Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
JUDITH
Two weeks until Christmas. Thirteen days until our contract expires.
I lean against the kitchen counter, coffee mug warming my hands as I watch Dario through the window.
He's chopping wood in the clearing beside the cabin, each swing of the axe precise and powerful.
The morning sun glints off his bare shoulders despite the December chill.
The man runs hot, in more ways than one.
The thought brings a smile to my lips. Last night marked three weeks since I discovered his playroom. Three weeks of exploration, of surrender, of connection so intense it sometimes leaves me breathless. Three weeks of falling deeper into something neither of us planned for.
My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me from my thoughts. I check the screen, expecting Sierra with her daily check-in. Instead, I see Marc's name. My stomach drops.
I haven't heard from him directly since before I fled to Crimson Hollow. His lawyers have communicated with mine, but the man himself has maintained radio silence. Until now.
With reluctant fingers, I open the message.
Marc: Saw the photos. Cute little mountain town. Quaint Christmas ceremony. Never took you for the small-town wife type. Quite the whirlwind romance, wasn't it?
Ice floods my veins. Photos? What photos?
A second message arrives with a link. I click it, holding my breath.
It opens to a social media post from the Crimson Hollow Community page.
Several images from the tree lighting ceremony, including one of Dario kissing me beneath the Christmas lights.
The caption reads: "Newest Crimson Hollow couple Dario and Judith Wallace share a magical moment at the annual tree lighting. "
I scan the comments, finding gushing notes about what a lovely couple we make. How it's nice to see Dario "finally settling down." How we seem "perfect for each other."
My phone buzzes again.
Marc: Interesting how quickly you found a mountain man to marry after our engagement was on the rocks. Almost suspiciously quick, wouldn't you say? I'll be in Vancouver next week. Maybe I'll take a detour to meet the husband. We should catch up.
Panic rises like bile in my throat. Marc is suspicious. Of course he is—no one falls in love and gets married that quickly. He doesn't have proof our marriage is an arrangement, but his threat is clear. He's coming to investigate for himself.
I set the phone down with trembling hands, mind racing. If Marc digs deep enough and exposes our arrangement, Dario could lose his land. Everything we've worked for would unravel.
The sound of the door opening startles me. Dario enters, bringing a rush of cold air and the scent of pine and exertion. He reads my expression immediately.
"What's wrong?" He crosses to me in three long strides, concern etched in his features.
I hesitate, unwilling to shatter the perfect bubble we've created. "Nothing. Just work stress."
His eyes narrow. He doesn't believe me. "Judy."
Just my name, but the way he says it—part command, part concern—reminds me of what we've learned about each other these past weeks. In the bedroom, I surrender control. Outside it, he expects honesty.
I sigh, passing him my phone. "Marc found photos of us online."
He reads the messages, jaw tightening with each word. When he finishes, he sets the phone down carefully, too carefully. His control is most dangerous when it's most evident.
"He's suspicious about how quickly we married." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"And he's threatening to visit."
"Yes."
Dario moves to the window, shoulders rigid. "The timing is suspect. We're a week from finalizing the land transfer."
The implications settle heavily. "You think he's working with the county?"
"I think men like Marc Alexander don't make idle threats." He turns back to face me. "He's fishing for confirmation about our arrangement."
"And threatening to come here to investigate for himself," I add, wrapping my arms around myself. "If he exposes us as a sham marriage..."
"He won't." Dario's voice carries absolute certainty. "He has suspicions, nothing more. And by the time he arrives, we'll be ready for him."
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I should have known he wouldn't just let this go. His ego can't handle it."
Dario crosses to me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "You have nothing to apologize for. You told me everything about him when we made our arrangement. I know exactly what kind of man he is."
The reminder that I've been honest with Dario from the beginning about Marc—his controlling behavior, the embezzlement, the threats—brings relief. At least there are no secrets between us about that.
"What do we do?" I ask, finding comfort in his steadiness.
"First, we don't panic. That's what he wants." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Second, we gather information. Find out exactly what he knows and how he knows it."
"And third?"
A smile curves his lips, not warm but predatory. "We remind him that he's threatening a man who spent eight years in special forces and now lives on a remote mountain where bodies are very easy to hide."
Despite everything, a laugh escapes me. "Dario Wallace. Did you just make a joke about murdering my ex?"
"Who said I was joking?"
I press a palm to his chest. "Let's keep homicide as Plan B, shall we?"
His hand covers mine, holding it against his heart. "For you? I'll consider it."
The tension breaks, at least temporarily. Dario makes a call to Silas while I contact Sierra, asking her to discreetly investigate what Marc might know about our arrangement.
By afternoon, we have answers. Sierra confirms that the photos from the tree lighting ceremony were publicly posted by the Crimson Hollow Community Association—nothing nefarious there.
She's also discovered that Marc has been asking questions about my sudden marriage but has no concrete proof of anything suspicious beyond the timing.
"So, he's fishing," I tell Dario as we sit by the fire that evening. "He suspects but doesn't know for sure."
"That's good news." Dario passes me a glass of whiskey. "Means we have room to maneuver."
"Still leaves us with a problem." I sip the amber liquid, welcoming its warmth. "He's threatening to visit next week. Right before your hearing."
"Let him." Dario's confidence would be reassuring if I didn't know exactly what Marc was capable of. "Silas's looking into his finances. If he was embezzling from your joint accounts, chances are he's done it elsewhere."
"And that gives us leverage."
"Exactly."
We fall silent, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. The Christmas tree we decorated together glows in the corner, a symbol of the home we've created. A home with an expiration date.
"Dario." I break the silence, voicing the question that's been haunting me. "What happens when this is over? When December 26th comes?"
He stills, eyes fixed on the fire. "That was always the agreement. You get freed from the prenup. I get my land. We go our separate ways."
The words feel hollow, a recitation of terms that no longer encompass what exists between us. "Is that still what you want?"
His gaze shifts to mine, something vulnerable flickering in those blue depths. "What do you want, Judy?"
The question terrifies me. Because the answer isn't what it was when I arrived in Crimson Hollow. It's not freedom from Marc or escape from legal consequences. It's the man sitting across from me. The cabin on the mountain. The life we've begun to build.
"I don't know," I lie, because the truth is too frightening to voice. Because if I admit I want to stay, want him, want us, and he doesn't feel the same, I'm not sure I could bear it.
He studies me for a long moment, seeing more than I want him to. "I think you do know. You're just afraid to say it."
My heart pounds. "Maybe."
"Tell me." The quiet command holds echoes of our time in his playroom, but this feels more exposing than any physical vulnerability.
I draw a shaky breath. "I'm not ready for December 26th."
Relief mingles with caution in his expression. "Neither am I."
The admission hangs between us, neither of us quite ready to take the next step, to define what that means. The fire crackles in the silence.
"But there's Marc to deal with first," he continues finally. "And the land transfer."
"Right." I nod, grateful for the return to practical matters. "One crisis at a time."
He reaches across the space between us, taking my hand. "Whatever happens with Marc, with the land, with December 26th... we'll face it together."
The promise warms me more than the fire or whiskey ever could. We don't speak of it again that night, but its an acknowledgment that what we've built is worth fighting for, worth preserving beyond the arbitrary deadline we set.
As we prepare for bed, moving around each other with the comfortable familiarity of an established couple, my phone buzzes one final time. Another message from Marc.
Marc: Booked my trip. See you next Tuesday, Judith. Looking forward to meeting the mountain man.
I show Dario, watching his jaw tighten as he reads.
"Let him come," he says finally, setting the phone aside. "He has no idea who he's dealing with."
"No," I agree, thinking not of Marc but of the man before me. The complexity beneath his controlled exterior. The dominant who commands my surrender in the bedroom and the partner who respects my strength outside it. "He really doesn't."
Later, as we lie tangled together in the darkness, Dario's arm heavy across my waist, I face the truth I've been avoiding. I've fallen in love with my temporary husband. And in seven days, the man who nearly destroyed me once will arrive in Crimson Hollow, threatening to destroy everything again.
But this time, I'm not facing him alone. This time, I have Dario Wallace at my side.
And my mountain man protects what's his.