Page 63 of Break Me Beautifully
"You know why."
I hear her sigh, then laugh, resigning herself to my news. "Well, you weren't supposed to come home for another two months. I'll wait for your decision about moving in with your new boy after that."
Though I blush, it's less severe than normal. I've gotten used to the idea of Marshall and me as a couple. What's to be ashamed about?
"Can I ask something kinda crude?"
"Sure," I say.
"You're not pregnant, right?"
Laughing heartily, I pat my belly even though she can't see it. "No. Feel free to tell Mom I managed to do as she asked."
"For now."
"For now," I agree in a quieter voice.
"What happens next, Leona? What will you two do?"
Casting a look at the bathroom where I can hear the shower running, I smile fondly. "Who knows. Maybe we'll adopt a dog."
****
Istare at his bedroomceiling and count the paint swirls. I stop around sixty-five before I give up, but I know I'll have another shot. I plan to look at this ceiling a lot.
Marshall is lying next to me. He's shirtless, his jacket strewn on the floor with the rest of his clothes except for his boxers. I expect him to look peaceful, but he's staring at the window, his frown subtle, scar glinting.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He glances at me, startling. His smile is quick but false. "Nothing."
I narrow my eyes. "No lies, remember?"
Scratching his scalp, he sits up with a tired laugh. "I'm not lying. Nothing is wrong. It's actually good."
"Then why do you look so miserable?"
Craning his neck, he looks back at the window. I can see his entire back. Tattoos and scars create a mural of his life. "You know what I was given in exchange for turning on Bradford Mink."
My pulse quickens, forcing me to sit up on the bed next to him. "Information about your dad's killer." He nods slowly. "Did they give it to you already?"
He pulls in a long breath. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed he leans down, digging in his clothing. When he faces me again there's a small white envelope squeezed between his fingers. "It's here. This tiny piece of paper is supposed to lead me to the man responsible for my father's death."
And for putting you on the path to joining the mafia.I think it but don't dare say it. "Well," I whisper, my nerves kicking in, "are you going to open it?"
Closing his eyes, he presses the envelope to his chest. "I don't know."
"What? Why?"
When he looks at me next there's a ripple of genuine fear in his black eyes. "It'll change things, Leona. It could make me do things that would put us ... you ... in danger."
God, I feel for him. I wish I could wrap him in more than just my arms and save him from the evil things that put him in this situation in the first place. Laying my hands on his knees, I pull myself into his lap. He adjusts on the bed to hold my spine to his chest, hugging me with his chin on my scalp.
I trace my nails over his forearm, trying to relax the veins exposed by tension from crushing the envelope. I outline the words engraved on his wrist. Powerful words. Tragic words. "You went through so much to get to this point. If you could throw the paper away, you would have already."
"When I thought about revenge," he says quietly, "I pictured myself alone. I had nothing to lose. What if whatever is in here ruins what we're creating?"
"What we're creating can't be destroyed by this."
