Page 5 of Stolen Faith

There was a jolt as their skin touched, an awareness that hadn’t been there before.

His fiancée.

In one month, she would be his wife.

Brennon laced his fingers with hers, giving her hand a small squeeze. She returned it.

He leaned forward just a bit, watching as she offered her other hand to Rowan.

To their future husband.

Rowan didn’t react to her gesture, and Brennon’s whole body tensed, ready to say something. Before he could, Rowan laced his fingers with Izabel’s.

Brennon gave Izabel’s hand another squeeze. She looked at him, their gazes meeting, and a moment of understanding passed between them.

If Brennon was being dramatic, he’d say their soldier was quiet due to some traumatic backstory, but this was real life. Rowan was probably just a deliberate guy who took a moment to think before he either acted or spoke.

That probably made him an excellent soldier. He would have to be if they’d recruited him into the Trinity Masters.

They passed a group loitering outside a bar, and one of the women did a double take, then whispered to her friend. The friend looked over, caught sight of the three of them walking hand in hand, and raised her brows.

“We’re attracting attention,” Rowan said quietly.

Brennon nearly did a double take. The man spoke without being asked a question! And he said things other than “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am.”

Brennon swallowed the urge to tease him. That might make Rowan feel bad or stop him from ever saying anything again. Brennon was used to quick talking and banter. He needed to be mindful until he and Izabel got their husband to come out of his shell and relax.

“Let them look,” Izabel said. The tone of her voice made it sound like, “Let the peasants look.”

Their trio attracted more attention, and even a picture or two, as they walked down a street littered with pubs. Brennon rolled his shoulders to shrug off the discomfort. He lived in the TMZ—the Thirty Mile Zone—and the land of the paparazzi, but he was a screenwriter. No one took pictures of him.

Izabel was either unfazed or able to completely hide it. Given that her parents—who were awesome—were in a public poly relationship, he shouldn’t be surprised. And he wasn’t, really, but he felt a little wary.

“Should we be worried about the photos?” Brennon asked when they reached a quiet stretch of sidewalk, business buildings towering over them on both sides of the street.

“Why would we?” Izabel raised a brow.

“What if people start asking questions? I don’t want to be the one who accidentally reveals the secret of the Trinity Masters.”

“It’s a long leap from three people holding hands to ‘there’s a secret society that uses arranged marriages to build and maintain power’.”

Brennon chuckled at that. “True.”

“Realistically, if the photo were posted somewhere and people identified us, they’d think I was like my parents. Probably I’d be blamed for dragging you two into my deviant lifestyle, but it wouldn’t really be my fault. They’d blame my parents for exposing me to it.” There was a wry, exasperated twist to her words.

“It’s always the parents’ fault,” Brennon agreed.

“But that does bring up another issue.” Izabel cleared her throat and took her hand from his. “We’ll need to decide how we present ourselves to the outside world. Historically, most members of the society hide their trinity in some way. Either everyone remains single, two of the three marry…”

Brennon reached out and took her hand back in his. She shot him a small smile.

She’d also dropped Rowan’s hand. He offered his arm. Izabel wrapped her arm around his.

“We have time to figure it out,” Brennon said. “We should probably spend some more time together first.”

“We have a month,” Izabel agreed.

One month until they’d come back to Boston for their formal marriage, cementing the trinity the Grand Master had put in place with yesterday’s binding ceremony. Brennon might have been thinking of them as his “future” wife and husband, but the reality was that they were his. He’d never heard of a binding being dissolved, so this month between the two ceremonies was a chance for them to decide “how” they’d be together, not “if.”

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