Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
JUDITH
The snow falls in thick, silent flakes outside the cabin windows. Normally, I'd find the scene peaceful, even magical. Right now, it feels like the quiet before a storm.
Marc is coming today.
I sit in the window seat Dario built into the living room, coffee mug clutched between my hands though the liquid has long gone cold. Sleep eluded me most of the night despite Dario's solid warmth beside me. Too many thoughts crowding my mind. Too many emotions tangled in my chest.
"You should eat something." Dario's deep voice breaks the silence. He stands in the kitchen doorway, watching me with those piercing blue eyes that see too much.
"Not hungry." I turn back to the window, tracking the hypnotic fall of snow.
He crosses the room, crouching beside me. "You'll need your strength. Coffee isn't enough."
The concern in his voice softens my resistance. "Fine. Toast, maybe."
He nods, rising with that fluid grace that still catches me off guard.
I watch him move around the kitchen, preparing breakfast with the same care he brings to everything.
Two pieces of sourdough in the toaster. Butter from the local dairy.
Homemade blackberry jam from the Crimson Hollow farmers market.
It's hard to reconcile this domesticity with the man who declared under oath that we'd be building a life together. Who made decisions about our future without consulting me. Who reminds me, in uncomfortable ways, of the controlling behavior I fled when I left Marc.
And yet Dario isn't Marc. Not even close.
Marc never apologized. Never admitted he was wrong. Never valued my independence or respected my boundaries.
And Marc certainly never made me feel the way Dario does—safe enough to surrender, strong enough to stand firm, valued enough to be honest.
"You're thinking too hard." Dario sets a plate beside me, toast perfectly browned and spread with just the right amount of butter and jam. Just how I like it.
"Occupational hazard." I pick up a piece, taking a small bite. "Overthinking is part of the job description."
"Not about this." He sits across from me, coffee mug cradled in those capable hands. "Marc is just a man. Not a supervillain."
"Said the former special forces soldier built like a brick wall." I attempt a smile. "Easy for you to be calm."
"I'm not calm. I'm controlled." He holds my gaze. "There's a difference."
I know this, have seen the difference play out in his bedroom, in his workshop, in every deliberate move he makes. Dario's control doesn't come from insecurity or power hunger like Marc's. It comes from discipline and purpose.
"What time will he arrive?" I finish the toast, more out of obligation than hunger.
"Micah called an hour ago. Marc's staying at the Crimson Lodge. He checked in late last night." Dario's expression darkens slightly. "He's requested a meeting at The Velvet Antler at noon."
"Neutral ground." I nod. "Smart."
"We don't have to meet him at all." Dario reminds me. "The land transfer is complete. Your prenup is void. He has no leverage."
"He'd just show up here." I shake my head. "Better to confront him on our terms."
Our terms. The phrase feels right, despite the tension still lingering between us after yesterday's courthouse revelation.
"I'm coming with you." Not a request.
"Okay." I finally meet his eyes directly. "I want you there. But I need to handle this myself."
Something shifts in his expression—pride, maybe? Respect? "Your show. I'm just backup."
"Extremely intimidating backup." This time my smile feels more genuine.
"That's the plan." He rises, collecting our dishes. "We should leave by eleven thirty. Roads are clear, but traffic might be slow with the holiday shoppers."
I nod, returning my gaze to the window. What will Marc see when he looks at me now? The polished marketing executive he thought he controlled? Or the woman who's discovered her own strength on this mountain, in this cabin, with this man?
By eleven, I'm dressed in what Sierra calls my "corporate warrior" outfit.
Black tailored pants, crimson silk blouse, black ankle boots with just enough heel to add confidence without sacrificing mobility.
My hair falls in defined curls rather than the wild mass I've grown accustomed to sporting around the cabin.
Subtle makeup enhances my features without looking overdone.
When I descend the stairs, Dario waits by the door. He's traded his usual flannel and jeans for dark wash denim and a charcoal button-down that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders and the intensity of his eyes. Murder weapons indeed.
"You look beautiful," he says simply.
"I look professional." I correct him, though warmth spreads through me at the compliment. "This is a business meeting."
"If you say so." His lips quirk slightly. "Ready?"
The drive to town passes too quickly. Neither of us speaks much, each lost in preparation for what's coming. The Velvet Antler appears ahead, strings of Christmas lights adorning its rustic exterior despite the daylight hour.
"He's already here." Dario nods toward a sleek black Audi in the parking lot. Exactly Marc's style—expensive, flashy, impractical for mountain roads.
"Of course he is. He always arranges to arrive first. Power play." I unbuckle my seatbelt, drawing a steadying breath. "Remember, let me handle this."
He nods. "Unless he threatens you." Dario's voice drops, that dangerous edge I've come to recognize slipping in. "Then all bets are off."
We enter The Velvet Antler together, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer interior. The lunch crowd is sparse, just a few locals at the bar and a handful of tables occupied with holidaymakers.
I spot him immediately. Marc Alexander sits at a corner table, back to the wall, face toward the door. Always strategic, always watching. He rises as we approach, a practiced smile spreading across his handsome face.
"Judith." He steps forward as if to embrace me, then stops when Dario shifts slightly closer to my side. "You're looking well. Mountain life agrees with you."
"Marc." I keep my voice neutral. "This is my husband, Dario Wallace."
The two men size each other up like predators in disputed territory. The contrast is striking—Marc in his tailored suit, every dark hair perfectly in place, the very picture of urban sophistication. Dario with his rugged build, watchful eyes, and quiet, lethal confidence.
"A pleasure." Marc extends his hand, the picture of corporate courtesy. "I've heard so much about you."
"Funny." Dario accepts the handshake, his larger hand engulfing Marc's. "I've heard too much about you."
Marc's smile tightens almost imperceptibly. "Shall we sit? I've taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine. Unless mountain men prefer something stronger?"
"Water's fine." Dario pulls out my chair, a courteous gesture that I know is also strategic—positioning himself between Marc and me.
"Still so concerned with appearances." I settle into my seat, eyes never leaving Marc's face. "Why are you here?"
He laughs, the sound practiced and hollow. "Direct as ever. I've missed that about you."
"I haven't missed anything about you." The words come easily, honestly. "Answer the question."
Marc leans back, swirling the red wine in his glass. "Can't I check on an old friend? See how married life is treating you?"
"We're not friends, Marc. We never were." I fold my hands on the table. "You're here because you can't stand that I escaped your control. That I found a loophole in your father's ironclad prenup."
His expression hardens momentarily before the smooth mask slips back into place. "I'm here because I'm concerned. You suddenly marry a stranger and move to the wilderness? It's not like you, Judith."
"Maybe you never knew me at all." I glance at Dario, drawing strength from his steady presence. "What do you really want?"
Marc's eyes shift between us, calculating. "I want to understand what's going on. This rushed marriage, right after learning about a convenient inheritance clause? The timing is... suspicious."
"The timing was accelerated," Dario speaks, voice deceptively calm. "The relationship is genuine."
Marc's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "So genuine that my private investigator reports you met at The Velvet Antler and married within a week? That Judith had never set foot in Crimson Hollow before that day? That you placed an ad for a temporary wife?"
Ice floods my veins. He knows. Somehow, he knows.
"You had me investigated?" I keep my voice level despite the fury building inside me. "That's a new low, even for you."
"I was worried." He has the audacity to look concerned. "You disappeared, breaking our engagement without explanation. Then suddenly you're married to a mountain recluse with convenient timing for his inheritance issues."
"You know exactly why I ended our engagement." I lean forward, lowering my voice. "The embezzlement. The threats. The control."
"Ancient history." He waves a dismissive hand. "And irrelevant to my current concerns. This marriage is clearly an arrangement. A business transaction."
"What's your point?" Dario asks, the dangerous edge more pronounced now.
Marc smiles, victorious. "My point is that fraud invalidates contracts. Including marriage certificates and land transfers."
"You're threatening us." Not a question.
"I'm stating facts." Marc sips his wine. "I have evidence your marriage was arranged specifically to circumvent both Judith's prenuptial obligations and your inheritance requirements."
"What evidence?" I challenge, though dread pools in my stomach.
"The original classified ad. Email exchanges. Witness statements from the inn where Judith stayed before moving to your cabin." He sets down his glass. "Enough to convince a judge."
"To what end?" Dario's voice remains calm, but I can feel the tension radiating from him. "What do you want, Alexander?"