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Jack shrugs. “Because he doesn’t have Collins blood.”

“No,” I agree, “but a Collins spilled it.”

Just like when I refer to him as ‘uncle’, he enjoys it when I debase myself enough to acknowledge my mother’s side. And it’s not that I have a problem with Mom. Oh, no. It’s her dick of a brother I can’t stand.

“You’re right,” Jack says, a hint of a familiar smile tugging on his lips. “And that was my mistake. I didn’t realize how serious you were about Pete’s girl, but, in spite of all of this, you did sign a blood oath. I’ll explain to Anthony”—Anthony St. James, Desmond’s father—“that, in the eyes of the Order, you were right to do what you did. But remember what I said. One way or another, she’s become an Offering again. She accepted Desmond’s Claim, but blood oath or not, you didn’t give her the choice before you married her covered in the blood of an Owed. She has to Claim you.”

She will. She has to.

When I don’t say anything in response to his pronouncement, he adds, “When she does, we’ll host a reception for you both. And if she doesn’t… Lily Ann is waiting for you.”

She can wait forever.Loniis mine.

Jack stands up. Taking his cue, I do the same.

I know when I’m being dismissed.

However, before I go, I look across the desk at him.

“Will you tell her? That she’s going to have to attend the ceremony?”

I need to know how to do damage control. As far as I’m concerned, this is just a stupid detail that I’m going to have to pivot around. Loni is my wife. Not even Jack will change that. But if she thinks she might have an out… it’ll be a lot harder for me to convince her she wants to stay with me, wants to be my bride?—

“No, Adrian.” My uncle gives me a thin-lipped smile I know all too well. His lips part just enough to add: “You will.”

Damn it.

ELEVEN

MONDAY

LONI

Monday came way quicker than it had any right to.

I’ve now officially been Mrs. Loni Heller for a week. Officially… okay, it’s notofficialofficial. We haven’t received a copy of our marriage license yet, though Adrian made me sign that last week, so my license still lists my real name as Avalon Dougherty.

The fake that I’ve been using is gone. In the trash most likely, along with the hopes that I could go back to being plain, old, boring Marie Howard again.

I’m not. I’m Loni. According to my husband,hisLoni. I’m wearing his ring, though he promises I’ll have a bigger diamond and a better band once the jeweler he hired finishes the job.

Because, like me, Adrian had no idea that he would be a married man come June 24th. He figured it out right around the time I got that invitation to my own wedding, and because Dallas kept him in the loop all along, he made a plan.

He wasn’t lying when he said it wasn’t an accident. Over dinner last night, he even casually mentioned that he tried tohire an outsider assassin so that I wouldn’t have to watch it as Desmond died in front of me at Adrian’s hand the way I did.

How do I tell him that, once I got over the shock of it, I was kind of a little flattered that, after all these years, he still considered me ‘his’ enough that he killed my groom so he could take his place?

I don’t, that’s how. Because if I did? I’d be stuck. His vow that he’ll never let me go… I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll stand firm, even if I still don’t understandwhythis is so important to him.

He could have anyone in Harmony Heights, but he wants me to believe that he waited for me? That, four years ago, he decided he would come after me once we were both thirty, and then I’d be his for good? That, with that decision, he’s been celibate just as long?

I can’t see how he’s lying, but at the same time… how can that be the truth?

I don’t know. I don’t ask, and I definitely change the subject when he reminds me that I’ll be spending the night in our room—because Adrian insists that his bedroom will eventually beoursthe same way that this house is, according to him—because, whether he thinks I’ve forgotten or not, Ihaven’t.

For the last week, I’ve buried myself in work. I refused to speak to my dad when he finally got the nerve to make sure I was okay, though I did listen to his message and know that he is. I’ve eaten most of my meals with Adrian if only because he’s a surprisingly good cook, Mrs. Gammond is amazing, and he has excellent taste in take-out when neither one is available to man the stove since he’s assured me that, as his husband, it’s his responsibility to feed his wife.

I think he’s worried about me. I’m usually of an average size, but after I was forced back to Harmony Heights, I dropped ten pounds in two weeks from a combination of stress, nerves, a lossof appetite, and pure stubbornness that kept me going days at a time without eating so that I could avoid Dad’s sorry expression whenever he looked at me. Most of that ten pounds came from my face and my ass, and it was almost as noticeable as the bruise that finally faded.