There were many examples of “good marriages” around her . . . but she couldn’t help but question. What didn’t she know . . . what was happening behind the scenes that no one spoke of?
It made her sick . . . the questioning . . . the wondering.
The memories.
“We missed lunch,” Hunter said when they were alone.
The agreement was made . . . the contracts sat in front of them, waiting for their signatures.
“I don’t think I can eat,” she muttered.
He was silent until she met his gaze.
For the first time since they’d met, Hunter Blackwell’s shoulders slid . . . and his eyes softened. His next words were quietly spoken. “I’ve never laid a violent hand to a woman, Gabi. You will not be my first.”
The image of Alonzo smiling as the needle slid into her vein came from nowhere. He hadn’t forced anything on her, either.
“That’s little comfort.”
Hunter stood and approached as if to a frightened animal.
Hadn’t she gotten past that? The fear stage and on to the fight?
Before he could say anything, she swiped the contracts from his side of the desk, grasped a pen, and signed her name.
Tomorrow she would begin the task of removing her name from anything and everything Alonzo Picano.
Today . . . or at least until she signed her name to a marriage agreement, she would simply be Gabriella Masini.
Soon-to-be wife of Hunter Blackwell.
The blackmailed wife of a ruthless billionaire, the widow of a soul burning in hell.
Chapter Six
Twenty-four hours after she signed the agreement, he called to ask her ring size.
The contract was signed and recorded on the third day . . . on the fourth, a Thursday, they stood in the private quarters of a justice of the peace and exchanged meaningless vows.
Hunter didn’t bother attempting a kiss, and the judge didn’t ask for it.
He’d done it.
Marriage within two weeks of the initial onset of his unsolvable problem.
He turned to the pale stranger beside him as he walked out of the courthouse and felt every ruthless cell in his body.
“I honestly wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he said almost to himself.
“Excuse me?” Gabi asked.
“Nothing.” He motioned her to the waiting limo and took her to her Tarzana home.
They wouldn’t reside in the same house until Gabi agreed to a home.
Having little choice, Hunter walked behind Gabi as she approached her front door.
Like Remington had said, the home had an advanced security system, which Gabi disengaged the moment she stepped into the house.
The light furnishings were in direct contrast to anything Hunter owned. The pale green sofa and floral pillows were subtle and calming.
He watched in fascination as Gabi dropped her purse on the hall table. The table housed the flowers he’d sent. There must have been a look of surprise on his face.
“It’s not the flowers’ fault you’re an ass,” Gabi explained.
She stepped through the home, leaving him to close the door behind him.
He immediately noticed a light on the security panel light up. That’s when he noticed the camera under a dome by the front door. There were other cameras and motion detectors. “Why is this house so heavily monitored?” he asked as he followed her into a kitchen.
Gabi moved about the space, filled a kettle, and placed it on the stove. For some reason, Hunter didn’t see her as a domestic woman, yet walking around the kitchen, she seemed more relaxed than during the drive to and from the courthouse.
“The house belongs to Samantha,” Gabi explained. “Since she married Blake, the house has been occupied by her staff.”
“Women?”
Gabi nodded.
Blake was a good man, he mused. Still, the surveillance felt like more than just a safety measure for a single woman living alone. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the security had something to do with Gabi’s past.
He walked around the small dining area, looked out the back window to the modest backyard. Even there he noticed cameras in the eaves of the house. “Who monitors the system?” he asked.
“Why do you care?”
He let the curtain to the backyard drop and turned to find Gabi watching him, her arms crossed over her chest.
“You don’t have to be hostile, Gabi. It’s a simple question.”
She relented, pushed away from the counter, and opened one of the cupboards. “Blake has a security team.”
“Of course.”
She set a tea bag inside her cup, kept her back to him. The simple black pantsuit was stylish and not at all what Hunter thought she’d wear for their court appearance. Not that he thought she’d wear anything resembling a wedding dress, but black?
It was fitting, he supposed. Her hair, once again, was in a tight knot, making him wonder how long it was and when he might have the opportunity to see it loose.