Page 7 of Daddy’s Hunted Bride

Marjorie—Josephine, ugh, it’s so hard to keep up with her aliases—frowns slightly but ultimately nods. “Yes, Sir.”

I manage to stay silent right up until we’re left alone in the giant dining room. “Okay, what’s the plan?” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder like someone might magically appear at any second to punish us. Which, in my defense, does seem highly likely given recent events.

Marjorie, however, just rolls her eyes. “There’s no plan.” She points to a chair. “Sit, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Curiosity temporarily overpowers my desire to get us the fuck out of here, so I drop down onto the seat. “You have two minutes to convince me why I shouldn’t just drag your ass out of here and steal a car or something so I can take you home.”

“So dramatic,” she drawls, lowering herself onto the chair beside mine. “This might take more than two minutes, but I need you to sit and be quiet and listen. Can you do that?”

“Sure.” It’s not exactly a lie, even if I’ve already made up my mind that nothing she could possibly tell me would convince me not to go through with my rescue attempt.

“Thank you.” Closing her eyes, she drags in a deep breath, as if bracing herself for something. When she opens them again, they’re hardened with a resolve that sits in my stomach like a rock. “Do you remember the boy I told you about? The one with the big family that lived next door to me growing up?”

Secondhand grief twists in my chest. “The boy you were in love with, right?”

She smiles, the edges tinged with sadness. “It was more than just love. He was my everything. My soulmate. When I thought I’d lost him, and his family, it broke something inside me. Something that, for years afterward, I thought would never be made whole again.”

“Oh, Marjorie.” Leaning forward, I start to reach for her hand, but I stop short as her words register. “Wait. You said when you thought you’d lost him.”

“Yeah.” Now her smile brightens, love all but shining through her pores. “Turns out, they didn’t die. They just… relocated.”

For a moment, I can only stare at her. “Relocated,” I parrot, my brain trying to make sense of what she’s telling me.

“Yes. It’s a long story, but basically they faked their deaths to escape a dangerous situation and they fled the state. And they ended up in Colorado.”

The first puzzle piece clicks into place. “The Thornes are your long-lost family friends.”

“And Bram is Bennett. So, you see, I’m not being held hostage here. I just reunited with the love of my life. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

It should be a relief. But something still isn’t adding up. “Why?”

Marjorie blinks, then frowns. “Why, what?”

“Why would they have to fake their own deaths? Who was after them?”

“Ah…” Her gaze slides toward the living room before returning to me. “It’s complicated.”

“Then help me uncomplicate it, because from where I’m standing they’re still sketchy as fuck.”

“Shhh,” she hisses, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “If Uncle Dane hears you swearing again, you’re gonna be in big trouble.”

Completely ignoring her warning, I drill a finger into her shoulder. “And that! Why the fuck do you call him ‘Uncle Dane’? That’s fucking weird.”

“I’m starting to think you have a death wish,” she mumbles as she flops back against the chair. “But I guess I can tell you since Uncle Dane has clearly decided he wants to keep you.”

Terror coils icy fingers around my spine. “Keep me?”

“Yes,” she says with a shrug, like it’s the most normal goddamn thing in the world for a man to simply decide he’s keeping a woman against her will.

“Marjorie, seriously, what the fuck is going on here? Why are you dressed like a child? Who are these people?”

“I told you. They’re my family.”

“Oh my god.” Unable to stand another second of this insanity, I jump to my feet and grab her wrist, trying with all my might to pull her up with me. “We’re leaving. And we’re going to find you a therapist who specializes in brainwashing. But we have to go before they come to check on us.”

“It’s a bit too late for that, little fox.”

Fuck.