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“But you didn’t win.”
“I know.” She looks down with a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t need to be reminded of that fact. Trust me. Mara kicked my butt. As she should have.”
I’ve heard either her or her father—I can’t remember now—at some point mention she felt driven to fight till she wins one. “Why would you stop?”
She stares out at the angry, crashing waves of the ocean for a moment before looking back at me. “What mafia man do you know who wants a wife who fights?”
I shrug. “I would.”
“You?” She laughs. Too hard. “You’re never getting married.”
Why, coming from her, does the comment sting? I shake it off. Toughen up, Savage, she’s right. You’ve said it yourself. A million stone-cold times. I’m not even sure where the ridiculous words “I would” came from or why I said them.
She keeps going. “I mean, the ones who are looking for a bride. They want a woman who looks beautiful in gowns, stands at their side while they make important decisions, then goes and puts the kiddos to bed. I’m lucky my dad found someone who’s good with me furthering my education after marriage.”
What would I want in a wife? I’ve never thought about it.
Someone strong. Independent. Has her own mind. Her own ideas. A woman who, if I were to move up in the family, could brainstorm with me. Maybe even move up with me. If she can cook, great. If not, takeout is fine. It’s more the conversation I’m after. Someone who challenges me.
That’s what I’d look for. Paisley, dangerously close to the rocks, grabs my attention. I jog over toward her. Lost in my thoughts, I’ve allowed her to distance herself from me.
“Paisley! Stop!” I’m calling out, but the wind takes my voice. One of my men sees me headed toward the rocks and calls up to her. His back is to me, black hood over his head. I can’t tell who it is. She can’t hear him either, now climbing one of the dark, jagged stones. My heart lurches to my throat. She could fall, tumbling down the rough, sharp edges. Break something for God’s sake. “Get down from there. Now!”
“Huh?” Finally hearing me, she glances over from where she’s perched like a mountain lion on all fours, climbing the rock. “Sorry, I thought you were right behind me.”
Now I’m second-guessing my shout because as she goes to explain herself, she’s not focused on what she’s doing. One of her feet comes loose and she slips.
“Jesus!”
She’s limber and agile and quickly corrects her mistake, finding a more secure footing. “It’s okay. I got it.” She’s able to catch herself but in that brief moment?—
I felt fear like I never have before.
And it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s the boss’s daughter. And that scares the living shit out of me. I run my hand over the back of my neck so hard, I’m afraid I’ve peeled off skin.
I should not care, not this much.
The fear for her safety should be something that comes from my undying loyalty to the family. I know what that feels like. I’ve killed men while looking them right in their eyes in order to keep this family safe.
And I didn’t feel like this.
The idea of the girl scraping a knee has me panicked, a heady, dizzying cloud of anxious fear that surrounds me. Giving me chest palpitations. Making me short of breath when I’m in the best shape of my life.
This isn’t right. I shouldn’t feel this way. I need to talk to someone. Seek advice.
Rowan comes running up to me. “That was close. Thought she might slip.”
“Me too. I’ll have her come down.”
He stares up at her, watching her move across the rocks. “Aw—let her climb, she’s fine. What’s the worst that could happen? She gets a scraped knee?”
“A scraped anything.”
“Let her be. This is supposed to be her grand adventure before she gets married.” He glances around. “If you ask me, this is the dullest hen party I ever heard of.”
“Hen party? Is that a British thing?”
“You lot call it a bachelorette party. There should at least be strong liquor drinks and penis straws.”
