Page 230 of Damsel in Disguise

With a bright, uncurated, mischievous expression, I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket.

I pull out a folded piece of heavy parchment and smooth it out on my lap, letting the bold, crisp letters of the marriage certificate face them.

My own signature is already dry at the bottom.

Adrian stares in utter disbelief. Asher’s jaw actually slackened for a fraction of a second.

“How the fuck...” Asher mutters, his eyebrows rising. “How did you even get that shit? We’re barely leaving since we brought you in.”

“You said ‘barely’,” I wink at him.

I asked one of the legal assistants from CynoTech’s England branch to prepare the paperwork this morning.

Not my brothers. I couldn’t ask them after everything they’ve been through for me. Especially after spending an entire day sitting beside this hospital bed, wondering whether I’d ever get the chance.

Asher rubs the bridge of his nose, exhaling a harsh breath. “Okay, let’s say you actually pulled off this administrative miracle. How exactly do you plan on getting an international fugitive out of the country without alerting every border agency in Europe?”

I look up at him, my smile widening mischievously. “We have a private jet.”

Asher and Adrian lock eyes, identical expressions of utter disbelief washing over their faces.

“No fucking way,” Asher snaps first, throwing his hands up. “Abso-fucking-lutely not, Ariella. You’re not hijacking our family’s private transport to smuggle a wanted cyber-terrorist across international lines.”

“You once told me that I was allowed to make terrible decisions,” I remind Adrian before either of my brothers can stop me.

His expression changes immediately, shifting from shock to pure, unadulterated dread. “I didn’t mention that those decisions include marrying a psychologically damaged genius currently hiding from several governments.”

“He’s not hiding,” I defend. “I’m recovering.”

“That somehow makes it worse,” Adrian mutters before returning his attention to me. “Ariella, at least talk to Mom and Dad first.”

I fold my arms stubbornly. “If the two of you stand beside me, I can convince them of anything.”

“Our sweet little dumbfuck sister, you’re severely overestimating our influence here,” Asher says.

“And,” I continue as though neither of them spoke, “if I’m already married, they can’t exactly force me into a divorce,” and mock-pout,

Did I just see Adrian rolling his eyes? With the exhausted expression of a man realizing his own words have returned to haunt him.

“That conversation,” he starts soberly, “was supposed to encourage confidence. It wasn’t intended to inspire premeditated legal warfare against our parents.”

“You still said I was allowed to make bad decisions,” I puff out my lower lip at him.

“I said you were allowed to make your own decisions.”

“I am making my own decision.”

A heavy sigh escapes him. “Wasn’t that conversation supposed to remain confidential?”

Asher’s head snaps from me to Adrian.

“When the fuck did the two of you have this conversation?”

“When your little sister was having an existential crisis.”

“And your solution was to encourage independent thinking?”

“I was trying to be supportive.”