Page 47

Her eyes are red and puffy. They look sore as hell, and the dark bruising beneath them lets me know just how little sleep she actually got.
She smiles, although it’s forced.
“I’m not ready for today,” she confesses quietly.
My knee-jerk reaction is to say that it’ll be okay, but I’d be lying. There is going to be nothing okay about today.
Staff at the care home offered to call Effie’s father to let him know, but Effie refused. I thought they should do it to save her the dual pain of saying the words out loud and having to talk to her father.
The man is an asshole, and I’d happily never see him again in my life.
But I also understand Effie’s desire to do it herself.
“I’ll be right beside you. We’ll do it together.”
Her hand lands on my forearm, and she squeezes in a silent thank you. The—fake—diamond in her ring catches the light, and my eyes focus on it.
It’s on her right hand, but I know for a fact she was wearing it on the other one before I arrived. Grams would have noticed otherwise.
“I guess I can take this off, now.”
Her words make me suck in a sharp breath, and my eyes jump to her.
I shouldn’t care about her putting an end to the lie. I should be relieved that we can go back to normal. Not that anything has really been normal since I arrived in St. Louis.
I want to say that it’s the thought of having to deal with all the media attention that’s still rampant outside of our little bubble here, but honestly, I think it’s more than that.
There’s something reassuring in knowing that we’re connected on a deeper level while she’s going through this.
Fucked up? Maybe.
But I want to be by her side, and I want people to know she has someone in her life.
Her face will have been all over the internet this week, and now that she’s grieving, she’ll be a prime target for the scumbags out there who think they can prey on a woman while she’s weak.
Yeah…that is not fucking happening.
I promised to protect her, and I will in any way I can.
“No,” I state, a little harsher than I intended. The thought of her being used as a pawn in some money grabber’s game has anger and fear surging through my veins.
Reaching out, I pinch the ring between my thumb and forefinger and slide it from her hand.
“What are you doing?” she asks weakly as I lift the covers, searching for her other hand.
“I need the other one,” I state as if it’s obvious.
Her brows pinch, but she raises her left hand from the cover, her eyes holding mine as I slide the ring back into place.
“W-what are you doing?” she whispers, her eyes wide as she stares at her finger.
Reaching out, I tuck my fingers under her chin, forcing her to look back at me.
“The next week is going to be hard,” I explain—not that I need to; she’s more than aware of what’s ahead of her. “Everyone out there thinks we’re engaged, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not sure either of us is going to have the time or energy to try and convince the world otherwise.
“We need to be focusing on Grams and giving her the send-off she deserves, not arguing with everyone about our upcoming nuptials.”
“B-but?—"