We stand like that for long moments, the fire crackling beside us, snow beginning to fall outside. Nothing resolved, nothing promised beyond facing what comes next as a united front.
It's not enough. But for now, it's what we have.
Later, as darkness falls and we prepare for bed, my phone rings. The number belongs to Micah.
"Wallace." I answer, tension immediately returning to my shoulders.
Micah's voice comes through, grim and direct. "Marc Alexander's flight landed in Vancouver two hours ago. He rented a car and is driving toward Crimson Hollow."
"He's early." I glance at Judith, who watches me with concern. "ETA?"
"Weather's bad on the mountain pass. If he makes it through tonight, he'll arrive by morning. If not, he'll be stuck until they clear the roads."
"Keep me posted." I end the call, turning to Judith. "He's coming early. Trying to catch us off guard."
She nods, face paling slightly but resolve firming. "Let him try."
As I pull her close, I find myself hoping the storm intensifies, closing the mountain pass for days. Buying us more time in this bubble we've created, before reality intrudes in the form of her ex-fiancé.
But even as I wish for delay, I know the confrontation is inevitable. Marc Alexander is coming, determined to expose our arrangement and reclaim what he believes is his.
He has no idea what he's up against. Not my military training or my mountain isolation or even Micah's security team.
But the simple fact that what started as a business transaction has grown into something neither Judith nor I are willing to surrender without a fight.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JUDITH
The snow falls in thick, silent flakes outside the cabin windows. Normally, I'd find the scene peaceful, even magical. Right now, it feels like the quiet before a storm.
Marc is coming today.
I sit in the window seat Dario built into the living room, coffee mug clutched between my hands though the liquid has long gone cold. Sleep eluded me most of the night despite Dario's solid warmth beside me. Too many thoughts crowding my mind. Too many emotions tangled in my chest.
"You should eat something." Dario's deep voice breaks the silence. He stands in the kitchen doorway, watching me with those piercing blue eyes that see too much.
"Not hungry." I turn back to the window, tracking the hypnotic fall of snow.
He crosses the room, crouching beside me. "You'll need your strength. Coffee isn't enough."
The concern in his voice softens my resistance. "Fine. Toast, maybe."
He nods, rising with that fluid grace that still catches me off guard. I watch him move around the kitchen, preparing breakfast with the same care he brings to everything. Two pieces of sourdough in the toaster. Butter from the local dairy. Homemade blackberry jam from the Crimson Hollow farmers market.
It's hard to reconcile this domesticity with the man who declared under oath that we'd be building a life together. Who made decisions about our future without consulting me. Who reminds me, in uncomfortable ways, of the controlling behavior I fled when I left Marc.
And yet Dario isn't Marc. Not even close.
Marc never apologized. Never admitted he was wrong. Never valued my independence or respected my boundaries.
And Marc certainly never made me feel the way Dario does—safe enough to surrender, strong enough to stand firm, valued enough to be honest.
"You're thinking too hard." Dario sets a plate beside me, toast perfectly browned and spread with just the right amount of butter and jam. Just how I like it.
"Occupational hazard." I pick up a piece, taking a small bite. "Overthinking is part of the job description."
"Not about this." He sits across from me, coffee mug cradled in those capable hands. "Marc is just a man. Not a supervillain."
