Marry Niko. Marry him?
I don’t want to marry anyone, let alone someone I don’t really know. I thought I knew him, but I realize I’ll never get to the bottom of him. Wealth and crime go hand in hand. That’s hardly news to me. But the source of it is… him?
My gaze slides Niko’s way, heat exploding in the pit of my stomach when I find him watching me. I snap my attention in the opposite direction, hating that I can’t seem to help myself. How can he sit there so calmly after upending my life? Well, he’ll rue the day he ever thought making me his wife was a good idea.
I mean, who even is it a good idea for? Me, obviously. I feel myself frown. And my family, to keep them safe. But what about him? Why would he offer to marry me?
My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
His words float into my memory. He’d said it the night of Sandy and Holland’s wedding, but that was jealousy talking. Words in the heat of the moment. Sweet utterances during sex.
He can’t love me. He doesn’t even know me. Not anymore. And I know he thinks he wants more, but marriage isn’t more—it’s all! He must have better prospects than a divorced mother on the cusp of middle age. I don’t consider myself there quite yet because I plan on living until at least one hundred and twenty. Sixty is the new forty.
He wants me, yes. But why would he marry me? Out of respect for my brother? Because he likes me on some level? I mean, we’re having sex already, which seems to happen whenever we’re within a few meters of each other.
Except for today. Which isn’t over yet, I suppose.
But I’m too annoyed to feel amorous. Too urgh! If he comes near me, he’d better be ready for a solid knee between his legs.
If not for love, if not for sex, then could this truly be an act of goodness? He told me a long time ago that he isn’t a good man. But even bad men are capable of good, aren’t they?
I’m just too angry to process. I’m literally crawling out of my own skin with irritation. I can’t believe I’m in this situation—that there’s nothing I can do about it. And how bloody dare he and Sandy agree that I behaved recklessly! How could they possibly understand? Mere men will never understand motherhood—what drives us. The lengths we will go to protect those we love.
And those lengths include marrying the last man I ever thought I would.
I swallow a pitiful growl, and closing my eyes, I begin to breathe deeply.
In through the nose, slowly out through the mouth.
I once did yoga a for a few months a little while back, but I found I was unable to turn off my brain. But this stuck with me. A little self-soothing. Or something else to concentrate on when I feel like smashing things.
In. Outttt. In. Outttt.
Oh, Sandy. What have you done?
Maybe going to London to meet God knows who was a little rash, but at least I didn’t murder someone! Yet. I’ve never had a hit list before. And now I have. A hit list of one.
Tom.
I’m going to rattle what few brain cells he has when this is all over.
When this is all over and I’m Niko’s wife.
My annoyance begins to build again, my mind going round and round in circles. Why would he want to marry me? A woman with bags under my eyes, a semi-permanent harried expression, and a mummy pooch that no amount of Pilates will shift?
Those flaws didn’t stop you sleeping with him, the devil on my shoulder whispers. It didn’t stop him, either.
But that was different, wasn’t it? It was payback. It was me choosing him! But why has he chosen me? Chosen to tie himself to me when he can date supermodel types with high breasts and flawless skin?
Maybe he still will. Maybe this will be marriage in name only.
The thought is red hot and painful, like a poker to the nape of my neck. Why on earth am I jealous? It’s ridiculous. I inhale deeply, determined to get a grip on this. It’s fine. Absolutely fine. Because what’s good for the goose—
But I wouldn’t. And it’s not like Tom and I had that kind of marriage and it didn’t stop him from dipping his wick indiscriminately. He was no kind of husband. Most of the time, I might as well have been on my own.
But what kind of husband would Niko be?
He’d be the kind of husband who does as he pleases. The kind of husband who always thinks he always knows best. Bloody hell, am I really going to go through this all over again!
Then, over my hot, angry thoughts, cold washes over me. Is he offering to be a husband in name only? Is that what he’s offering? Protection of his name in a marriage that’s just for show. The prospect shouldn’t leave me frozen but with a sense of jubilation. Why isn’t it? I can’t even begin to unpick my reaction, so instead, I concentrate on the things I feel vindicated in, because how the hell was I supposed to know I was dealing with the Russian mafia? This is real life, not a made-for-TV show. How was I supposed to know they might take an interest in me personally! The way that man’s dark eyes had roamed over me…