Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Though I wonder how long. News about Camille is spreading, and there’s already a lot of grumbling.
“I’ll be honest, Evander, when I got the call about setting up marriage paperwork, I thought it was a joke.” Gareth peers at me over the glowing end of his cigar.
He laughs quietly to himself. Gareth’s tall and handsome for a lawyer, with broad shoulders and sparkling blue eyes, but I don’t let his boyish looks fool me for one second. The man has the heart of a lion and the morals of a killer, though I’d trust him with my life if it came to that. I’ve known him since college where we were a part of a club called the Atlas Group, and our little organization has remained tight ever since. We’re spread out across the United States, though mostly concentrated down in Texas.
“Sometimes I wish it were.” I lean my head back and sigh. High-quality whiskey tickles down my throat and I try not to think about the look on my mother’s face as she left the table the night before.
“Tell me about her.” Gareth leans closer, head tilted. “Who managed to trick the great Evander Kazan into marrying her?”
“Her name’s Camille.” I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing Camille in that dress and those damn sneakers. It’s the perfect description of her: beautiful and classy, but fiercely herself, only ever able to bend, but never, ever break. “And it’s a temporary situation.”
His eyebrows raise. “Temporary?”
“It’s complicated. She needs my protection, and this is the best way to do it.”
“And why, exactly, are you giving her your… protection?” He frowns at me. “Is this a euphemism, by the way?”
“No, it’s not a euphemism for anything,” I say, glaring. “I got her into some trouble, and I’m doing my best to get her out of it. I thought I was dealing with some abusive asshole nobody, some little fly I could swat away, but it turns out her former husband is a Capo in the Pavone Famiglia. Like I said, things are complicated.”
He whistles. “You’re not kidding, that’s intense even for you. Now I understand why marriage is the only option. I take it your family wouldn’t exactly be happy with you casually dating the enemy.”
“Exactly.” I rub my temples and glare at him. “Now, did you do what I asked?”
“I did and I didn’t.” His smile fades. “I have some bad news for you.”
“Why am I not surprised? Lawyers never have good news.”
“The bad news pays better.” He rubs his face with one hand and stops me before I can snap at him. “Here’s the problem. Camille is still married to her ex, and unfortunately Illinois law needs the consent of both parties to make this whole thing go smoothly. I assume that he isn’t going to sign the paperwork?”
“No,” I say through my teeth and remember my fist cracking against the Italian fuck’s face. “Assume he’s not.”
“Right, well, Camille can still move forward with the divorce, but it’s going to take at least eighteen months.”
My eyes widen. “Eighteen months? You have to be fucking kidding me.”
“I know, and I wish this wasn’t the case, but the laws are pretty clear on this one. Now, if she were to cite domestic abuse—”
“She won’t,” I say, my tone flat. “Even though she has every right to make that claim, she never would.”
“Mob wife until the end.” Gareth’s smile is sad. “That leaves the long way then.”
I stand up and pace across the room. The floor creaks under my weight and I want to smash my fist through the mirror. The dull pound of music bleeds through the door, and I suddenly wish I were back home with Camille right now sitting in our room together, anywhere but in this club dealing with this nonsense.
“There has to be something you can do.”
“Well,” he says, tilting his head side to side. “I might be able to grease the wheels a bit, but it won’t save us that much time. Maybe I can shave off a couple months, if we’re lucky.”
“That’s not good enough. I need her and I need her now.”
Gareth studies me with a curious expression. “Why the urgency?”
“Because she’s Italian. The only way she’ll be safe with me is if we’re married. Once she’s my wife, it won’t matter who she is or where she’s from, she’ll be the lord’s wife. My men might hate her, but they won’t be stupid enough to touch her.”
“And the lord’s fiancée isn’t good enough?”
I dig my fingers into the back of my chair. “No. It isn’t.” And yet I wonder if maybe I’m exaggerating the danger—if maybe Gareth is right and fiancée would be all the protection she needs.
But the idea of having her—but not making her all mine—that’s too much to bear.
If I’m going to put my ring on her finger, I will make her my wife.