Marc:Saw the photos. Cute little mountain town. Quaint Christmas ceremony. Never took you for the small-town wife type. Quite the whirlwind romance, wasn't it?
Ice floods my veins.Photos? What photos?
A second message arrives with a link. I click it, holding my breath. It opens to a social media post from the Crimson Hollow Community page. Several images from the tree lighting ceremony, including one of Dario kissing me beneath the Christmas lights. The caption reads:"Newest Crimson Hollow couple Dario and Judith Wallace share a magical moment at the annual tree lighting."
I scan the comments, finding gushing notes about what a lovely couple we make. How it's nice to see Dario "finally settling down." How we seem "perfect for each other."
My phone buzzes again.
Marc:Interesting how quickly you found a mountain man to marry after our engagement was on the rocks. Almost suspiciously quick, wouldn't you say? I'll be in Vancouver next week. Maybe I'll take a detour to meet the husband. We should catch up.
Panic riseslike bile in my throat. Marc is suspicious. Of course he is—no one falls in love and gets married that quickly. He doesn't have proof our marriage is an arrangement, but his threat is clear. He's coming to investigate for himself.
I set the phone down with trembling hands, mind racing. If Marc digs deep enough and exposes our arrangement, Dario could lose his land. Everything we've worked for would unravel.
The sound of the door opening startles me. Dario enters, bringing a rush of cold air and the scent of pine and exertion. He reads my expression immediately.
"What's wrong?" He crosses to me in three long strides, concern etched in his features.
I hesitate, unwilling to shatter the perfect bubble we've created. "Nothing. Just work stress."
His eyes narrow. He doesn't believe me. "Judy."
Just my name, but the way he says it—part command, part concern—reminds me of what we've learned about each other these past weeks. In the bedroom, I surrender control. Outside it, he expects honesty.
I sigh, passing him my phone. "Marc found photos of us online."
He reads the messages, jaw tightening with each word. When he finishes, he sets the phone down carefully, too carefully. His control is most dangerous when it's most evident.
"He's suspicious about how quickly we married." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"And he's threatening to visit."
"Yes."
Dario moves to the window, shoulders rigid. "The timing is suspect. We're a week from finalizing the land transfer."
The implications settle heavily. "You think he's working with the county?"
"I think men like Marc Alexander don't make idle threats." He turns back to face me. "He's fishing for confirmation about our arrangement."
"And threatening to come here to investigate for himself," I add, wrapping my arms around myself. "If he exposes us as a sham marriage..."
"He won't." Dario's voice carries absolute certainty. "He has suspicions, nothing more. And by the time he arrives, we'll be ready for him."
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I should have known he wouldn't just let this go. His ego can't handle it."
Dario crosses to me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "You have nothing to apologize for. You told me everything about him when we made our arrangement. I know exactly what kind of man he is."
The reminder that I've been honest with Dario from the beginning about Marc—his controlling behavior, the embezzlement, the threats—brings relief. At least there are no secrets between us about that.
"What do we do?" I ask, finding comfort in his steadiness.
"First, we don't panic. That's what he wants." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Second, we gather information. Find out exactly what he knows and how he knows it."
"And third?"
