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Jacobi’s mouth twists into a mix of smirk and sneer. “From what London said, Peter and Brittany Cowles wanted Penni to learn how to earn her own money. They shoved her out of the nest and said fly. After the private school they sent her to, I think all it did was hang a sign that said ‘Scared young woman from a privileged family’ around her neck, and Roman took the bait. A trophy wife he can pull off the shelf for special occasions.”
Dammit, another thing about her life I didn’t know. She’d been cut off? Parents like hers didn’t do that to their kids. But according to Jacobi, they had, and they’d kept it out of the news. It changed why I’d assumed she landed Roman Hughes as her husband. She might’ve gone from her parents’ money to his, but her motivation wasn’t greed. She was frightened.
I knew too many guys like Roman. Guys who fed off that fear to take what they wanted.
“Roman Hughes didn’t catapult into top-financier status until he started working with Peter Cowles.” I’m not afraid to admit I know that kind of information. Jacobi would’ve expected me to look into anyone close to Penelope.
“I suspect that’s why he made sure to cross paths with Penni. They didn’t work together until after Roman married her.” Jacobi set the pen down. “She’ll be left with few resources until the divorce is finalized, and that could take six months to two years. She needs some kind of protection. Juan Pablo and Pierre aren’t enough to protect her.”
Juan Pablo is her current competitive dance partner. He would likely do better than Jacobi thinks, but he has a wife and kids. If there was a serious threat to Penelope, it could spill over onto him. Pierre would defend Penelope by throwing his dance shoes at an attacker, but I doubt that would be enough.
“Penelope can pay me when the divorce is final,” I say, a plan forming in my head. With what I know, I can position myself to learn everything that’s going on.
“Roman’s not going to give her anything. His pride is too strong.”
“I’ll give her a discounted rate.”
Jacobi studies me in his quiet but intense way. I don’t fidget. I’m used to being scrutinized. He doesn’t need to know that I don’t trust another man around Penelope.
“Why, Cannon? You haven’t struck me as a guy who’s as enamored with Penni as every other straight man who meets her.”
Enamored is an acceptable way to describe it. She hooked me as soon as she asked if she knew me. Before that, if I’m honest. With her regal posture and the way she moved, she turned a simple walk into moving art.
When I learned she was married, I had to know more. Why doesn’t she wear a ring? Why doesn’t she talk about him when we’re all hanging out? Why was she the first person who seemed to see the real me since I left home and never looked back?
I was able to keep my distance. Until Jacobi told me she asked for a divorce. “I know it hasn’t seemed like it, but I’m in the business of helping people.”
He cocks a dark brow. “You’re right, it doesn’t seem like it. But then, I don’t know what you did in the military, or after, before we met.”
He’s not jumping to accept my bargain-bin bodyguard offer. I haven’t told anyone about my life. I don’t want anyone to find out. But I have to give him something. Friendship goes only so far when he thinks he’s responsible for someone else’s safety. “When I was younger, I was in a position to help someone—to help a lot of people. But I didn’t know what was going on until it was too late. I don’t want that again. Look, I know what it’s like to walk away from an identity with nothing, only I didn’t have someone slaughtering bunnies. I know what she’s going through and I want to be able to help before it’s too late.” I swallow, my throat suddenly thick, those memories that surface around Penelope suddenly hitting me again.
The curiosity in his eyes doesn’t diminish, but he doesn’t ask follow-up questions. He knows that if I’d wanted to share details, I would’ve. But I haven’t told anyone about what happened, and I don’t plan to.
He clicks out of his bodyguard search. “Let me grab London, and we’ll talk to Penni.”
* * *
Penelope
“What the helldo you think you’re doing?” Roman’s quiet rage vibrates through the phone.
“The papers explain everything.” I hate how small I sound. I should have been prepared for this. But like always, when Roman’s angry, I cower. I want to hide and I want to do what I need for it to be over.
“What are you going to do, Penelope?” His question’s ice. “I own everything.”
I straighten my shoulders and glance around the guest bedroom at London’s. I’ve barely quit shaking from the incident at the studio. Jacobi took my keys, arranged the cleaning, and promised the locks would be changed before midnight. I let him take over. I wasn’t strong enough. I hate that about myself.
Roman’s not done with me. “Where are you going to go? How are you going to support yourself? You’re getting nothing from me.”
He made it that way, and I let him. Whatever he wanted me to sign, I signed. At least I was prepared. “That’s between our lawyers.”
“What lawyer can you afford?” he asks in his typical teasing sneer.
One who’s no better than Newland is at being a detective. I saved up for the last two years. “They’ll be in touch.”
I hang up, my heart racing. I never hang up on my husband. Never.
My hand shakes at the thought of how angry he must be right now.
