Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Georgia/ Six Years Ago
T he flickering candle on the table illuminates the distracted face of the tired man across from me as he sips his IPA. I’ve learned those are his go-to when we go out. He hates anything sweet but also doesn’t like anything sour. I figured that out when I ordered him a drink and told the bartender there wasn’t a beer he didn’t like.
I’d been wrong.
I can tell the grueling hours of road patrol have taken a toll on Lincoln. There are bags under his eyes from all the overtime he’s been putting in on top of his twelve-hour shifts. I thought I’d see more of him once he graduated from the academy, but I see far less of him now that he’s almost done with field training and set to go out on his own.
He yawns for the third time since we sat down thirty minutes ago, shooting me an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he says, sliding his half-empty glass out of the way. “Guess three hours of sleep isn’t much, huh?”
I frown. “I told you we could have stayed in.”
Our homecooked meals are nothing compared to Dallas Steakhouse, but I’ve improved thanks to his mother’s lessons and the cookbooks she gave me that have some of Lincoln’s favorite recipes marked. I’m a far cry from a Michelin chef, but I don’t mistake salt for sugar anymore.
He leans back. “No way. I told you I was taking you out tonight for our anniversary. I’ll just go to bed early when we get back. No big deal.”
He always does this. Works his ass off and then manages to make time for me. Sometimes, I feel bad because there’s nothing I can do to make it easier for him. I clean the apartment. I cook. I pack him lunches that aren’t totally inedible. And when he comes home tired and stressed or fed up, I get on my knees and make him feel better until he’s not any of those things anymore.
“It’s just another day,” I reply. “We don’t have to make it into something it isn’t.”
“I disagree,” he counters. “I think it’s something to celebrate. That’s why I wanted to come here.”
“You’re too good to me,” I murmur, toying with the piece of bread I’ve only eaten half of.
“That’s not true, Peaches.”
But it is.
In the year we’ve been together, my father has made our lives…challenging. The library got a call that I’d been stealing money from the late fee lock box, which I don’t even have a key to. I was told not to come back until they finished their “investigation” and determined I was innocent. The head librarian, Marian, had always been nice to me. But even when she called and said I could come back two weeks later, she never looked at me the same. I’d asked her who accused me of stealing, and she said she couldn’t say for privacy reasons.
But I knew it was someone close to my father.
Because a month after that, Lincoln’s sergeant had gotten a complaint that he’d been using excessive force during an arrest. Since he was new to the job, he was still on probation and at risk of losing his job. Thankfully, body cam footage proved he hadn’t done anything against policy. It was still put in his record, though.
Two months after that, I’d been followed by a black car with tinted windows that nearly ran me off the road on my way home from work. I’d only had my license for six months after Lincoln and his father helped teach me how to drive. They found a used Chevy Impala with over one hundred thousand miles on it for cheap online and pooled together money to buy it for me so I had something dependable to take to and from work. Somehow, the accident had been deemed my fault, and I lost my license for a year and had to take a course on safe driving.
The car that had driven me off the road was the same one I’d seen outside of Millie’s house before she told me I had to leave. In my gut, I knew it was someone my father hired. I’m sure the person who called my job, and Lincoln’s, throwing accusations about us, was associated with him too.
Mrs. Ricci’s warning is still alive and well, replaying in my head every time something new happens to derail what life I’m trying to build for myself. I wish she’d taken my number or given me hers so I could reach out and ask her questions.
But maybe that’s why she didn’t.
She wanted me to live my life. Not fear it.
There are days I wonder if Lincoln regrets ever taking me home. When he’s tired from work and figuring out how to make a relationship work that was built on nothing but sex and desperation, it’s hard to fathom how he could be happy with me. Especially when I wasn’t working for two weeks and he was going through an investigation of his own.
Regardless of my doubts, he shows up.
Every day.
He always says good morning and good night, checks up on me, asks how my day has been, and does what he can to be present.
We have date nights once a week, even if it’s just pizza and a movie at home.
He brings me to the bookstore to browse.
Takes me to his parents’ house for dinners.
He’s allowed me into his life without a second thought.
It’s more than I ever expected.
Sometimes, I think it’s more than I deserve.
Lincoln grabs his drink and holds it while he studies me. “One day,” he says, “you’re going to realize there’s more to you than your family, Georgia. You deserve a lot more than you think you do. I hope I can help you figure that out.”
I swallow, staring at him in awe. How does he keep doing that? Surprising me, making me feel like the luckiest girl on the planet? He could have anybody. I’ve seen how women look at him.
Yet he chose me.
Got stuck with me.
Married me .
“You’re not afraid of my father?”
His eye twitches at the mention of the man who’s done his best to get between us. But Lincoln never lets him. “There’s a lot to be afraid of in my job, Peaches,” he tells me. “If I constantly looked over my shoulder at every little thing that could be after me, I’d never live my life.”
That doesn’t answer my question, but I have a feeling it’s the best I’ll get.
Because he doesn’t want Nikolas Del Rossi to be part of the life we’re creating. But I have a feeling it’s not going to be that easy. Not when I see his advertisements on billboards and bus benches and his picture plastered on the front page of every newspaper for whatever new business venture he’s getting into next.
Nobody seems to wonder what happened to his dutiful daughter.
I’ve been wiped from the public’s memory.
A traitor to the Del Rossi name.
“Get out of that pretty head, baby girl,” Lincoln says, breaking me from my thought.
My eyes flicker up to meet his.
“Or I’ll give you something to think about.”
Thighs clenching at the husky tone that I normally only hear in private, I feel his foot hook around my chair and pull it toward him. A tiny yelp escapes my lips when my chair jerks forward, stopping at the table between us. I press my mouth closed when that same foot moves up, up, up my leg to part my thighs and press against the softest part of me. Suddenly, I’m grateful there are tablecloths on the tables, or people would one hundred percent kick us out.
“Lincoln,” I whisper, tightening my thighs to trap his foot.
“Yes, Peaches?” he asks innocently, sipping his drink to hide a grin.
I can’t speak. The words get trapped in my throat, and I’m forced to swallow them.
He sets his glass down and presses harder against me, making me suck in a breath as a rush of wet rushes to my panties.
Just then, the waitress comes back to our table with a smile on her face. “Would you like more bread?”
Lincoln doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he plays coy with the woman. “I don’t know. Would you like more bread, Georgia?”
With a voice too high-pitched to sound normal to anybody who knows me, I say, “I-I’m good.” I force a smile at the woman who looks strangely at me. “Thank you, though.”
She nods, taking the empty bread basket from the middle of the table. “Your entrees will be right out.”
Lincoln chuckles when she leaves. “Cat got your tongue?”
I suck in a breath when his foot retreats, leaving me aching for his touch. “More like a hawk .”
His lips curl into a mischievous grin. “I like this side of you, Peaches.”
I shift in my seat, feeling the dampness between my legs and frowning. “What side of me?”
“Sassy,” he remarks, his eyes roaming over my face, then down to the top half of me in a tight black shirt that shows off my curves. “Turned on and ready to fuck.”
My cheeks heat at his words. “We’re in public,” I scold him, eyeing the couples seated next to us in hearing distance.
He leans forward, dropping his voice. “I think you secretly like it.”
I’m silent.
His foot caresses my ankle, shifting upward again where I want him. “If I got you off right here under this table, I bet you wouldn’t complain.”
Releasing a shallow breath, I say, “You’re not playing fair.”
“No?”
I shake my head, feeling his foot stall on my calf. “You’re changing the subject to distract me from my question.”
His foot remains where it is, not moving an inch up or down. “I’m not afraid of your father. You want to know why?”
All I can do is move my head up and down.
“Because at the end of the day, you’re mine . Not his. He let you go. Disappointed you. Left you to fend for yourself. I won’t do that to you. He may be rich with a lot of connections, but I will always be a better man than your father is.”
Gaping, I stare at his serious expression.
“I meant my vows, Georgia.” He straightens, grabbing his glass and dragging it toward him. His foot moves away from my leg, my skin feeling its absence. “For better or worse, I’m in this. We are in this. No matter what your father tries to pull. Understand?”
I find myself nodding again, unable to put into words what his mean to me.
Because Lincoln Danforth is everything a woman could dream of marrying.
My husband.
And my…friend.
A fuzzy feeling fills my ribcage.
“So today matters,” he concludes. “ We matter.”