Page 49 of Malicious Wedding

“A little bit?”

“Jams.”

“Come on! The guy’s hot! He turned me into a caveman. Cavewoman. Whatever. I’d marry him for his money. And his looks. Also, maybe his personality too? I like a big, strong, smoldering kind of guy. Maybe with some scars I can slowly heal with some very slow, sweaty, intense sex.”

“Gross,” I say, sighing. “At least you’re doing okay.”

Fulco reacts exactly how I assumed he would. “Congrats. I’ll send you a card in the mail. We opening tomorrow?”

“Yes, Fulco, we’re opening tomorrow.”

“Good. See you then.” Click. Done. Good old Fulco.

Once the calls are finished and I’m sure everyone’s really safe, I sit back in my big, empty room, with my big empty bed, with all this strange furniture, the strange paintings on the wall, and finally, the reality of my situation asserts itself.

I’m alone. I’m married to a man I blame for all my problems.

And I don’t see any way out of it.

Carson doesn’t come home. Not an hour later, not a few hours later. I manage to stay up late, hoping he’ll show up, but there’s nothing. Only Fitz appears with my things neatly packed in a trunk which he places at the foot of the bed before wordlessly leaving. He doesn’t answer any of my questions, only shakes his head and says Carson will be back when he’s finished with his business.

This is the life of a mob wife, apparently.

I force myself to go to bed in the unfamiliar room with its strange sounds.

It’s not until the middle of the night, when I can’t sleep and I don’t know what to do about it, that I hear my husband return.

Chapter21

Ash

My head’s a mess. I try to get comfortable in the big bed. I lie in the middle like Carson said he does, trying to envision what it must be like to have that massive man lying beside me, but I can’t manage to pull it off.

Everything feels wrong.

Around midnight, I get sick of tossing and turning. There was a home theater built into the basement and I decide to toss on a movie down there. Maybe I can pass out in one of the big chairs. I wrap myself in a blanket, wearing only a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, then begin the trek out into the hall.

That’s when I hear the door unlock.

It’s a loud thunk. Something beeps—a security system. I didn’t even know it was armed. Someone’s coming, walking slowly, heavily. I freeze, standing with the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, caught between running away and screaming for help.

At least until Carson appears at the top of the stairs.

In the darkness, he stares. His eyes seem to grow brighter. I can’t move, trapped under his gaze. He comes toward me, walking with slumped shoulders. His jacket’s missing and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, showing off his forearms. Something dark stained the front of his shirt in an odd splatter pattern.

He smells like sweat and something musky. Something coppery.

“You should be asleep,” he says, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “What are you doing up, my angel?”

“I couldn’t—I thought—” My eyes go wide and I jab a finger at him. “Is thatblood? Are you covered in blood right now?”

He glances down, frowning as if he hadn’t noticed. “It’s not mine.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

He walks past me, into the bedroom. I stand frozen in panic. Carson appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the night, covered in someone else’s blood, and what am I supposed to do about it?

I follow him, too afraid to continue on with my movie plan, too worried about what happened to him.

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