say anything about it. “I get it. I’m in danger, and I need someone to watch me. I won’t fight you on it any longer.”

Relief clearly washes over Dimitri’s face. “Good,” he says simply. “Thank you.”

He steps back, retreating behind his desk, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The tension between us stretches out like an elastic, thinning the further he gets from me, and I can feel my shoulders relax slightly. When he sits down, I back towards the door, pressing my lips together.

“I’ll text Gus and tell him to come meet me right now,” I promise. “I’ll even take Buttons with me, so he won’t bother you today.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Dimitri looks at me, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I have a business dinner tonight, so I probably won’t be here when you get back.”

My first feeling is another wave of relief, followed by a feeling that he’s avoiding being around me. Having to do things like share a meal or figure out how to fill the hours in the evening together. I shouldn’t care—if anything, I should be glad that he’s trying to cut down on the amount of time that we’re forced into proximity with each other. But it stings anyway, and I frown, turning away as I hurry out of his office before he can say anything else.

All it takes is a single text to Gus and he’s at the front door in a matter of minutes, ready to go with me wherever I need to. It’s unsurprising, considering what Dimitri told me earlier. I’m sure Gus is aware that he literally dodged a bullet—a thought that still makes my stomach twist whenever I think about it for too long.

Every mile that I put between Dimitri and I feels like an exhaled breath. I know I’m going to have to find a way to deal with this eventually—there’s no telling how long this marriage will last, and we can’t avoid each other forever. But that feels like a problem for a different day. Right now, I just need space.

The crew that Dimitri hired to clean up the shop are almost finished. When we walk in, the boutique looks gutted in a way that makes my chest ache, but it’s no longer in complete ruins. The burnt clothing, furniture, and mannequins have all been removed, leaving the building an empty shell, and the crew is working on cleaning it when we arrive.

There’s not a lot I can do. The air smells strongly of industrial cleaner and paint, getting the walls to a base white before I decide what I want to do from there. There’s no furniture left, so there’s nowhere to sit, and I can tell from the looks cast in my direction that we’re only in the way.

So, after a cursory spin around the building to make sure I’m happy with their efforts, I retreat with Gus and Buttons to a dog-friendly coffee shop nearby to start going through catalogs and looking for what I want to remodel the interior.

Gus looks visibly annoyed when I pick a table next to the corner windows, rather than further back in the coffeeshop. “You’re a visible target,” he mutters, sitting down heavily opposite me, and I just smile sweetly before opening the first of a pile of design magazines that I brought with me.

“I’m sure Dimitri assigned you to me because you’re the best at your job.”

He winces, and I instantly regret the jab. I hadn’tmeantfor it to be a jab, but I’m sure he took it that way, given the fact that Dimitri probably doesn’t think he’s the best at his job right now.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I venture, and Gus gives me a sharp look.

“It was my fault. We don’t need to talk about it,” he says flatly, and looks away.

It’s clear he’s not interested in discussing it, so I let it go. I flip through the magazine, losing myself in patterned wallpaper and paint combinations, until my phone buzzes, startling me.

I expect it to be Dahlia, or maybe Dimitri. But instead, it’s a number I don’t know, and I pick up the phone, opening the message hesitantly.

Hi,Evelyn. This is Nicci Armand. We met at a holiday party a few weeks ago. I was rude to you, and I’d like to make it up to you with an apology. Can I take you out to lunch? Just text me.

It takes me a moment to realize who it is. And then it dawns on me—the woman Dimitri was supposed to marry, the one who was rude to me at the party and caused him to take me away from it early. Reading the message again, I know I should tell Dimitri. And I also know what his response would be—that I should ignore the message and delete it.

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