“Cavin—”
“I saidget out.”
It’s not true. Itcan’tbe true.
She told me she’d never had a boyfriend. That her first date was with me.
I remember those men at the club, the ones who attacked me. One of them said something before I broke his jaw. Something about her being a whore, about her spreading her legs for half of?—
I’d shut him up before he could finish. Assumed it was just an attempt to get under my skin, to make me lose focus.
They knew it would get to me. There’s nothing more to it.
I pull up my messages with Erin and stare at our conversation from earlier. Her telling me about the books. Me being smug. Her saying I was a catastrophe.
It felt real.
What if every smile, every kiss, every moment in that driveway was just her playing the part she’s been forced to play?
No.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
This is absurd. Erin doesn’t lie. She can’t. The lass is too honest for her own good. Hell, that’s what I like about her.
But people lie when they have to, don’t they? When they’re trapped.
And she’s definitely trapped. Fuck, she didn’t even know she was getting married to me until a few weeks ago.
I call my guard. “Where is she right now?”
“Still at the bookshop, sir.”
“Alone?”
A pause. “Yes, sir. Alone.”
“Has anyone approached her? Talked to her?”
“Just the shop clerk. Why? Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing. Keep watching.”
I hang up and sit back in my chair, my mind racing. This is stupid. I’m being mental.
By the time my phone rings again, I’m wound so tight I nearly break the damn thing answering it.
“What?”
“Christ, who pissed in your cornflakes?” Declan. “I’m just calling to see if you want to grab dinner tonight.”
“Can’t. I have plans.”
“With Erin?”
“No. She’s… busy.”
“Busy?” He sounds suspicious. “Doing what?”
