Page 72 of The Forbidden Bodyguard

But I do have choices. Not many.

I could run. Pack up my car, empty my bank account and go live in the mountains or on Kauaʻi—one of the less-populated islands of Hawaii. I could be a surfer chick, living basically in the plush tropics.

Perhaps if Declan could forgive me, he would join me in the islands. Hey, he could contract with the Navy given they have such a huge presence on Hawaii.

It sounds much better than being married to Tony Marino and living in his dangerous world.

Anything does.

Even a root canal.

I would leap into my car now if I thought it was possible. It’s not. The only thing saving my father’s life is me saying I do.

My phone vibrates softly on my bedside table, so I reach for it and see my mom’s name.

“Hey,” I answer sleepily.

“Please make sure you’re here today, Stella,” Mom says, sounding stressed. “Your father is beside himself, and we both know it’s best to do what Tony wants.”

Oh, my god.

I sit up and rub one of my eyes. “Maybe he should start caring about how this impacts my life. How I’ll suffer.”

She’s silent for a short moment.

“He loves you. This is very difficult for him, darling.”

“Mom, can you hear yourself? I am the one marrying that monster so that he doesn’t end up in the Hudson. Don’t you care what he is going to do to me? Have you thought it through?”

“Of course, I ha—”

“The wedding night. Him on me. That man legally able to touch me. To...put his—”

“Stella please. My God. What is wrong with you?” she cries.

“Me?” I squeal, leaping out of bed and pacing. “Me? What is wrong with me? You can’t hear that a criminal a decade older than me is going to shove his disgusting cock inside me to keep YOUR husband alive, and you ask ME what is wrong with ME!”

I see red.

“I’ll get Greta to give you a sedative when you get here. You’re obviously unwell.”

My eyes widen further, if that is even possible, as I spin around waving my arms around. But no one is here. I’ve sent everyone who can help me away.

“Go fuck yourself, Mom. With all due respect.”

I end the call and throw my phone across the room.

What am I going to do?

It takes thirty seconds before tears replace my anger and they start falling down my face.

I need to run.

Walking into my closet, I stare at the suitcases on the top shelf.

“Think, Stella. Think.” I wrap my arms around myself.

Because if I run, and then hear that my parents have been dredged up in the river by the NYPD, could I live with myself?