We move together like we’ve done this a thousand times. My hand fits in his. His other hand finds the small of my back like it’s gravity itself. Around us, our family and friends fade into candlelight and soft chatter. It’s just us. Just Ares and me, in this still, golden pocket of time.
Our foreheads press together. The music swells around us like silk. And in front of everyone, beneath the glittering lights of the city and the hush of reverent joy, Ares kisses me again. Deeply. Devotedly. Like I’m the only thing that has ever mattered.
The crowd cheers.
I feel the world anchor around me. I’ve never been happier. I’ve never felt more loved. And I know it all the way into my bones—this is the start of our forever.
Chapter 19
If anyone deserves an easy-going honeymoon where there is nothing to do all day but lay in bed and make love, with no pressure and no worries, it’s Ares and me.
But that is not what we get.
It was a risk even taking yesterday off to get married. This maniacal therapist gave us a ticking clock. So, it’s back to dealing with shit for us.
She wants the Barons to clear the city. She knows our names. She knows our faces. She fucking listed us off: Sysco. Harry. Ares. I suppose she doesn’t know I’m technically a Baron, too, but that doesn’t even matter. She specifically said she might even use me.
Two days tick by as we attempt to track this woman.
We’d start with her name, but I don’t have one.
We’d try her face, but I can’t remember it.
Juliet shows me photo after photo, even sketches, asking me to pick out any familiar detail—eyes, lips, posture. But there’s nothing. It’s like my mind is a freshly wiped mirror. Clean. Empty.
We now have this facial recognition software and an expert in Roman who knows how to use it. But we have no face. We couldscan all of New York City, but without even a hint of what she looks like, we have nowhere to start.
Fuck.
With nine days left,we go through old security footage from around the time Ophelia admitted seeing her. We focus on “safe” meeting places close to Ophelia’s apartment and work. Roman and Ares cross-reference building rental agreements and therapist licenses, not that those are easy to access. Sysco, Juliet, and I spend hours combing the internet for any female therapist in the city.
There are so fucking many of them. And we get no hits.
When we’re leftwith only seven days, I’m coming back from the bathroom when I hear Roman and Juliet arguing down the hall.
“We need to go home,” Roman says, his tone low and serious. “We have our own lives to get back to.”
“I know,” Juliet replies with a frustrated sigh. “But how do we just leave them with this mess? I mean… I just can’t do that to Lana. She’s my friend now. Could you really just tell Ares ‘figure it out on your own? See you later?’”
My heart hammers in my chest. It’s true. Over the past few weeks, I’ve come to consider Juliet a friend, too. A good one. And I’ve seen the bond forming between Roman and Ares, and Sysco.
But it’s clear now, with Markus gone—the whole reason they came to New York, their responsibilities in Chicago are pulling at them like an undertow.
“A few more days,” Juliet says. “We can spare a few more days to help them figure this out.”
I hear Roman let out a huff of air through his nostrils, but he must nod in agreement, because the next sound I hear is footsteps walking away.
A breath of relief escapes me.
We need all the help we can get.
Six days.Six damn days left.
The room is dim except for the glow of a dozen screens. Everyone’s hunched forward, searching. Clicking. Scanning. Sysco mutters under his breath while Roman scrolls through therapist licensing records. Ares and I sit shoulder to shoulder, combing building rental records for alias names.
It feels like grasping at smoke.
The tension in the air is brittle. Ares is frowning so hard it looks like it might crack his face in two. His hand brushes mine every few minutes like he’s grounding himself—like if he stops touching me, he might get pulled under again.
