A smile curves his lips, not warm but predatory. "We remind him that he's threatening a man who spent eight years in special forces and now lives on a remote mountain where bodies are very easy to hide."
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me. "Dario Wallace. Did you just make a joke about murdering my ex?"
"Who said I was joking?"
I press a palm to his chest. "Let's keep homicide as Plan B, shall we?"
His hand covers mine, holding it against his heart. "For you? I'll consider it."
The tension breaks, at least temporarily. Dario makes a call to Silas while I contact Sierra, asking her to discreetly investigate what Marc might know about our arrangement.
By afternoon, we have answers. Sierra confirms that the photos from the tree lighting ceremony were publicly posted by the Crimson Hollow Community Association—nothing nefarious there. She's also discovered that Marc has been asking questions about my sudden marriage but has no concrete proof of anything suspicious beyond the timing.
"So, he's fishing," I tell Dario as we sit by the fire that evening. "He suspects but doesn't know for sure."
"That's good news." Dario passes me a glass of whiskey. "Means we have room to maneuver."
"Still leaves us with a problem." I sip the amber liquid, welcoming its warmth. "He's threatening to visit next week. Right before your hearing."
"Let him." Dario's confidence would be reassuring if I didn't know exactly what Marc was capable of. "Silas's looking into his finances. If he was embezzling from your joint accounts, chances are he's done it elsewhere."
"And that gives us leverage."
"Exactly."
We fall silent, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. The Christmas tree we decorated together glows in the corner, a symbol of the home we've created. A home with an expiration date.
"Dario." I break the silence, voicing the question that's been haunting me. "What happens when this is over? When December 26th comes?"
He stills, eyes fixed on the fire. "That was always the agreement. You get freed from the prenup. I get my land. We go our separate ways."
The words feel hollow, a recitation of terms that no longer encompass what exists between us. "Is that still what you want?"
His gaze shifts to mine, something vulnerable flickering in those blue depths. "What do you want, Judy?"
The question terrifies me. Because the answer isn't what it was when I arrived in Crimson Hollow. It's not freedom from Marc or escape from legal consequences. It's the man sitting across from me. The cabin on the mountain. The life we've begun to build.
"I don't know," I lie, because the truth is too frightening to voice. Because if I admit I want to stay, want him, want us, and he doesn't feel the same, I'm not sure I could bear it.
He studies me for a long moment, seeing more than I want him to. "I think you do know. You're just afraid to say it."
My heart pounds. "Maybe."
"Tell me." The quiet command holds echoes of our time in his playroom, but this feels more exposing than any physical vulnerability.
I draw a shaky breath. "I'm not ready for December 26th."
Relief mingles with caution in his expression. "Neither am I."
The admission hangs between us, neither of us quite ready to take the next step, to define what that means. The fire crackles in the silence.
"But there's Marc to deal with first," he continues finally. "And the land transfer."
"Right." I nod, grateful for the return to practical matters. "One crisis at a time."
He reaches across the space between us, taking my hand. "Whatever happens with Marc, with the land, with December 26th... we'll face it together."
The promise warms me more than the fire or whiskey ever could. We don't speak of it again that night, but its anacknowledgment that what we've built is worth fighting for, worth preserving beyond the arbitrary deadline we set.
