I scrubbed my free hand down my face. “It’s probably her friend.”
“You think she has someone else she’s seeing?”
“Fuck no.”
“You did marry her awfully fast.”
Article One prevented me from telling Grant the truth—that Lyra and I got married on a whim because we both needed something. Looking back at it now, it had been far from the truth for both of us. I settled on, “She loves me.”
“That’s clear as day to anyone who steps foot near you two. The entire town is talking about the woman who leashed you.” I snorted, knowing it was physically the opposite. “Got your whole bar in a tizzy the other night. Somethin’ about her grabbing her tits on the dancefloor and then you hauled her off to the bathroom. People heard her moaning over the music.”
I chuckled. If that’s all people noticed, then I’d be the last to tell them otherwise. “We did have some fun.”
The corner of Grant’s mouth twisted up. “Well, when you know, you know, I suppose.”
My attention whipped to the edge of Lyra’s blue dress as it fluttered by the window, the fabric disappearing briefly before flashing in the same fashion.
Almost like she was pacing.
Pacing wasn’t good. Pacing meant nerves, or anger. Something volatile.
“Something is wrong out there.” I peered at my hand as Grant started working faster.
“I think you’re being paranoid.”
My leg started bouncing, watching that blue dress flutter by again as Lyra dodged stepping into full-view of the window. The front door opened and Lyra stormed into the house, then kept going on toward our bedroom, clutching her phone in a tight grip.
“God fucking dammit,” I murmured as the bedroom door slammed shut.
“Give me a sec.” Grant set the gun down and wiped my hand.
When it sounded like Lyra was gathering furniture to burn or destroy, I ripped my hand through my hair, my mind spiraling, trying to figure out what the hell could have gone wrong in such a short time. She told me she loved me, but that didn’t mean she had to stay. She loved me then, too, and she still left. She had yet to tell me she was staying, I was just being really fucking hopeful that she would.
The one thing I knew for certain—the person who called my wife was fuckingdead.
“Done.” Grant stood and jerked his chin toward everything he’d brought. “I’d say I’ll be back soon for this, but—” The bedroom door ripped open so hard, the walls shook. “Call mewhen I can get my shit back.” Grant tipped his head down as my wife came back into the room, her arms crossed, but holding something wooden.
And small.
And embellished with gold.
“Lyra, it was an absolute pleasure to see you again,” Grant said right before turning dramatically on his heel, whistling low as he strolled through the door and shut it softly behind him.
I leaned back in my chair and matched her crossed arms with my own while eyeing the small box in her hand. I believe my smirk, though, is what set her off.
“You’re a two-faced, lying cheat,” Lyra snapped.
I arched a brow. “Anythin’ else?”
Her face turned a deeper shade of red. “I have a lotelseI could say.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” I grinned and got more comfortable in my chair.
She didn’t like that either.
“How can you say you’ve loved me this whole time when you planned to ask someone else?”
“Care to say what I was going to ask?”
