The fantasy sweeps me away and I murmur, “I’ll be such a good husband.”
Okay. I belatedly realise I might have tipped over from relaxed to drunk.
She stiffens but I keep hold until her shoulders soften again. Then she asks again, “Why do you even want to marry me?”
“I’m partial to your surname. It opens a lot of doors.” I know that’s the wrong thing to say even before she pushes me away. Tries to, I should say, since I easily overpower her to keep her within the confines of my arms.
Still, harsh as the lie sounds, it’s more palatable for her than the truth. There’s no way to sweeten cold-blooded revenge. “Don’t worry. As long as you’re on my side, I’ll take care of you.”
“And what happens if I’m not on your side?”
My low chuckle feeds her unease until she struggles again. I pull her closer, finding pleasure in her being small enough to tuck under my chin. Whatever her height, it’s the perfect size for a partner.
“If you’re not on my side then I’ll have to kill you.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
CRIMSON
I’m struggling to breathe, warding off an imminent panic attack, when the doctor arrives at the apartment. Despite my misgivings about medical personnel, I feel a rush of gratitude there’ll be someone else with me. Someone who hasn’t just promised to murder me if I step out of line.
But if I thought the examination would be done in private so I could spill my fears, I’m sadly mistaken. Micah stands over me with his arms folded like the world’s surliest bodyguard.
“Just take a seat here, make yourself comfortable,” the wizened old man says, waving at the dining room chairs of thick black leather. “I’ll warm up the thingamabob so you don’t die of the cold.”
I’d love to make myself comfortable but it’s not possible. The designer furniture matches the stark black and white décor beautifully, but it’s not fit for purpose. I perch on the edge of the chair that the doctor directs me to, but it’s awful. The cushion stiff and unyielding. The seat too high for my feet to touch the ground.
Despite having wrapped his hands around the stethoscope, I still flinch when he lays the head of it on my chest. “Deep breath in, and hold it,” he says, laying the metal flat against my skin in three different areas. “Now breathe out.”
He takes my pulse, my blood pressure, stares into my eyes with a sharp light and makes me look up down and sideways. Then he asks me dozens of questions, about my migraines, stress levels, diet, exercise, and a hundred other things, some of which I struggle to answer.
“The records I can find for you end when you were eight years old. Does that sound about right?”
Micah isn’t looking at me, but I can feel his body tense, waiting for the answer. This feels like a job interview that I’m destined to fail. I try pleading with my eyes, but the doctor isn’t responding. He doesn’t seem to notice.
If we were alone, I could confide in him. Tell him what Micah just told me. Ask this kindly old man for help. Beg him or bribe him with the promise of my father’s money.
Before my courage can desert me, I ask, “Can I talk to the doctor without an audience?”
Micah steps towards me, frowning. “No. There’s no need for secrets.”
He’s not going anywhere.
The doctor embarks on another series of useless questions while my mind scrambles for a solution. Everything it touches on seems like scooby doo level pranks compared to the seriousness of my current predicament.
I can’t talk to the doctor with Micah breathing down my neck.
I can’t get him alone.
The doctor clears his throat and scribbles something on a note pad. Is that it? Is that the examination? My chest clutches as I think he’s about to leave while I’m sitting here, paralysed with fright.
If he leaves, I’ll have no options. Asking for help while the man who threatened me listens on is terrifying… but not as terrifying as being left here alone with him.
Sucking in the deepest breath I can, I stare at the doctor. Neither of them had the courtesy to tell me his name.
Just do it.
I blurt, “This man has threatened to kill me. I want to leave.”
