Once Upon a Marriage

He was frowning. Moving around the apartment. “I have no idea. There’s no liquid explosive I know of that would detonate by itself, but it could be laced with something. Cyanide, maybe.”

Gabi’s intake of breath filled the room. “He’s trying to kill Liam?”

“I doubt that he expected Liam to drink it. He would have noticed the broken seal. And it bore a threatening note. I think this is more warning. Playing with him. Letting him know how easy it would be to hurt him. And showing, at the same time, that whoever is doing this means business.”

“You think he’s going to hurt him?” Marie asked. Life was as they’d left it. Someone was out there threatening Liam. And Elliott was working. It was as though the marriage that had happened in Vegas had stayed in Vegas.

Except that she had a shiny new wedding ring in her pocket. Matching the one Elliott had slid in his own. At her request. Just until they’d had some rest—and a night to get used to the magnanimous change that had just taken place.

“I have no idea what he’s going to do,” Elliott said. “But I know that only a mentally disturbed pers

on continues on like this for months. And there’s no telling what a mentally disturbed person is capable of doing.”

Before he could say more, the police arrived. They asked their usual questions. Wanted assurances that nothing had been disturbed in Liam’s apartment while they were gone. Elliott checked Marie’s, as well. They talked to the security guards. And to Sam and Eva downstairs in the shop. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary.

When they were done, they took their notes, the box that had come in the mail and left. All Marie wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

It wasn’t even six o’clock yet.

Elliott looked from her to Liam and Gabi. “I guess I’ll get my things,” he said.

And Marie felt that peculiar piece of joy start to unfurl inside her again.

She might be home again. Back to work.

But she was married.

To the man she loved.

And he was moving in.

* * *

THE FIRST WEEK of marriage turned out to be less...all encompassing...than Elliott had thought it would be. Sharing his nights with Marie was fantastic. Better than fantastic. When he was in her arms, he was willing to die there.

And when he woke up every morning, the sick feeling hit his gut. Toward the end of the first week, he could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror of their bathroom as he shaved. On Thursday, still in her robe after a shower, she came up behind him just as he’d smeared his face with cream, slid her arms around his towel-wrapped middle and hugged him tight.

He wanted to turn in her arms and lose himself in everything good about her.

“I wish we could get out of the party tonight,” she said. “I’ve always loved having people around, having parties, but now...”

Her body slid upward against his—standing on tiptoe—and she kissed him. “I don’t want to share you,” she said. “And I don’t want to give up our alone time.”

Other than work, they hadn’t left the apartment all week. Had turned down two invitations to dinner with Liam and Gabrielle.

But everyone at the Arapahoe knew they were married and wanted to celebrate. After the first day, Marie hadn’t been able to bear being without her ring. And Grace, with Gabrielle’s help, had organized a reception for them.

Similar to one Marie had thrown for Gabrielle and Liam six weeks ago.

“Anticipation adds to enjoyment,” he said, avoiding the mirror that was going to show him a picture of him and Marie together. “Maybe I should move to the other bathroom,” he blurted before he’d even thought about what he was saying.

He didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay right where he was. Sharing a bathroom, a life, with his wife.

The wife he’d married with a lie between them. Barbara Bustamante would be coming back from her honeymoon soon.

That reminder did not sit well with him, either. He’d lied to her, too.

“Am I bothering you?” Marie’s hands dropped away from him.