10. Marlie
MARLIE
“To Jack and Marlie,”John says as he raises his glass one last time, the crystal shimmering in the low light of the chandelier. “May your days be long upon the earth, and may they always be sweet.”
A chorus of “hear, hear” ripples through the room, and I find myself joining in the applause.
“Such lovely words,” Jack’s mother murmurs, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy as she reaches across to squeeze my hand.
I glance around the table, a smile curving my lips. Melanie is glowing, her laughter mingling with Jake’s deeper chuckles. Dean’s teasing banter with Lily sets off another round of mirth.
“Can you believe it?” Melanie leans over, her blonde hair brushing against my shoulder. “Our little impromptu family gathering turned into something straight out of a Hallmark movie.”
“Only better.” I smile, our twin connection thrumming between us.
The laughter continues, a sweet cadence to the background music of clinking glasses and soft conversations.
I sit there, amidst the love and the casual banter, and let my mind drift back to how this all started—a whirlwind that swept me up and hasn’t put me down since.
It was supposed to be just a simple business arrangement, a marriage of convenience. Yet here I am, caught in the eye of a storm called Jack Barton. My pretend husband, but oh so real in every way that counts.
Jack’s voice cuts through my reverie. “Marlie? You okay?”
“Perfect.”
I meet his gaze. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, seem to see right through to my soul, as if he knows the depth of my thoughts. And maybe he does, because in this rush of new beginnings, in the midst of pretending, something true has taken root. Something frighteningly real.
“Good.” His thumb grazes my knuckle under the table, a secret caress that sends a shiver up my spine.
More than good, I correct myself silently. Because despite the crazy speed at which we’ve arrived at this point, everything about us—inexplicably yet undeniably—feels predestined.
Laughter ripples through the air, wrapping around our table like a warm embrace.
Melanie leans forward. “Seriously, Marlie, when did you become such a daredevil in love? I always thought I’d be the one to leap without looking.”
Jack’s mother, with her kind eyes and knowing smile, chimes in. “Well, sometimes you just know. Isn’t that right, dear?”
She pats her husband’s hand, and he nods, his expression softening.
“Love at first sight,” she declares, and the table hums with agreement.
I can feel their gazes on me—curious, teasing, a little bit envious.
“Maybe it was.” I feel Jack’s presence beside me like a steady flame. His warmth is reassuring, yet my stomach twists with a mix of delight and dread for what’s to come.
“Or maybe it’s just Jack’s irresistible charm,” Melanie teases.
Everyone chuckles, and the sound is comforting, but it doesn’t quite reach the fluttering nerves in my chest.
As the conversation flows around me, I nod and smile automatically, my mind drifting. How do I even start this conversation with Jack? What if he doesn’t feel the same rush, the same pull toward something beyond convenience?
“Marlie?” Jack whispers, leaning close.
I turn toward him, my heart pounding. “Yes?”
“Everything okay?” His concern is genuine, his voice low and intimate.
“Of course.” It’s a lie, and my practiced smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
He seems satisfied, turning back to the laughter and anecdotes being shared, but my gaze lingers on his profile.
Later, when we’re alone, I’ll have to open up, reveal my feelings. But the fear of his reaction clings to me. Will he understand the depth of what I’m feeling, or will he retreat behind the walls of our arrangement?
For now, I focus on family and friends. Yet the question remains, unspoken but heavy in my heart: Where do we go from here?
The laughter from our table is the backdrop to my own internal tempest. Melanie’s words linger in my ears, her playful jabs about my sudden dive into love with Jack a stark contrast to the weight of my unvoiced fears.
“Excuse me for a sec,” I murmur, pushing back my chair.
“Sure thing, honey,” Jack’s mom says, sending me an affectionate smile that I return with a shaky one of my own.
I slip away, the clinking of glasses and the swell of conversation dimming as I make my way through the reception hall. The soft hum of distant chatter replaces the immediate bustle, granting me a momentary relief from the emotional chaos brewing within.
As I turn the corner, my steps slow and my mind’s whirlwind halts abruptly. The sight before me shatters the illusion of safety and celebration.
George Shaw, his features twisted in a grimace of control, has a gun leveled at Diego Alvarez’s head. Diego’s eyes are wide, his posture rigid with fear.
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling the gasp.
I can’t move. Can’t think. All I can do is watch, hidden yet exposed, as the fate of the man we vowed to protect hangs by a thread—a thread held tightly in George Shaw’s unforgiving grip.
My pulse races, pounding in my ears as I stand paralyzed. The metallic scent of fear clings to the air around me.
I’m about to will my feet to backtrack, to unsee the horror unfolding before me, when a voice slices through the silence like a dagger.
“Not so fast.” The words slither over my skin.
I whirl around, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes until they settle on the imposing figure of Patricia. Her gaze locks onto mine, cold and calculating.
“Patricia.” My voice is a strangled whisper as I struggle to understand how she fits into this chilling tableau. “What’s happening?”
She steps closer, her presence enveloping me in an invisible shroud of malice. I glance back toward Diego and George, but it’s as if Patricia’s arrival has erased them from existence.
My focus narrows to the woman before me, her intentions as murky as the darkness that surrounds us.
“Marlie,” she coos, though there’s no warmth in her tone. It’s a warning wrapped in velvet, meant to silence and subdue. “You shouldn’t be here.”
My thoughts scatter. Why would George have a gun? What dark currents have I unwittingly stepped into?
“Please. I don’t understand?—”
“Shhh.” Patricia’s finger presses against her lips, and the simple gesture roots me to the spot. A smoky laugh escapes her, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s better if you don’t.”
The festive glow of the reception, the clinking of glasses, Jack’s warm smile—all seem galaxies away now. In their place, uncertainty coils inside me, a serpent of confusion and terror that tightens with every second.
“Let’s go for a walk, Marlie.” Patricia grips my arm with a force that tells me this is not an invitation but a command. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would we?”
As I’m led away, deeper into the bowels of the building and further from the safety of the crowd, I realize I’ve become a player in a game whose rules I don’t know—a game that could cost more than I’m willing to pay.
“Patricia, I don’t want any trouble.” I keep my voice a calm whisper, fighting to keep the quiver of fear from betraying me. “What’s happening? Why is George?—”
“Questions won’t help you now.”
The coldness in her eyes chills me more than her words. There is no room for reasoning with her; she has already made up her mind about my role in this twisted play.
My heart pounds, each beat a silent plea for rescue. Jack’s protective gaze, sharp and assessing, flashes in my mind. He’d know something’s wrong, wouldn’t he?
“Please,” I try again, keeping my voice even. “Can we talk about this? Whatever it is, we can sort it out.”
“Talk is cheap,” Patricia retorts, and I realize my attempts to soften her are futile.
I need Jack. Melanie. Anyone. Do they wonder where I am? Are they looking for me? The thought of Jack’s strong arms and his promise to always protect me sparks a tiny flame of hope in the dark terror enveloping me.
“Someone will notice I’m gone.” I say this more to myself than to Patricia, but she hears me.
“Let them.” There’s a smirk on her lips that speaks volumes of her confidence. “By the time they do, it’ll be too late.”
But it can’t be too late. Not when I’ve just found everything I never knew I needed. Not when love—real love—has just started to bloom.
Jack has to notice. He has to.
As we move farther away, my mind races, searching for a way out. But it’s Jack’s face that fills my vision.
Hold on, my heart whispers. Jack will come.
Jack will save me.
Patricia’s fingers clamp around my arm, and I stumble as she pulls me into a deserted corridor. The raucous laughter of the reception grows faint, muffled by distance.
Panic overwhelms me more as we move away from any chance of being overheard, away from Jack.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Quiet,” she hisses.
I scan the hallway for anything—a waiter, a passing guest, an escape route—but there’s only us, Patricia’s determined stride, and the echo of our steps.
I have to do something, say something. But what? How?
“Please, Patricia. This isn’t you.” I try to appeal to some sliver of humanity in her eyes, but they’re cold, distant, unreachable.
“Save it.”
My mind races, juggling the reality of my situation with the desperation to find a way out. I can’t let fear paralyze me. I think of Jack, his steady gaze, the warmth of his touch. He’d want me to be smart, brave.
“Jack will come for me, you know.”
“Will he?” There’s mockery in her tone now, and it fuels my resolve.
We pass a door slightly ajar, and I make a mental note. Could I make a break for it? The thought sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins.
No, not yet. It’s too risky. I need a better plan, a distraction.
Okay, Marlie. Think. What would Jack do? He’d be clever, use his surroundings.
And then it hits me—the brooch on my dress, a gift from Jack’s mom. It’s sharp.
“Fine,” I say, submitting to her pull.
This quiets her suspicion for a moment. As we approach another corner, I let my hand brush against the brooch, fingers curling around its edges, ready to wrench it free.
The corridor stretches out, endless and silent, but I won’t be. I won’t go down without a fight. I owe that to myself, to Jack, to the life we’ve just started to build.
“Keep moving,” Patricia orders, oblivious to the weapon I’m fashioning from a piece of jewelry.
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of stopping.”
And in that moment, as my pulse dances with fear and determination, I promise myself this: I will get out of this. I will see Jack again. And I will never stop fighting for our love.