So you’re taking her to dinner with The Brit?
“What will I wear?” She lifts her scarred arm, and her throat rolls from her swallow. “No one wants to look at this when they’re eating.” I notice the cast on her other arm isn’t an issue. Just the scars.
“Stop it.” I go to her, taking her wrist and lifting it to my mouth, kissing it. I don’t even see her deformity anymore. I hope she doesn’t see mine, either. I turn away from her, giving her my naked, damaged back, reminding her that we’re both imperfect.
“Are you going to dinner without a shirt?” she asks, reaching forward and stroking over the smooth but bumpy flesh. I glance over my shoulder, giving her a tired look. “Then your point is moot,” she says, lifting her arm again. “I’ve nothing with long sleeves.” She frowns. “And it’s still really, really warm.”
Claiming her shoulders, I lead her to the vanity unit and pick up the roll of cling film. “I don’t want you to hide it,” I tell her, starting to wrap her stomach to protect it from the water. “It’s a part of who you are.” I lean in and kiss her forehead before helping her into the waterproof arm protector. “A part of who we are.” And while we’re imperfect, we’re also really fucking perfect together.
“That’s sweet.” She pushes into my lips. “My assassin boyfriend has a romantic streak.”
I scowl and pull away. “Fiancé,” I correct her. “I’m your fiancé.” Why do I have to keep reminding her of this? “Because you agreed to marry this assassin, remember?” I won’t raise her condition. I hope we never have to speak of that again. She rejected me once. Not again.
“Remember.”
I nod, satisfied, and finish wrapping her up. “You’re good.” I send her into the shower with a pat of her bum. “I have a few calls to make.”
She nods, quiet, and I return to the terrace to call Black. He answers with silence, as I’ve become accustomed to. And then the sound of him taking a drag of a cigarette comes down the line. “I need your reassurance that Dexter will never be found,” I say quietly, closing the terrace doors behind me.
“You never did tell me why Beau can’t know about the mess you made of him.”
I laugh lightly, taking a seat in the rattan chair and relaxing as much as a man who’s lying to the love of his life can. “Beau seems to have grown a conscience,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. “She agreed to marry me if I promised not to kill him.”
“Oh,” he says over an exhale. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Not if you can assure me his body will never be found.”
“I can assure you,” Black says with a confidence I can’t ignore. “How’s Beau doing?”
I look over my shoulder to the door. “Quiet.”
“Mine too,” he says, and then laughs a little. “Well, when she’s not yelling at me or throwing deadly weapons at my head.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I can handle her.”
“I can’t imagine she’s going to be my biggest fan, then.” I get up and walk down to the sand, scuffing my feet through the hot, silky grains. “The man who’s dragged you from your grave.” That’s how his wife will see me. She’ll want to blame someone, and I’ll be that someone.
“You’ve not dragged me anywhere,” he muses, thoughtful, and I nod. “Other powers have unearthed me. I can’t sit around waiting for my past to catch up with me. If that benefits you, so be it.”
I’m beginning to understand Danny Black. I’ll expect no loyalty from him. I’ll always be wary of him, but he’s no need to be wary of me, and he worked that out very fast. I’ve no desire to become king of his old playground. That’s the only reason I’m here at the pleasure of The Brit. I’m a means to an end for him too. We both want the same man dead, and two assassins is always better than one.
“Are you naked?” he asks, amused, and I frown, looking around me. I spot him in the distance, standing on the shore in a wetsuit, a jet ski bobbing on the water beside him.
“It’s hot.” I roll my eyes to myself, and he laughs, as I trudge back to the beach house. “See you at the restaurant.”
“Look forward to it,” he says. “And, James?”
“What?”
“Get some sunblock on. You don’t want to burn that back of yours.” He hangs up, and I look over my shoulder. He’s still standing on the shore, his arm raised in a casual way. I raise mine in return, not feeling threatened by his comment. He’s merely pointing out that we’re the same. We’re no longer hidden by death. We’re no longer invulnerable. We have someone to live for.