“Yeah.” Shifting his attention to me, Samson holds out his hand. “I’ll take your pack while she gets you sized.” Withoutlooking back at the woman, he asks, “How long will any adjustments take?”
“You can pick up tomorrow morning.”
“That works.”
After I give Samson my pack, the woman leads me into a back room and I experience a somewhat less invasive fitting than the one Ines conducted in front of Samson before. Roughly ten minutes later, I’m freed to discover Samson and I are no longer the only patrons in the store.
Standing opposite Samson is a man with shoulders made loomingly more formidable by solid armor. Until this moment, I did not know other people were made in Samson’s size. But, clearly, they are.
Gleaming yellow eyes track me as I inch my way up to my Samson’s side.
A blond brow rises on the stranger’s face. “Who’s this cutie?”
Samson steps squarely in front of me, warning, “Mind your business, Bruce.”
Bruce chuckles, darkly. “She’s too old to be your daughter. We were in the thick of it in those days, and you were more interested in futile hopes of being gifted than in women.” The man’s yellow eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you outgrew that obsession?” Stretching his neck to the side so he can see me around Samson’s lovely shoulders, Bruce murmurs, “No proof of it on her, but most don’t frolic about in their marriage circlets. Is she yourwife?”
Heat explodes in my face.
Samson grumbles, “And if she is?”
“Small for men like us, isn’t she?”
I can barely compute that horrible lie. My brain sticks on what Samson said, which…almost…sort of, kind of, sounded like a…confirmation of my wifeyness?
Swallowing harder than I’ve ever swallowed before, I set a hand against Samson’s tense back, feel his muscles ripple beneath my palm as his shoulders broaden, straightening to block me from Bruce’s view again. He grits, “No, she isn’t. She’s the perfect size.”
Bruce’s mouth opens, and the most obscene comment I have ever witnessed in my life tumbles out.
Shell-shocked, despite my city upbringing, I grip Samson’s shirt—seconds before his fist connects with Bruce’s jaw, knocking him into an armor stand, which falls on him with a screaming clatter.
Behind us, the woman yells, “Hey, take that outside!” but Samson has already grabbed my hand and marched us toward the door.
Metal clamors, swears chasing us into the street.
Samson doesn’t falter as I trip after his swift gait.
“S-Samson?” I call over the bustle as he dodges us through the crowd, carving a path with his magnificent shoulders, which I’ve decided are better than Bruce’s no matter their comparable size. “Are we in trouble?”
His strides slow, abruptly, and I collide with his back. Turning, he winces, releasing my hand to fix my glasses on my nose. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“Are we in trouble?”
His brow arches. “No?”
“But…” I look back. People and cobblestone and store fronts. “You hit that guy?”
He grumbles, “So?”
“Isn’t that against the law?”
Samson rolls his eyes. “I didn’tmurderhim.”
Right. I guess the laws here are different than the ones I know. Maybe a scuffle isn’t worth the authorities’ time. But. Still. “Will Bruce be coming after us? Are we running from him?”Also, what you said in there. About me being your…wife. Or, well, about youimplyingthat I’m your wife. Can we unpack that, please, for a moment? Why did you do that? I need to know.
Samson’s blue eyes hit me, and he frees a long breath, cooling down. Offering me my backpack, he murmurs, “I’m sorry. That must have been scary, and repulsive. Bruce and I grew up in the same guild. We were stuck together for a lot of things since we were a similar age and excelled at a similar pace. I never much liked him. He never much liked me.” Samson cups my face. “But, don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”
“But…what about you?”
