“But—”
“Shh, let me finish.” I wiggle my finger in the air. “If we have visitation, this means we are spending time together. Along the way, we fell in love, and the minute you got out, we decided not to waste our time. Life is too short to not live it fully.” I grip the arm of the couch. “And voila! You have an unconventional love story for the press, and everyone is rooting for us.”
Her jaw drops open, and she shakes her head in disbelief before shouting, “Are you insane?” She groans, face-palming herself. “This is the most idiotic love story I’ve ever heard. Not to mention you have no evidence to support that.”
I bark out a laugh. “What evidence, woman? You think they will go to the prison to check if the information is correct? They wouldn’t get it anyway. It’s classified.”
“It’s stupid. How can you not see it?” she exclaims and swings her feet to the floor, slapping on it soundly. “No one will believe it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. They’ll believe it, since it’s romantic, a darkish kind of fairy tale. Tragic yet beautiful in a weird way too. But most importantly, the unsub will believe it, because he knows us. You mainly.”
Her brows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He knows you hated me. You suffered an unbearable loss because of me.” She casts her gaze down, and even though guilt once again shows its ugly head to me, I rein it in. “But more importantly, he knows we both married for love in the past and how much we loved our significant others. If we’re doing it again, with you agreeing to be with me, it must mean something. Enough for him to feel betrayed.” I hope she sees the reasoning behind my thoughts and not push the whole point that he or she is super smart.
The unsub’s intelligence has nothing to do with this anyway. He’ll react emotionally to the news and snap. I just have to prepare for it to happen during the wedding and then trap him in my net, so the nightmare can be over for everyone involved.
And begin for him, because his suffering will be eternal.
“My head can’t wrap around this shit,” she finally says, her gaze locked on mine. “But I guess I have to be on board this sinking ship, since everyone now knows about the engagement.” She snatches the phone from underneath the couch pillow where I hadn’t noticed it before. She unlocks the screen and slides the phone in my direction. “Scroll down. It seems the whole freaking world is talking about us.”
Indeed, the news feed consists of the photos and articles about us with the most ridiculous headlines.
The King and the Ex-Con: A love story.
When a murder is not enough of a reason to stand in the way of love.
Keep it in the family, King style. Looks like another Hale is joining the dynasty.
I chuckle at the last one, which only serves to piss off Phoenix more as she accuses me, “Oh, it’s funny for you, is it?”
“You gotta admit the last one is fucking hilarious. And don’t worry, Sebastian is not my family by blood, so you’re not double dipping or anything,” I assure her, and her eyes widen at my words before she grabs the nearby pillow and throws it at me. I duck my head to avoid it, but she grabs another one and once again misses as it lands on the floor.
“I can’t believe you can say something like that!” She huffs in frustration. “It’s disgusting!”
“It was unavoidable. Did you really think we could go through with this marriage without anyone mentioning the fact that your ex-husband is engaged to my sister?” I’m not thrilled with it either; in fact, fury washes over me, demanding I erase any kind of memory from everyone’s head she was married to him, because the idea of her belonging to anyone else doesn’t sit well with me.
She is mine and mine alone, and everything and everyone that came before me can go fuck themselves.
Which is hypocritical as hell, but who gives a fuck?
“Honestly?” She says, “I don’t think much about Sebastian besides—” She clears her throat, shutting her mouth, but I know what she wanted to say anyway.
Besides the times when she thinks about her daughter and what could have been if Sebastian raised her.
Well, we’ll never find out, will we?
“Doesn’t matter what, but he doesn’t occupy my thoughts twenty-four seven,” she continues and then bites her lip worriedly. “Have you checked on your sister?” I frown, not sure what she means by that, so she elaborates with a huff as if she can’t believe I’m this dense. “Is she okay? I bet she doesn’t want the ex of her fiancé marrying her brother.”
“We’re not close,” I mechanically reply, although my mind digests this information as my family didn’t even factor into my decision-making.
Why would it? I never factor into theirs, so the feelings are mutual. I haven’t checked for calls or messages since we entered the house, so nothing would disturb my time with Emmaline. I fish for my phone inside my jacket pocket and mutter, “Well, I’ll be damned.” Because there are fifty missed calls from my various family members, even the stepmother, and five from Zeke.
And only one text message from my father.
Call me when you see this. We need to talk, son.
Yeah, I’m not in a hurry to make that phone call, because I’m not in the mood for any lectures. He’ll probably preach to me how much it hurts Felicia, his little girl, and I should have thought about the consequences of my actions first before acting on impulse.
It’s his go-to phrase whenever I do something he doesn’t agree with or might hurt his beloved family.
My grim expression and mood must give Phoenix the wrong impression, as she says, “They’re angry, aren’t they?”
“Don’t concern yourself with my family and their emotions. It doesn’t matter what they think.”
“They’re your family,” she protests but stops when my hollow laughter echoes in the night.
“They remember they’re my family only when they need something from me or think I might have screwed up their lives.” Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, I change the subject. “So how about patching up my hand?”
She rubs her forehead. “All this is giving me a headache. Or maybe that’s my status quo ever since I stepped into freedom.” It sounds more like internal musing, so I say nothing.
Instead, I get up ready to sit next to her so she can work on my hand, but she shakes her head, jumps up from the couch, and grabs the first aid kit. “Let’s go to the bathroom. We need to clean it first. Not to mention the lighting in there is better.”
Whatever fucking works for her.
The lavender-mixed-with-vanilla scent I associate only with her twitches my nostrils as she passes by me, her body brushing against mine, since I don’t take a single step back to give her an easier path.
Annoyance sparkles in her eyes when our gazes meet, but she flips her long-ass hair back, the dark locks hitting me in the face when she walks to the door, then throws over her shoulder, “Maybe I should let it fester, and you can die from infection. Natural causes and all. Just imagine that. Not guilty of the crime and I’d get rid of you.”