Page 80 of A Secret and a Lie

Although, I don’t have to wonder for long as the door shuts behind me with a jarring sound that rattles my bones, locking me in the room with two men.

My eyes first land on the one standing next to the metal table, his designer suit, watch that costs six figures, and affluent, confident aura telling me he’s the lawyer, but he’s notmyattorney.

Moving my attention to the bigger threat in the room, I meet the eyes of the man in the chair. My chest seems to stutter and trip, even as I attempt to remind myself that I’m not thrilled about seeing him again.

A wicked smirk stretches across his handsome face, his damn dimple on display, blue eyes shimmering with delight beneath the fluorescents. I want to hurl my shoe at him while simultaneously capturing his lips. I do neither.

Instead, I stare at the man I left behind. The man who sent a bolt of electricity through my mundane life. The man who brought me to my knees, only to drive a knife into my chest when I stood back up. The liar who I can’t seem to truly hate, despite it all.

“Take a seat,wife.”

Genevieve

Wife.The word swarms my brain like a thousand bees. He can’t be serious,can he?Rationally, I’m certain that he’s notreallymy husband. There was no ceremony, noI do’s, no signed documents.

But the peremptory expression on his face tells me it’s true, even if I can’t explain it myself.As if I didn’t have enough problems.

My heart squeezes as my nostrils flare, and I shake my head, determined to knock some sense back into this man. “I’m not your wife.”

“Sit down, Gen.” The look he pins me with is hard and challenging. Unfortunately, it’s an expression that shoots a spark of fire between my legs.

No matter how much my brain wants to defy Ford Crawford, my body moves obediently, as if I’m nothing more than his marionette. The next thing I know, the chair legs are scraping against the concrete floor, and I’m sitting across from the two men.

Ford’s lips relax into a haughty smile that silently drips with the messagegood little doll.Violently wrestling with the urge to spit on that domineering arrogance, I barely manage to gain control of myself before I do something reckless.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in my seat, settling in as I await some answers.

“This is Stafford Langfeld,” Ford introduces the other man.

Shifting my gaze to the lawyer, he nods. As the most famous criminal defense attorney in the country, everyone knows who Stafford Langfeld is. While my own legal representation is good, this man isgreat.He’s also absurdly unaffordable, even for me.

I arch an eyebrow at Ford, who goes on. “I’ve hired him to represent you.”

Blinking, I slowly shake my head to clear the fog of disbelief. “Why?”

Sure, there are dozens of far better questions to be asking, and I should absolutely not be looking this gift horse in the mouth, but it’s the easiest, most simply inquiry.

He tilts his head to the side. “I won’t have my wife rotting in jail.”

There it is again.My wife.

“We aren’t married, Ford.”

“We are.” His words carry a stern finality, while his expression turns unyielding, like an ancient rock that refuses to erode, despite the elements.

“Give us a minute,” Ford speaks to the lawyer, who sighs, pinning us both with an exasperated look before slipping out of the room.

When we’re alone, he explains, “I forged the documents using the paper you signed before I booked you. In the eyes of the government and the rest of the world, we’re married.”

My jaw drops, and I blink to clear my vision. It doesn’t work; he’s still there, his admission hanging in the air like a blade suspended mid-fall. He leans forward then, resting his forearms on the metal table between us, and my gaze fixes on the slender gold band on his left ring finger.

We’re married.

Approaching this with a different tactic, I ask, “Why should I trust you? You arrested me.Mybest interests clearly aren’t at the heart of your decisions.”

“I did arrest you. I had a job to do, and I completed it, or as much of it as I planned to complete. Now, I’m free to serve myself, and itjust so happens that our interests are aligned. I want to help you. Icanhelp you, if you’ll let me.”

Narrowing my eyes, I attempt to cross my legs, only to realize the chain connecting my ankles won’t allow the movement. Grinding my teeth, I force a breath through my nose and hold it before exhaling. “How will being married to you help me?”