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“Absolutely not,” James adds.
My shoulders drop as they hold me in place with their deadly glares. “Do you want us to go mad?” I ask, feeling defeated, with not much faith that I can convince them. “Come with us, if you must. Send a chaperone. Put us in bulletproof armor. But please, please, please, can we just go out somewhere?”
“Where?” Danny asks, perplexed, as if he doesn’t get it.
“Shopping. I don’t know, just somewhere other than here, where all there is to do is dwell on things.” I turn my eyes onto James, making sure he’s understanding me.
He snorts. “Beau can’t do busy places.”
“Then we’ll go to the beach. The quiet part,” I say, sounding way too enthusiastic, given I’ve not got a yes, and I don’t look likely to get one either.
“The answer is no,” Danny reiterates firmly. I look at him, hurt, and see the familiar, unmoving man I know too well. “Was that all?”
My eyes drop to the carpet, my small laugh one of disbelief. “That was all,” I say, lifting my chin in an act of strength I’m really not feeling. I flick my eyes to James. He’s on the exact same page as Danny. Same paragraph. Same sentence. Same fucking word.
It’s a no.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” I turn away, angry with him, with James, and with myself for the unstoppable sting in my eyes. But mostly angry with Danny. No flex whatsoever. I close the door behind me. “Asshole,” I mutter, wiping at my eyes as I walk down the corridor, emerging into the foyer. I take a moment, sitting on the bottom step, to gather myself before returning to Beau in the kitchen. I can’t tell her what I tried and failed to win for us. There’s no need for us both to feel shitty. Or shittier.
On a sigh that Danny could probably hear from his office, I compose myself and take the gold rail to pull myself up but freeze when his office door opens. I hear his boots hitting the carpet. Then another pair.
They appear side by side, pacing determinedly, and my eyes follow them across the foyer until they’re near. Danny comes to a gradual stop before me. I look up at him in question as James continues past the stairs in the direction of the kitchen. Oh shit. I stand, worried. “He can’t be pissed off with Beau,” I say, ready to go after him. “She didn’t know I was asking for some freedom.”
Danny takes my wrist, halting me, and I turn, ready to order him to call James back. “Sit,” he says softly, lowering to the bottom step, pulling me down with him. He sighs, and it gives mine a run for its money. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Rose,” he says, looking at me, tortured. “But your safety is topping my priority list.”
“I know,” I breathe, shaking my head at myself. I don’t really have a valid argument. I know of the world outside the enormous, carved wooden doors of this mansion. I lived in it for too long. “I just sat and listened to Beau’s story.” I reach for his hand, squeezing, feeling like I need to hold on to him. “So I understand why they’re here, and I understand why you’re now here too. I want justice for them.” I smile at him. “And if there is anyone in this world who can help them find that, it’s my husband.” I stand and turn into him, straddling his lap on the stairs. I take his cheeks in my hands and kiss his scar, and he exhales, circling my lower back.
“You can leave the mansion,” he says, almost reluctantly, and I pull back, shocked. “There are firm, non-negotiable rules.”
“What?” I’ll do anything.
“I know of your exact movements, if you’re not with me.”
“Done.”
“You will have protection. Always.”
“Done.”
“And this.” He reaches behind his back and presents me with a tidy silver handgun. “In your handbag at all times.”
I look at the pretty accessory. “Okay,” I agree. “And James was okay with it?”
“Like me, James doesn’t want to be resented by the woman he loves. You know I’m not comfortable with this, Rose. But I also know I can’t lock you up forever.” He places a gentle kiss on my lips. Forever? “You’ll be vigilant. I know your instincts are second to none. If anything is off, you act on it. Am I making myself clear?”
I answer him with a massive, appreciative hug. I’m not stupid. I know when I’m in danger. It’s the advantage I have after spending most of my life fighting for my life. “Thank you.”
He lifts from the stairs with me still attached to his front, reaching back to pull my arms away. He holds out my hand and places the gun in my palm, and I watch his face twist. He’s hating this. Hating that he’s having to go to these lengths. It’s as clear as day that it physically pains him. “I love you,” he whispers.
