I have to do something, or Marco and Liam are going to fight.
Stepping forward, I grab Marco’s wrist. “Look, it happened. We don’t know why. I’m fucking tired and I want to take a shower and then we can figure out whether it was Stassi or me, okay?”
Marco doesn’t move from looking at Liam. “I’m here to fucking help,” he grunts. “If you don’t want that, that’s your fucking problem. Not mine.”
Lord save me from fucking idiotic men. “I can save myself. I just need to have a gun next time and we’ll be good. And Stassi was there too, Liam. Don’t you want to check in on your fiancé?”
Liam’s eyes dart to her, noticing her pale face and shaken expression for the first time. It’s like a switch flips in his mind, and his face flushes red. He doesn’t say anything to Marco or me, his eyes drifting back over to Stassi, who looks at him with the type of hurt that makes me question a whole lot about what she said to me earlier.
You might not want to care about your husband, Stassi, but I think you care a whole lot whether he cares about you.
“Let’s go,” Marco says, wrapping his fingers around my wrist.
I follow him.
We don’t speak. Once we’re inside the house, we go straight to the guest room. I leave Marco standing there, and I close the door behind myself as I enter the little bathroom.
I need to clean off the day.
When I was growing up, the one place my brother and my dad wouldn’t bother me was the bathroom. I don’t know if it was just their one thing that they wouldn’t do, or if it was common decency, or what, but I would turn the shower on and immediately have some time to myself.
So now, whenever I’m stressed or anxious, I’m immediately going to take a shower.
Like right now.
I strip the clothes off, trying not to think about the fact that I very well could have died out there. Instead, I focus on the process. Jeans off. Sweater off. Water on.
I’m in the shower, trying to shake the feeling of being hunted by the world’s worst assassin, when I hear the door click open.
For a second I tense, until I hear Marco say softly, “It’s me.”
“I’m in the shower,” I snap.
“I know. I’m not… I just want to talk.”
“About what?”
He hesitates for a second, and all I can hear is the sound of running water.
“About what happened.”
I sigh, shutting the water off. I stick my arm out of the curtain. “Hand me a towel.”
A fluffy, thick towel appears in my hand.
I wrap it around myself, not bothering to dry my hair, and I step out.
Marco blinks. For a second, I relish the sensation of his eyes tracing the curve of my neck.
The darkness in his gaze.
Then, I remember.
He’s leaving.
Sighing, I turn. “What do you want to talk about?”
I’m not watching him. It’s the only reason that I don’t see what comes next.
It all happens so fast.
His hand grabs my arm and turns me. I look up, ready to tell him off, but I never get the chance.
His lips crash over mine.
This isn’t just a kiss.
It’s a revelation.
I might not be insanely experienced when it comes to men, but I can tell right away that this kiss?
It’s something different.
I moan, my fingers rising to skate through Marco’s hair as I tip my head back. He devours me, one hand curling around the back of my neck in a gesture that’s possessive enough to make me shudder, and the other splayed on my jaw, forcing me into a position that is completely at his mercy.
This is nothing like our last kiss.
Heat scorches my body, racing over every scrap of my skin. I gasp as Marco’s mouth descends to my neck, lighting me up with kiss after kiss that seems to electrify every single nerve in my body.
I tuck him closer, running my nails down his neck. My other hand creeps up to where the towel is wrapped around my shoulders. I should just drop it…
Abruptly, Marco steps back.
His eyes are so dark they look like pools of ink. His lips, which have always been unfairly pretty for a man, are parted, and his hair is in disarray.
He looks like I feel.
Frazzled. Unsteady.
Devastated by that kiss.
Peering down at me, he gives a sharp nod.
“Finally.”
I blink. “Finally what?”
“Finally, the fucking brick wall is gone.”
Either my brain is completely toast, or he’s making no sense. “Huh?”
“You,” Marco breathes. “You were… different.”
“When?”
“Just now. When we were in the car.”
“In the…” my voice trails off. I must look terribly confused, because Marco’s lips thin into a frustrated line.
“You weren’t you, Roisin. It was like talking to someone who had completely just… you were gone,” he growls.
I have absolutely no idea what he’s saying. Frustration makes his jaw clench, and he spins. “Never fucking mind,” he mutters.
The bathroom door slams behind him.
Leaving me alone.
Naked.
And still shaking from that kiss.
When I fully compose myself, I’m ready to give Marco a piece of my fucking mind.
He doesn’t get to just… do that.
Walk into the bathroom, kiss me like the world’s ending, and then… blame me for something that’s utterly and completely illogical.
You weren’t you.
I was me.
Just… the version of me that’s a little more guarded. I guess.
As I should be, though.
I huff, my thoughts swirling as I rip open the door to my room and stomp down the hallway. I’m not sure why he thinks that I would just be completely unphased after that.
Andrei Moretti is not exactly someone that you just… walk away from.
Now that he’s involved, everything feels more complicated. Because while it’s possible that Moretti is after Anastasia, I think it’s significantly more likely that the people who are trying to frame me for murder and the people who hired Moretti are, in fact, the same people.
Which would be very, very bad.
I don’t have time for this.
If I have to figure out who is framing me, then I can’t also spend time trying to run from Moretti. I need to be able to hide here with Stassi and Liam, using Marco as my cover story, without also worrying about Andrei Moretti trying to find me.
My first instinct, honestly, is to run.
It’s the only way I can be guaranteed that I won’t die.
My survival instincts are more than just a little triggered, at the moment.
They’re going haywire.
One thing I definitely, absolutely, completely do not need is Marco bringing up… anything.
Or kissing me.
Or kissing me like he just kissed me, like the world was on fire.
Like I was precious to him.
Like I mattered to him.
It put me right back to that night in the cozy little cabin near the sea. When we were pretending to be a couple. When we spent every day living as though our real selves didn’t exist.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Our real selves do exist. I’m Roisin MacAntyre. He’s Marco DeLuca.
The little bubble of happiness that we had out there? It wasn’t real. It wasn’t even close to real.
And when it became real, everything between us broke wide open.
Marco, unfortunately, is nowhere to be found.
Instead, I find Liam and Stassi, sitting together in the kitchen. Stassi looks furious, and Liam looks…
Well, also furious, but in an entirely different way.
I plop down into one of the dining room chairs. “Hi,” I mutter.
Stassi sucks in a huge breath, like she’s trying as hard as she can to move the conversation out of the mud they’ve stuck it in. “Feeling better?”
“A little,” I say.
I’m not feeling any better. Especially because, by my estimation, things went from bad to worse when Marco and I kissed.
Even if it was the most delicious kiss you’ve ever experienced…
I give myself a little shake. “Where’s Marco?”
“Taking a call in the garden,” Liam says. His eyes turn to me, looking a little too bright. “Thought he told you that?”
Oops.
Yes, someone’s romantic partner would, potentially, know when they were taking a call.
Instead of letting Liam dig further into my slip-up, I throw my shoulders back and give him a look. “And you’re just going to let him do that without spying on him?”
“Do I need to spy on your boyfriend, little sister?,” Liam retorts.
Damn.
“The garden’s bugged anyway,” Stassi waves a hand. “And I’m sure Marco knows that.”
He probably does.
I sigh. This type of constant cat-and-mouse is exhausting. Just one of a million reasons that I don’t like being around men like the men in my family.
Like Marco.
You can never really relax. You have to constantly stay vigilant.
And no one is ever, ever, safe.
“So. Are we going to talk about why Andrei Moretti is after one of the two of you, then?” Liam’s eyebrows raise.
I open my mouth, some kind of lie brewing on my tongue, but Stassi beats me to it. “It’s probably me,” she says with a little bit of a laugh.
The somewhat meaningful glance she throws my way makes me feel like there’s more for her and I to discuss later.
Liam tucks his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. “Why?”
“Well, I’m like a Russian mafia princess, right? Who wouldn’t be after me?”
The deliberate use of the vapid-sounding voice won’t throw Liam off. His gaze sharpens on her. “That’s it, is it?”
“Well yeah,” Stassi tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I can think of like, at least ten different guys who would want to marry me.”
“Can you now?” Liam practically purrs.
Oh. Interesting.
This version of Liam is a little more dangerous, perhaps, and while I’m not concerned for anyone’s safety, I am curious how my future sister-in-law is going to handle this.
Intrigued, I straighten in my chair.
“Obviously. I’m a catch, Liam.”
This is getting dangerously close to flirting.
But Anastasia Novikov has made it very, very clear that she’s not going to be flirting with my brother anytime soon.
Unless, of course, it suits some other purpose of hers.
Liam, bless his soul, hasn’t figured out a damn thing yet. “But who is trying to catch you, Anastasia,” he growls. “They can’t do a fuckin’ thing, because you’re going to be my wife. Mine.”
Ohhhhhh boy.
There it is.
I stand. “Well. I’m off to find Marco, then.”
“Ro—”
“You two enjoy this,” I wave a hand.
I leave my brother and his fiancé, staring at each other, and I give a small laugh as I walk away.
Stassi and Liam have something going on. Whatever it is, it’s theirs to figure out. But from the sound of the possession in his voice? My brother’s falling hard.
For a woman who, under no circumstances, wants to love her husband.
Marco’s in the barn.
I went to the garden first, naturally, but he wasn’t there. Since I didn’t think that Marco had just up and left, I reasoned that he was somewhere. Initially, I had just decided I would simply hear from him later, and walked away.
But I wanted to go to the barn.
Riding, when I was little, was something my mother had made me do. In her head, proper Irish girls, whether they be raised in the city or the country, needed to be able to ride a horse. My father and Kieran hadn’t thought I was a capable rider, so I hadn’t done much riding during that time in my life, but I still loved to be around horses.
And the barn, apparently, is where Marco decided to end up as well.
I freeze in the door when I first walk in. He’s petting one of the horses, a tall hunter with a lovely chestnut coat and a blaze on its forehead. Marco’s lips are curled into a smile, and while I can’t hear his words, the soothing cadence of them feels like I’m watching an entirely different Marco.
One that I might have called mine…
Once.
“I didn’t know you liked horses,” I say, choosing to announce my presence.
To both of their credit, neither the horse nor Marco startles. Marco produces a treat from his pocket, and the horse nibbles at it enthusiastically.
Stepping inside the barn, I let the horse sniff my fingers. The velvet of its lips tickles my palms, and when it gives me a friendly little nibble as well, I laugh.
“Elio’s family had horses. I grew up riding them.”
“Elio’s family?” I raise my eyebrows.
Marco nods. “We were close, as kids. Each of us being the heir to our respective families gave a unique perspective on things, and it’s hard to find people who occupy a similar space.”
“Your siblings?”
Shaking his head, Marco puts his hands in his pockets. “They’re part of why it’s a unique space.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “It’s hard to explain. And I think that Liam might understand, somewhat.”
“I’m a slight smarter than my brother, you know,” I say dryly.
“Of that I have no doubt.”
Marco’s quiet for a moment. I look at the horse, leaning forward to pet its forehead.
“You feel responsible for them,” I say, guessing at the kind of turmoil he’s hinting at.
“I am responsible for them.”
“Even now? They’re grown, with families and children of their own to look after,” I murmur. Part of it is reality, but part of it is my own experience.
I don’t want Liam looking after me forever, after all.
In fact, I don’t want him looking after me in the slightest.
“In this world, I will always be responsible for them,” he says softly.
Something in his voice feels… hard.
“But you don’t want that,” I say, again, reading between the lines of his words. “You don’t want to be responsible for them. Not anymore.”
Marco is silent.
I sigh, dropping my hand from the horse. “If it helps, I’d rather no one be responsible for me.”
“Yeah?” he sounds amused.
I nod, emphatically. “It’s a kind of torture, I think.”
“How so?”
“Because, it’s infantilizing. How am I supposed to be my own person, to exist as myself, if I’m constantly being told that someone else is responsible for me? Liam isn’t in charge of my decisions. He’s alright. Not a bad one, I suppose. But Kieran…” my voice trails off.
Kieran was anything but alright.
“Being at the whims of a sociopath was a specific kind of misery, Marco. I don’t want people to be responsible for me. I am responsible for myself, and that’s the way it’s going to be,” I say.
Marco snorts. “Well, good luck with that.”
“What does that mean?”
He leans against one of the wooden stalls. “I mean good luck with that. Since you needed me to pretend to date you, so that we could get back and spy on your brother.”
“I—” I open my mouth to protest, but it snaps shut.
Marco’s face tightens. “That’s what I thought.”
“Marco—”
The air around us, so calm and peaceful, suddenly shatters.
Gunshots.
The noise is unmistakable, and when you’ve grown up the way I have, you’ll never mistake anything for a gunshot. The noise is burned into my very cells.
I hit the ground, Marco next to me.
My first thought is for Stassi and Liam. I want to get back to them, to make sure they’re okay.
But when the gunshots continue to rattle around us, I know that’s not an option. Liam and Stassi will have to get out of this on their own.
Because with this many agents firing around us, we need to get out of here with our own lives before we lose them.
The horse, who apparently has been trained enough to make him into a statue, munches his hay, ears pricked forward.
I look at Marco. His face is scrunched in calculation. “Do we…” I start.
The gunshots continue. They don’t sound like they’re getting closer, but they’re joined by machine guns, which I assume come from my brother’s security. Heart in my chest, I look over at Marco, my eyes wild.
He looks at me.
Up at the horse.
Then back at me.
“You can ride?” he says.
I nod.
“Move. Fast.”
We don’t use tack.
There’s a gray mare in the stall next to the chestnut that I swing up onto. She’s unhappy about it for a second, and her ears flick back, but she appears to be just as well trained as the chestnut. Neither one is particularly bothered by the sound of gunshots, which I count as a blessing, and wonder what on earth my brother might have trained them for.
Marco opens the door to the barn, the one that faces away from the house, and on the horses’ backs, we gallop out down the path.
Without reins or a saddle, I’m clutching my mare’s mane, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest as we race away. There’s shouting, which I assume means that whoever it is that’s shooting at the manor has noticed that Marco and I are escaping.
Marco swerves, looking back at me. “Follow me,” he says, his voice a low rumble that barely meets my ears.
“Where are we going?”
Marco gives me a look. “Do you trust me, Roisin?”
It’s a statement that makes my eyes snap to his.
The horses’ hooves thunder down the trail. The wind whips through my hair.
I look at Marco, and I utter one word.
“Yes.”
