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I’d lost enough family to know they should be cherished whenever possible, and Ash was a gem. She deserved every good thing in life, including to be treated with respect, courtesy, and love.
“I haven’t, but I’ll call him as soon as I’m done here,” I promised.
“He’s not going to be happy,” she warned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did something at the wedding to prove it too. This is a slight, and he’s going to do whatever it takes to prevent this from going through.”
“He can try,” I said. “The contract is signed. You’re officially ours, and he has no access to you. What’s he going to do? Kidnap the bride?”
The joke fell flat when she paled a little further, and I felt like an absolute asshole. The last thing she needed was more worries. Before I could step up and correct myself, Cameron did it.
“No one is coming for you. Whether we’re married or not, you’re a Marcosa now. You’re protected, and you will be safe. Do you understand me? I’m not going to let that Irish fuck touch you again.”
Aislynn’s smile was a little watery but no less real when she looked at him. “You realize I’m Irish too?”
“Maybe so. But at least you’re tolerable.”
“Tolerable,” she laughed. “Just what every wife wants to hear from her husband.”
“Do you want to hear what I really think?” he teased, and the watery smile firmed up a little.
“That would imply I cared.”
“Oh, you care, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your fucking sweetheart.”
It was fascinating to see them interact. I wouldn’t have put them together if I’d had any other choice, but I liked them. I wasn’t sure if it was Cameron’s natural inclination to find affection for the people closest to him or Aislynn’s ability to make a friend out of everybody she met, but they suited each other well.
After a bit more conversation about the logistics, we left.
Cameron walked us out of their suite, uncharacteristically quiet. For my golden retriever cousin, it was almost unheard of for him to not have something to say, so I waited for him to tell me his concerns. He didn’t disappoint.
“I was serious when I said the Irishman doesn’t touch her.”
“You’re awfully protective of Aislynn.” I took a page out of Troy’s book, fishing for hints.
“She’s my wife.” I could tell just by looking at him that he meant it. Cameron was nothing but fierce protective energy. A groom protecting his bride. A husband fighting for his wife. Whether she knew it or not, Ash was lucky to have him in her corner. He would protect her to the end.
“We’ll make sure of it,” I promised. There was no other way.
The sound of annoyed muttering filtered through the doorway, and I grinned. “You better get back before she throws something else.”
“Hopefully it’s her shit this time. She’s got a serious arm on her.”
I snickered as Cameron disappeared back into the suite, and the arguing resumed as if we’d never interrupted.
“They’ll be okay,” Greyson said after a minute. He rubbed his fingertips against my palm as we walked to soothe some of my anxious energy. “We’ll make sure of it.”
I didn’t have the same faith Grey did, so I just had to hope I wasn’t screwing up their futures.
Two hours later, after I’d caught up on paperwork and anything else I could do to avoid O’Bannon, I acknowledged that procrastination wouldn’t make my phone call more pleasant. Locking the door, I slipped out of my clothes and into the loungewear I had in the closet for when I worked late. Interruptions were the last thing I needed, and comfort was a necessity.
The little window in the corner of my office let just enough afternoon light filter in that it seemed a little dreamy and unreal. When things got tough or I didn’t know what to do, I’d sit in my favorite chair and work through my problem, often with Grey close at hand. I hated to bring anything but good energy to the little space, but I needed the peace if I was going to argue with O’Bannon.
Forcing myself to dial, I settled into the chair and prayed for patience.
“Marcosa.” Sean’s voice was about as dry as sand in the desert. That doesn’t bode well.
“O’Bannon. How are things lately?”
