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“When does Cerbera want the documents signed?” he asks.
“In a month.”
“So, you have four weeks till the marriage needs to be finalized.”
“Yes.” Four weeks until Harriet becomes my wife.
“I’m just saying, it might be nice to get to know her,” my jaw hardens, causing Dom to raise his hands, “just a little bit. You don’t have to like her, but I think it would be in everyone’s best interest for Etta to not be scared of you.”
My shoulders drop when I realize what he’s saying. If Harriet is going to be unpredictable and resistant, it will mean more time keeping her in check and less time preparing ourselves to join the Lombardos. It will mean Dom and Ford are doing double the work for something that is my responsibility. I hate that he has a point. But I’m glad he decided to voice it.
“Fine. I understand.” Dom looks pleased. “I’ll be more civil.”
“Just don’t scare her and we might be able to salvage this.”
“I can’t promise anything.”
“Yes, you can. Don’t be a monster around her. Be a gentleman.”
I uncross my arms and spin the chair away from Dom. “Alright. Alright. Leave me alone.”
“It’s my job to make you see reason, you know,” Dom says with a hint of a smile. He leaves, presumably to check that Harriet is still dead to the world, slowly processing her new reality as my future bride.
The phantom kiss of a knife’s tip runs down my spine, reminding me of the business that I still need to do. I recline in the leather chair, eyes pinned to my phone lying unused on the wooden desktop.
Four more minutes until my call with Cerbera. Four more minutes of peace before shit hits the fan.
After this conversation, Cerbera will know three things.
One: I have the woman I was meant to marry in my custody.
Two: The wedding will take place in four weeks’ time, whether she wants it to or not.
Three: Gregory Lombardo is dead, and I buried his body in a vat of acid.
Ford seems surprised to see me approaching Harriet’s room.
“Is she…?”
“Awake?” He shrugs, unconcerned. “Don’t know. I heard the bathroom door open and close a few minutes ago. But she hasn’t asked for anything other than for Juniper to be fed.”
Juniper grew attached to Harriet the moment Gregory’s heart stopped beating. As instantly as if they had known each other in a past life. It would have been more annoying letting the dog stay behind than it was to take it with us. Besides, she’s easier to deal with than her new owner. I like dogs better than most humans. They make their emotions clear, they follow demands easily, they leave their shit outside, and if youtreat them right, they’ll protect your back no matter what. I keep that in mind as I open the door.
The woman in question isn’t in sight as I make my way into the room. I pause to take in the surroundings as if it will give me a clue as to who this woman is. Maybe I won’t have to get to know her. Maybe the walls will whisper to me what they’ve observed, saving me the trouble.
Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of detail. The large bed is made, the clothes Dom purchased for her are in a neat pile, the space unnaturally clean. It has to be the doctor part of her, the ordered, sanitary part of her daily job that’s become a habit in her home.
As I round the set of marble topped drawers, the sound of fur swishing against a flat surface lets me know that Juniper is nearby. I find her sitting in the doorway to the bathroom. Her ears are forward and alert, though her tail gives away the fact that she’s somewhat pleased to see me. I keep my hands by my sides and take a step forward. A low growl rises in her throat. Her loyalty has shifted to Harriet. I can’t say I’m not disappointed.
I pin her with a displeased stare. She holds firm despite the conflict in her eyes.
“Juni? What’s wrong, honey?” Harriet calls, her voice bouncing off the tiles in the bathroom. The concerned tone pokes at my chest. This is the first time I’ve heard her speak without any fire sizzling underneath it.
In the aftermath of my silence, she calls out again, and I hear her feet moving. “Ford? Is that you? She’s already been to the bath—” She appears in the doorway and halts. Her somewhat lighter demeanor slips as a disdainful one replaces it. She’s wearing a matching taupe tracksuit set, her hair buoyant and shiny from having washed and blow dried it.
My face remains blank as I greet her, even though in my mind I’m trying to compute how I even noticed what she’d done after she had a shower. “Harriet.”
“Bolt,” she responds dryly. She folds her arms across her chest, her blue eyes like sapphires dipped in ice. “And it’s Dr. Lewis to you.”
