Chapter 49
Genevieve
The ten-carat emerald-cut eternity band sits heavily on my slender finger.
I don’t know why I’m attempting to hide the ring from him, but something about allowing Ford to see that I wore it today makes it feel like he’s won.
While I should be grateful—I am grateful for what he’s done to free me—I still don’t want him to think I’ve forgiven him or that I accept this sham of a marriage. I haven’t and I don’t.
A hand falls to the small of my back, and I stiffen as I resist the way my body wants to melt into Ford’s touch. When will my body and brain synchronize?
Reporters swarm even before our small group has even managed to leave the courtroom.
Ford moves to my right side, his hand still resting on my back, the warmth seeping into my bones.
Marcus takes up sentry on my other side, and I glance over my shoulder to find Corinne and Stafford following closely behind.
The moment we push through the throng of screaming insects, my gaze meets that of Ethan and Liam, and I don’t bother to hide the genuine smile that skims the surface of my face.
Liam’s eyes sparkle as he winks at me, while Ethan simply nods before leading us farther into the hallway, the rest of the security team Marcus put together closing in around us.
Looking at Marcus, I smile, murmuring a sincere, “Thank you.”
His eyes soften for me the way they did more than a decade ago while the rest of his face remains impassive.
Camera bulbs flash and phones are thrust in our faces as our group navigates the deafening chaos. I’m figuratively wounded, and the smell of my blood permeates the air, summoning the hungry scavengers.
The moment we step outside, we’re met with oppressive sunshine and more reporters. News outlets line the sidewalk below us, but the podium set up halfway down the steps is what captures my attention.
We make our way to the podium, and Stafford takes a few questions that I tune out.
I should’ve known that a press briefing would be part of this charade, but I had no idea that I’d become front-page news.
And here I’d assumed one of my many clients would’ve stepped in to keep the story from running.
Somehow reading my mind, Ford leans in, his breath skating across the shell of my ear and making me shiver. “I learned that vultures don’t pass up juicy stories, even for money.”
He tried. Did any of my other clients?
“This seems too convenient,” a reporter shouts over whatever Stafford is saying, making me blink as the statement slashes across my mind. I grind my teeth. I don’t want to be here anymore. “Are you even in love?” No.
My heartbeat feels like it’s a kangaroo on cocaine. Can everyone see my pulse point thumping madly as if it’s attempting to break free from the column of my neck?
“Was this just a marriage of convenience?”
“You’re just a whore,” someone else shrieks.
Even as questions and more insults continue to be hurled at us like rotten tomatoes, my face remains neutral.
“Are you two even really married?”
Are we married?
To his credit, Ford simply slides his hand into mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, our palms caressing, like that will quell the intrusive inquisition. He steps closer to me, the scent of black pepper and tobacco overwhelming my senses.
Ford has a way of comforting me, supporting me, reminding me of my power without ever saying a word. It’s his presence, his aura, it’s…him.
He opens his mouth, his supple, pale-pink lips parting as he begins to speak. “Not that it’s—”
Operating on gut instinct, I turn to face Ford’s profile, my left hand gliding up to his jaw as I gently maneuver his neck so that his attention is wholly mine.
The moment the pads of my fingers coast over his warm, smooth skin, my heart rate regulates, my central nervous system going quiet for the first time in weeks.
Our gazes lock, his gorgeous blue eyes glittering as brightly as the diamonds in my wedding band, the ring that’s perfectly positioned so every camera can capture the flawless stones that cast an iridescent halo around us. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.
The world fades, the noise of cameras clicking and reporters shouting devolving into a dull murmur as if we’ve been plunged deep under water.
His arm tightens around the small of my back, pulling me close, his tongue sliding inside my mouth as he deepens the kiss, seizing control.
My body yields to his, allowing him to lead, and it feels sublime.
While this began as a kiss for the world, I wonder if maybe this was just for us.
Try as I might to fight it, my body craves the taste of submitting to him like an exquisite, rare wine, even if it landed me in prison the last time I took a bite of that deliciously forbidden fruit.
As if I’m under the spell of a god, I’m desperate to worship him from my knees and do as he commands.
But if he’s a god, that means I’m a goddess.
I need to remember that.
My hand falls away from Ford’s face, and I blink, clearing the daze as the bubble we’ve been encapsulated in finally bursts. Shouted questions batter against my senses, and I long to be back in the sphere of tranquility and protection I felt when I was lost in Ford.
I force a pleasant smile, my hand still clutched in Ford’s.
“As you can see, my client is innocent and requests privacy as she reconnects with her husband now that the court has reunited them,” Stafford announces.
The moment he’s done speaking, Marcus’s huge frame tapes itself to my side as his security team navigates the buzzing crowd. When we reach the sidewalk, James is there, holding the door to the backseat open for us. Corinne slips in first, and I follow as Ford takes the last seat.
Once Marcus climbs into the front passenger seat, James pulls into traffic.
The silence within the car is louder than the roar of my inner thoughts while I rotted alone within the concrete walls of prison.
I swallow hard, staring out the windshield as various colors and shapes pass us by in the form of cars and towering buildings.
A hand slides into mine, this time dainty and soft, and I clutch tightly to Corinne, hoping to press a lifetime worth of gratitude and love into the gesture. She squeezes back, and it’s like the strands of our friendship are reinforced now that we’re together again.
Eventually, we pull up in front of Ford’s building, and I take stock of the overwhelming amount of security and the crowd gathered behind a police barricade. Great.
“Ford and I put together a team that will be here around the clock. No one will be inside the penthouse but our inner circle,” Marcus explains once we’re inside the foyer, and I nod.
Just how cozy did my friends get with Ford while I was locked away?
My eyebrows crinkle as Marcus calls for the elevator once more, and I ask, “Are you not staying?”
Corinne smiles, her face alight with the joy I missed most while imprisoned. “We thought you might want to take the rest of the day for yourself. We can meet up tomorrow.”
With that, they disappear into the elevator car, the matte black doors drifting closed, leaving me alone with the alpha wolf that bit me.