David climbs out, looking stressed, and walks toward Emilio.
They start talking.
I lean forward, craning my neck, searching for Dasha.
The second I see her, I fling the door open and run toward her.
“Dasha!” I choke out, wrapping my arms around her. “Oh my God, you’re okay.” I pull away, gripping her shoulders, and look her over. “Where have you been? Are you safe?”
She gives me a tired smile.
Her eyes are dull. Her hair matted.
But she’s alive.
I ignore Emilio’s warning glare as we walk over to them. It’s clear from the way his voice drops that he’s hurriedly ending whatever conversation they’re having so we don’t hear.
Without a word, he walks to the sedan, and we follow. He pops the trunk and pulls out the black duffel bag.
“Fifty grand,” he says.
Dasha reaches for it, but he yanks it back just as her fingers touch the strap.
“You take this, and you’re done calling my wife for money. No more dragging her into your problems.”
He drops the bag on the ground, and it falls at her feet with a heavy thud.
“You want to call her to talk? Fine,” he goes on before thrusting his finger into his chest. “But if you need money, you callme.” He moves his finger to point at me. “Not her.”
“Damn,” Dasha whispers, staring at Emilio in awe.
The complete opposite of how she looked at him at their engagement dinner.
My husband is standing on businessfor me.
To protect me but also help someone I love.
David grabs the bag from the ground and swings it over his shoulder.
Dasha hugs me again. “Maybe I should’ve married him,” she whispers into my ear.
“No take-backs,” I say, staring over her shoulder at my husband.
He’s all mine.
Emilio’s eyes meet mine and soften.
I smile in satisfaction and happiness.
He meets my smile and jerks his head toward the car.
Time to go home with my husband.
The lights areon in the house when we walk in, but my tired mind doesn’t think to wonder why.
The second Emilio shuts the door, I launch myself at him.
I loop my arms around his neck and smash my mouth against his.
