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VALERIE
FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER Fynn leaves, I give up on sleeping. Not because I’m not tired. I’m exhausted.
The issue is, I’m also currently being hunted by a mafia hitman.
Or two.
And—shockingly—that makes it kind of tricky to sleep, especially without my formidable husband at my side.
I know Fynn isn’t as ruthless as the men in my past—that’s part of why I like him—but he is something most of them are not.
Smart.
Having him on my side makes me feel like maybe everything will be okay. Like maybe this will all work out and I won’t end up back in Minnesota.
Or worse.
But it would seem those feelings dim when he’s not at my side, leaving my little brain with nothing to focus on besides all the bad things that could be happening right now.
Because of me.
I scoot to the edge of the giant bed, letting my legs dangle over the side as I dial Fynn’s number and wait for it to start ringing. I appreciate that he brought me here to keep me safe, but what’s keeping him safe?
If he hadn’t dicked the brains right out of me earlier, I probably would have put up a fight about him leaving, but who says I can’t do that now? Isn’t it my duty as his wife to make sure he’s okay? If I have to throw a little bit of a fit to make that happen, then so be it. I don’t like the thought of him being hurt. Especially not when it would be because of me.
My lips press into a frown when his phone goes straight to voicemail. Even the sound of his smooth voice, eloquently telling me to leave him a message, doesn’t make me feel any better.
If anything, it makes it worse.
Fynn is so freaking great. Smart. Successful. He has a wonderful mother who he loves like crazy and a beautiful home. The only reason I managed to talk him into marrying me was because of a stroke of bad luck bestowed upon him by a woman.
And now I’m doing the same damn thing. I’m no better than Jessica, and the revelation has me dialing his number again.
I know I’ve offered him an out. More than once. But he’s a genuinely good person. Way too good to walk away knowing I might end up dead because of it.
When his number goes to voicemail again, I groan and drop my cell to the bed as I flop back to stare at the ceiling.
Maybe I should go after him.
I know where his office is. It’s barely two blocks away. I could just sneak past, take a little peek to make sure he’s okay, then come back here before he finds out I’m gone.
The idea is barely formed but I’m already off the bed and moving, unzipping my suitcase to dig through the contents. Fynn took my dress as he left, likely to drop it off at the cleaners since he’s a stickler for dry cleaning, so I have to pick something else to wear. I start to grab a pair of shorts but pause.
If I get caught I should look cute. Maybe it will be more difficult to be mad at me if I look cute.
I settle on another summery dress, this one a deep green printed with a delicate floral pattern. After zipping into it, I pull my hair into a high ponytail since our little mattress Olympics earlier ruined the bulk of the curls I baked into it before leaving Fynn’s place. I slip on a pair of nude sandal-style pumps then duck out of the room, quietly creeping down the hall.
The main living area is quiet and empty so I hurry to the foyer, keeping my steps light on the marble tile. I don’t let out a breath until the elevator doors open on the main level. The doorman who monitors the lobby gives me a smile and a wave. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hadaway.”
I stop in my tracks. He’s the first person who’s called me that and I like it. I really, really like it. I like being connected to Fynn. I like people thinking he’s mine.
The thought sends my belly flipping sideways. What would it be like if he really was mine? If this whole marriage wasn’t just a solution to our very different problems?
Is that even possible?
Not if something’s happening to him, it’s not. That lights a fire under my ass and has me waving at the man who will hopefully let me back in the elevator when I return. "I'll be right back. I'm just running a quick errand."
Hopefully he won't ever mention to Fynn that I was here. I don't want my new husband thinking I'm too stupid to live. I'm not.
