Page 149 of A Vicious Love

She turned her face away.

I stared at the fireplace because I had not meant to step directly into one of their old wounds, but apparently emotional crises were contagious.

Marcel slid an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

She resisted for one second on principle.

Then let him. Her arms stayed crossed. Marcel looked over her head at me and smirked.

The bastard. We both knew she wasn’t really upset.

“Marcel is very lucky I took pity on him.” She added, faking interest in the blanket.

“Extremely lucky,” Marcel agreed at once.

“And his player ways were honestly a concern.”

“Of course.”

“It was touch and go.” She lifted her chin.

I nodded gravely. “Very touch and go.”

Marcel nodded too. “Nearly fatal.”

Emmie looked between us, suspicious. “Are you mocking me?”

“No,” we said together.

She narrowed her eyes.

Marcel kissed her temple. “Never, baby.”

“You were terrible,” she told him.

“I was.”

“And arrogant.”

“Yes.”

“And convinced I would just fall in line because you were Marcel Crow.” Emmie looked down at her hands. Marcel took one and brought it to his mouth, kissing her fingers like it was instinct.

“It took time,” he said quietly, eyes on Emmie.

Fuck.

I hated emotional language when it worked. I stood because sitting made me feel too exposed. My hands shook slightly, so I shoved them into my pockets. I moved toward the door, then stopped.

“Thanks,” I said. It sounded insufficient.

Marcel nodded once. That was enough for us. Emmie cleared her throat. I looked at her. She was sitting against Marcel’s chest, chin lifted in that proud little way.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

I frowned. “For what?”

“My help.”