I ease out from under her carefully, tucking the sheet around her curves. She murmurs something unintelligible and burrows deeper into the pillow. She needs her rest. The woman just rode me like she was trying to break me, and I have never been more willing for someone to try and destroy me.
I pull on trousers and a shirt, then pad barefoot down to my study. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that comes with good security and men who know when not to speak. I sit at the desk and pick up the phone.
Serik answers on the second ring. "Shouldn’t you be busy? I know I am," he grumbles as soon as he answers the phone.
"Send me everything you have on Connor Calhoun," I say, ignoring the jab. "The file you flagged eight months ago. All of it. Now."
He doesn't ask questions, just hangs up the phone with a grunt. A few minutes later my laptop pings with an encrypted folder. I open it and start digging.
The picture comes together fast and ugly. Connor Calhoun is not just in debt. He is drowning. Gambling markers from private clubs in Miami. Loans from men who don’t forgive. Two separate syndicates in New Jersey holding paper on him, the kind that ends with broken bones or worse if payments slip. He has been selling pieces of his family's name for years, borrowing against expectations he could never meet.
The Foxhall match was more than likely not love. It was a calculated Hail Mary. Cecily's family name carries weight in circles that still care about old blood and old money. Marrying her buys him breathing room, a fresh line of credit disguised as marital alliance. He has already floated quiet inquiries about accessing trusts and accounts once the ring is on her finger. The emails are there in black and white, timestamps clear.
I compile the worst of it. Bank statements. Photos of him leaving meetings with the wrong kind of people. A recorded conversation where he jokes about how the British in-laws will never suspect a thing. Irrefutable. Clean enough that even her father cannot wave it away as rumor.
By the time the sun is fully up I have a neat dossier on the desk. Physical copies. Digital backups. Everything Amelia would need to stop her sister's wedding before it becomes a disaster.
Serik calls back while I am sealing the final envelope. "You moving on this personally?"
"Yes."
He makes a low sound. "Rovin will want to know if it touches any of our interests."
"I’ll meet you at his place."
I carry the folder upstairs. Amelia’s awake when I enter the bedroom, sitting up against the headboard with the sheet tucked under her arms. Her hair is tousled, her eyes sharp despite the sleep still clinging to them. Beautiful. Mine.
"That’s a very serious look on your face," she says, noting the file in my hand.
"The papers you wanted." I set the dossier on the bed beside her. "Your proof, Amelia. Connor Calhoun is exactly what I said. Worse, maybe. He is using your sister as a shield. The evidence is all here. Dates, names, amounts, photographs. Enough to keep him away from your family. Enough to bury him."
She reaches for the folder slowly, flipping it open. I watch her face as she reads. The color drains, then returns in a flush of anger.
"You did this in a few hours," she says quietly, looking up at me.
"My brother had already compiled most of it. Calhoun hit our radar when he got a bit too close to our business interests last spring." I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch her if she wants. "Your world dresses up its lies in manners and garden parties. Mine doesn’t. I will never lie to you, even when the truth is ugly. That is the safety I can give you, and I can also come with you when you see your family today."
The crease appears between her brows instantaneously.
“How did you know I’d want to see them today?” she asks, closing the folder and setting it aside. The sheet loosens from around her as she moves, flashing her creamy skin and rosy nipples for just a second before she pulls it back into place.
“You have a lot you need to tell them, the logistics of marrying me, what that means for where you choose to live…” I trail off when I see her face change. She hadn’t considered that marrying me might mean that she has to move to the US for good.
“I’ll be able to visit England though, won’t I?” she asks. “Even if it’s just once a year—”
I hook her chin with my finger and press my thumb into the dimple there. “Of course, whenever you like.”
Her hand finds mine, squeezing once. There is steel in her grip. "Thank you."
I nod because there’s no need for more. She understands now. I’m not the polished suitor her mother would choose, but I am the man who will burn down obstacles without hesitation because she asked me to. And I will keep doing it for the rest of our lives.
"Breakfast," I say, standing. "Then we decide what you want done with this. Your sister. Your family. Whatever you need."
She watches me with those blue eyes that saw straight through me across a crowded room. "You're really going to let me decide?"
"I bought you to be my wife, not my prisoner." I lean down and kiss her forehead. "Choose, Amelia. I’ll make it happen."
Amelia
