Page 60 of Barristers & Bones

I opened my eyes to see Ivan nod and grin down at me. “That was the strangest wedding ceremony I’ve ever witnessed. Enjoy your honeymoon, Mrs. Fowler.” He strode out as Roman told him to fuck off.

I could still hear Roman talking, but my brain couldn’t process their words anymore, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

When I woke the next morning, weak sunlight crept through the blinds. Someone warm and solid lay behind me, and an arm draped over my waist—an arm with an expensive-looking cufflink and a sleek watch. Sylvie slept on a chair in the corner of the hospital room, and I relaxed when I saw her. My dreams had been hazy and strange, and I felt hungover and groggy.

A dull ache throbbed in my elbow and stomach, my jaw hurt, and I needed to use the bathroom. Then I remembered the strange second doctor coming in last night when Roman had been here, and I froze. Did I dream that? I slowly looked over my shoulder and noticed Roman staring down at me. He had a five o’clock shadow, and he looked bleary-eyed and rumpled. Had he slept here last night?

“What are you doing here?” My voice sounded raspy and weak.

His eyebrow raised. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

I nodded when my bladder reminded me why I’d woken up.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” I regretted not agreeing to the catheter when I thought of him having to help me in the bathroom. That got me moving, and I carefully sat up and steadied myself. When the room stopped spinning, I stood as Roman put his arm around my waist and gathered my IV cart. Then he helped me shuffle into the small restroom.

I held my gown closed in front and stared up at him. “I can manage from here.”

His eyes swept over me, zeroing in on my jaw, and his eyebrows narrowed. “Leave the door unlocked, just in case.”

“Okay.” I shut the door in his face but didn’t lock it. The overnight backpack Alexa had brought me yesterday sat on the counter, and I used the bathroom, cleaned up, and brushed my teeth. Then I tackled my hair, pulling a brush through my tangled strands–until I noticed something glittery on my left hand. I held it out and saw a thick gold band with a large square-cut emerald winking back at me. It looked like a gorgeous, expensive-as-hell wedding ring.

My brush clattered to the counter, and I brought the back of my hand closer to my face. Roman pushed the door open and quickly scanned the bathroom. “Are you alright?”

“What’s on my hand?” I asked hoarsely.

He gazed at me staring at my finger. “A wedding ring. We got married last night.”

“What?” Foggy bits and pieces of the night before had been floating in the back of my brain, even while I slept. My mind seemed clearer now, but I was still confused.

“Why? I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

He stepped inside and closed the door. “Because it’s the best way to protect you.”

I stared at him. “There have to be other ways.”

His eyes narrowed and he folded his arms. “Look at your face, and you’re lucky Lionel didn’t break your fucking arm, or your jaw.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve been beaten and had your arm broken before, and I let you get hurt again. No more.” His hand slashed through the air.

“It’s not your job, or your responsibility.” I looked back at the ring and noticed my shaking hand.

“Yes, it is. If Lionel had kidnapped you, he and his men would’ve taken turns raping and cutting you up.” He stalked closer to me. “Then he probably would have sliced your throat open or cut your veins and watched you bleed out. By then, you would’ve begged for death.”

“Okay, that got dark fast,” I mumbled, holding my stomach.

“Yourlifejust got dark. And like it or not, you’re my responsibility for the foreseeable future.”

Adrenaline hit my system, and an ache built in my chest when I absorbed my situation. I used to imagine what my husband would be like. When I was younger–before my father sold his soul and my parents threw me away like trash–I wondered if he’d be funny and kind, tall or short, blond or dark-haired. I also imagined how we’d meet, what our wedding would be like, and where we’d have it. A generic hospital room in Las Vegas had never been one of my wedding venue choices though.

My body ached, but my mind was now clear of the painkillers, so I tried to reason with Roman.

“There have to be other alternatives, another way. We’re both intelligent people, we can figure out something besides this.” I held up my hand with the ring on it. “You had no right. I never planned to get married, I… I don’t want to end up like her.” My voice broke, and I turned and braced my hands against the sink, my head hanging. The flash of anger had drained me, and I felt shaky and unsteady.

As I got older and started to understand the dynamics of my parents’ marriage, I doubted I’d ever get married. My mother was a selfish, cruel doormat. Had she always been like that, or had it happened over time as my father slowly chipped away at her independence and self-worth? By the time my father left me in that closet to die, my mother did nothing. She hadn’t been home when he’d raged and beaten me, but she never came after me. So I vowed I’d never be like her, even if that meant living and dying alone.

Roman turned me around and gathered me in his arms, tucking my head under his chin. “If we’re married, the Stracks can’t risk the exposure, or bringing the wrath of The Firm down on them, and even that’s not guaranteed since they’re unhinged and psychotic. To work with a drug syndicate, they’d have to be crazy. This is the best protection I’ve got to offer you.”

“You should have talked to me.” My voice was muffled against his shirt.

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