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“So what?” he muttered, leveling a malevolent gaze on Blane, his bloody lips curved in a sneer. “Some other bitch needing to be put in her place.”
Blane hit him again. He went into a different headspace. He wasn’t a senator of the United States anymore. He was a SEAL again. And the rules in combat were different.
He drew a long Bowie knife from his gear. He carved a very nice new smile across Mamoud’s chest. Mamoud howled.
“Take your punishment like a man,” Blane growled. “Stop being a whiny bitch.”
Blane cut the zip tie holding his arm to the chair, and hammered a hit to his elbow. The crack of bones breaking echoed in the room. Mamoud screamed in pain, gritting his teeth.
Taking out his Glock, Blane sent one round into his knee. He’d never walk properly again.
“I think we’re done here.” He grabbed Mamoud’s hair and yanked his head back. “If youevertouch me or one of mine again, you’ll be dead. Because I won’t stop hunting you. Are we clear?”
Mamoud gave a shaky nod.
“Good.” Blane gave him a couple Good Ol’ Boy slaps on his cheek. “Good man. Have a nice night.”
Five minutes later, he and Kade were in the car and driving away. Blane’s knuckles were torn and bloody, but he didn’t care. He felt deeply satisfied to have avenged Anne and protected his family.
“I need a drink.”
Kade laughed.
“You going all zero dark thirty on that piece of shit? I need one, too. It’s been a while.”
And that’s how they ended up drinking scotch in the middle of the night in Blane’s study, the after-mission exhaustion and euphoria setting in.
* * *
The next few weeks passed in a flurry of activity that made Anne’s head spin. The cake they’d settled on was a gorgeous confection made of four tiers and three additional cakes. The spun sugar flowers were exquisite. Anne decided on alternating layers of chocolate and vanilla with a raspberry cream separating them. For the groom’s cake, she’d gone a little out-of-the-box. She asked them if they could make a cake like the Bill from School House Rock. Blane would get a kick out of that.
There had been two more fittings for the dress. Each time, Anne fell more in love with the gown. They chose a veil. Simple, to offset the elaborate dress. And Maria had bought her special Louboutin heels that were bridal blue. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. So far she had two of those.
Morning sickness was constant now, and she was very tired of throwing up every morning. She didn’t move in with Blane because, in some old-fashioned way, she wanted to wait until they were married. Ridiculous, probably. She was pregnant after all. But she felt how she felt.
Blane’s assistant took care of sending out the invitations, which was good with Anne. It was supposed to be a smallish affair, yet five hundred people received invitations.
Today they were inspecting the reception facilities and menu at the Willard.
“Don’t you think filet mignon and lobster is a bit much?” she asked her mom as they sat in the event coordinator’s office. Maria was there as well.
“Darling, you don’t want to appear to be a pauper. Surf and turf is always a sure bet. Let’s talk starters and salad. And wine pairings.”
“She’s right,” Maria agreed. “The vegetarian option will be some kind of handmade stuffed ravioli. They always like that.” She waved her hand in dismissal.
The starter was determined to be shrimp cocktail. A throwback, but always a crowd-pleaser. The salad Anne was adamant be caprese. It was her very favorite. The sommelier on staff took care of the wine pairings and Anne tried not to think of how much this was costing her parents.
She and Blane didn’t have a large wedding party. She had Maria and he had Kade. That was it. She let Maria pick out her own dress. She’d chosen scarlet and ivory as her colors. Maria picked out a gorgeous scarlet gown that was full length, form fitting with a scooped neckline and mid-length sleeves. She also found matching designer heels.
It was all coming together in a whirlwind. Her life was undergoing a monumental change and while she welcomed it, it was also overwhelming.
She’d attended two more rallies with Blane. Both were uneventful. The Secret Service was determined that nothing would happen again. The crowds seemed to love her. As did the press. Vanity Fair wanted a cover. As did Glamour. She didn’t speak at the rallies, just smiled and waved. The press fawned over her fashion sense. The public flooded comments on websites, lauding her loyalty and perseverance to Blane after what had happened.
The media scrutiny into the wedding was intense. She and Blane discussed it. There was no hiding from them, so they might as well make accommodations. It would be the smallest big wedding ever.
Today was her eight-week doctor’s appointment. Blane was to pick her up and take her. And true to his word, he was right on time.
“You know you’re running for president,” she chided as she slid into the passenger seat.
