Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(43)

“Does he think we’re married, too?”

Flint lets out a growly sigh. “He knows we aren’t, but my head was up my ass. Again. I asked him to pretend we are because it’ll make you feel more comfortable here. Glad there’s no need for that anymore.”

God, this is all so confusing.

I don’t even know if I should be mad at him for asking his son to go along with a wild lie, or if I should be touched he was willing to go to such extremes for me. “I think I just...I need some time to think. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Sure, babe,” he says.

I wait for him to move, but he doesn’t, just stays at my side like he’s got his feet bolted to the floor.

“Um, I mean, alone,” I say, fidgeting with my fingers.

“Gotcha. Do me a favor and sit up first, so I know you’re not going to faint.”

I sit up, closing my eyes because I can’t stand seeing him right now.

I might start crying if I do.

For a few blissful days, I was the luckiest woman on earth. Mrs. Flint Calum.

Now, I’m just a strange woman in hiding because someone’s trying to kill me.

There goes that goose again, walking over my grave. This time, it’s dancing, I think.

My bones shiver, my skin breaks out in goosebumps, telling me how serious this is.

Right. The last thing I should bawl over is having a marriage that was never real demolished in one hard conversation.

Refusing to let him know what a mess I am inside, I say, “I’m fine. Not going to faint.”

“All right. I’ll leave you alone. Call me back in if you need anything.”

The bed shifts as he stands. I don’t even open my eyes, don’t need to.

I can feel him standing beside me. I press my hands together, to prevent reaching out, grabbing him, begging him to stay.

The worst part? I still feel the ring on my finger. The most elegant black pearl I’ve ever seen. Now it’s just this little wad of darkness, a soul sucker, devouring the beautiful lie I lived for under a week.

Tears come again, spilling out from under my closed lids as I clumsily tug the ring off. “Here. Take this back. It’s yours.”

“Keep it,” he says, his voice soft and sure. “It’s yours, Val. I bought it on a whim and always figured I’d have a good use for it, one way or another. If it helps you feel better, then there’s nowhere else it belongs.”

It really shouldn’t.

But for some inexplicable reason, it does.

It tells me someone cares. A living reminder of what he’s willing to do to keep me safe, I guess.

He shuffles away then. I don’t open my eyes until I hear the door open and close with a grim click.

Then, I drop down on the bed and pull my legs up until I’m curled into a ball.





*



I let the tears come until they can’t.

Then I just lie there, eyes dry and burning, wondering what I did to deserve this. Why did I have to wind up in this mess, a life so jumbled and dark and full of would-be assassins I’m not even sure I want to remember more of who I used to be.

At least I’m covered there. I still can’t remember crap, but I know who I’m not.

I’m not Flint Calum’s wife.

It shouldn’t hurt so bad. I think it’s the loneliness that’s the worst, the glaring proof I have no connection to anybody now. And won’t until I remember something.

Right now, the scarce memories I have are ugly.

I don’t want to be Valerie Gerard, whoever she was.

I don’t want to be this girl who’s horribly estranged and hunted and never found a man to love. If I had a real husband, I think Flint would’ve told me that, too, and he would’ve come searching by now.

But I don’t. I’m alone. I doubt I can even trust my own family.

So I lie there until I’m able to collect myself enough to get up. There’s something hot in my palm.

I finally slide the ring back on my finger because I don’t want to lose it, then shower and get dressed. The tears almost come again the instant I walk into the kitchen and see the box of fresh baked malasadas sitting there.

As much as I love their sugary sweetness, I can’t eat now. I’m just not hungry.

The house is silent, empty, but I hear faint laughter outside. It must be afternoon.

I walk down the hall and out to the breezy lanai. Judging by the noise, Flint and his son are just past the concrete wall surrounding the tiled porch.

Following their voices, I head for the steps leading down to the sandy beach, which is where they must be. Actually, they’re in the water.

At first, it’s hard to believe what I’m seeing.

Bryce stands on a wide paddleboard. Flint circles several feet away, encouraging him to keep the board flat as it dips and bobs in the gentle waves.

Then there’s Savanny. He’s propped up on the board with Bryce, shaking a few stray drops of water off his whiskers, looking around excitedly.

Apparently, my cat’s not just part serval, but part otter too, a water baby to the core.

Good thing, too. It might’ve saved him from drowning after we jumped off the exploding skiff. If Cash hadn’t found us in time and brought us here, we’d both be dead and forgotten.

Flint hollers to Bryce again, encouraging him. I’m not sure this man ever berates or blames.