The Stranger at the Bar

MARLOWE'S POV

"This is the worst idea you've ever had."

Elowen Hart slid a glass of something pink and dangerous across the bar toward me. I caught it before it tipped over.

"I've had worse," I said.

"Name one."

"That time I tried to bleach my own hair in eighth grade."

"This is worse." Elowen flagged down the bartender and ordered two more drinks. "You're talking about finding a random guy in a bar and marrying him. That's not a plan. That's a cry for help."

I took a long sip of the pink drink. It burned going down. Good. I needed the burn.

"Look," I said, setting the glass down. "My father gave me forty-eight hours. That was yesterday. Now I've got about thirty-six left before he drags me to some altar and hands me over to a man whose name I don't even know."

"You looked him up."

"Of course I looked him up." I pulled out my phone and slid it across the bar to her. "Dashiell Bellandi. Thirty-two years old. Runs a bunch of companies. Owns half the city. Also, allegedly, runs an entire criminal empire. The articles don't say that part directly, but you can read between the lines."

Elowen scrolled through the articles. Her face got paler with each one.

"Jesus, Marlowe. This guy is... this guy is terrifying."

"I know."

"And your father wants you to marry him?"

"He doesn't want me to. He's forcing me to." I grabbed my phone back. "But here's the thing. If I'm already married when he tries to hand me over, he can't do it. The deal's off. The Bellandis won't want a married woman."

Elowen stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "So your solution is to marry a stranger?"

"Exactly."

"That's insane."

"Maybe." I finished my drink. "But it's the only thing I've got."

Elowen grabbed my arm. "Marlowe. Listen to yourself. You're talking about marrying a random man just to avoid marrying a different random man. Do you hear how that sounds?"

I pulled my arm free. "I hear it fine. But I don't have a lot of options here, El. My father is going to hurt Nolan if I don't do this. He's going to hurt my mother. I can't let that happen."

"So you're going to sacrifice yourself instead?"

"I'm going to buy myself time." I turned on the barstool and looked out at the crowd. "I'll find someone. Someone who looks respectable. Someone who won't ask too many questions. We get married. I pay him off. We get divorced in a year. By then, I'll figure out how to get my family out from under my father's thumb."

Elowen shook her head. "This is going to end badly."

"Probably." I ordered another drink. "But I'm doing it anyway."

Two hours later, I was drunk.

Not fall-down drunk. Not can't-remember-my-name drunk. But drunk enough that the edges of the world were starting to blur. Drunk enough that my plan seemed almost reasonable.

Elowen had tried to stop me. She'd tried everything. Reason. Logic. Threats. But I was stubborn. And scared. And maybe a little bit crazy.

I was also scanning the bar.

The place was called The Gilded Room. One of those fancy cocktail lounges that rich people went to when they wanted to feel important. I'd picked it on purpose. The men here had money. Real money. The kind of money that might intimidate even my father.

I needed someone who looked powerful but not dangerous. Someone who wouldn't actually hurt me when I inevitably tried to run. Someone who wouldn't ask questions when I showed up at his door with a marriage certificate and a desperate plan.

"See anyone?" Elowen asked.

"Not yet." I scanned the room again. Most of the men were old. Married. Boring. The younger ones looked like trust fund babies who couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag.

I needed someone different. Someone who looked like he could hold his own against my father. Someone who wouldn't be pushed around.

Someone like...

My eyes stopped.

There was a man standing at the far end of the bar. Alone. He wasn't talking to anyone. He wasn't looking for a good time. He was just... watching.

He was tall. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Wearing a black suit that probably cost more than my car. But it was more than that. It was the way he stood. The way he held himself. Like he owned the room and everyone in it.

He looked dangerous. Not in a flashy way. In a quiet, unsettling way.

"That one," I said.

Elowen followed my gaze. Her face went white.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because he looks like he murders people for fun, Marlowe. That's why not."

I laughed. "He looks fine."

"He looks like the kind of guy who has a gun in his sock drawer."

"Most guys here probably do." I slid off my barstool. My legs wobbled a little. I grabbed the bar to steady myself. "I'm going in."

"Marlowe, wait—"

I didn't wait.

I walked across the bar, my heels clicking against the floor, my heart pounding in my chest. The closer I got, the more I realized Elowen was right. This man was scary. Not in a loud, obvious way. In a way that made the air around him feel heavier.

But I was already committed. And I was too drunk to turn back.

DASHIELL'S POV

From the shadows of my private booth, I watched her.

Marlowe Whitmore.

She was even more beautiful than the photographs. Not that the photographs had been bad. But they hadn't captured the fire in her eyes. The stubborn set of her jaw. The way she moved like she was ready to fight anyone who got in her way.

"She's right on time, sir."

Matthias Crowe, my right-hand man, stood at my shoulder. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed on the same woman I was watching.

"She is," I said.

"Are you sure about this?" Matthias asked. "She's... not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Someone quieter. Someone easier to manage."

I took a sip of my whiskey. It burned going down, but not in an unpleasant way. "I don't want someone easy to manage. I want someone who fights."

"She's going to fight you."

"I know." I set the glass down. "That's the point."

Matthias was quiet for a moment. Then, "You know her father is a snake. He'll try to use her against you."

"He can try." I watched Marlowe scan the room. Watched her eyes land on me. "He'll fail."

She was looking at me now. Really looking. Her friend was tugging at her arm, trying to stop her, but she wasn't listening. She was already walking toward me.

"She's coming over," Matthias said.

"I know."

"Do you want me to—"

"No." I stood up. Straightened my suit jacket. "Let her come."

Matthias stepped back into the shadows. I stayed where I was. Waiting.

Marlowe reached me in about thirty seconds. She was drunk. I could tell by the slight sway in her step. But she wasn't sloppy. She was holding it together.

She stopped in front of me. Looked up. Her eyes were bright. Almost feverish.

"You," she said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Yeah." She took a breath. Let it out. Then she squared her shoulders and said the words I'd been waiting for.

"Let's get married."

I stared at her for a long moment. She didn't flinch. Didn't look away. She just stood there, waiting for my answer.

"You're drunk," I said.

"So?"

"You don't know me."

"So?" She crossed her arms. "I don't know the guy my father wants me to marry either. At least with you, I get to choose."

I almost smiled. Almost.

"Why me?"

She looked me up and down. "You look like you can handle yourself. You're wearing a two-thousand-dollar suit. And you're standing alone at a bar without looking pathetic. That's good enough for me."

"You have low standards."

"I have a desperate situation." She held out her hand. "So what do you say? Want to get married?"

I looked at her hand. Then at her face. She was scared. She was trying hard not to show it, but I could see it. The slight tremble in her fingers. The way her breath caught in her throat.

She was a fighter. But she was also cornered.

I took her hand.

"Let's go," I said.

Her eyes widened. "Wait. Really?"

"You asked, didn't you?"

"I didn't think you'd say yes!"

I stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell the alcohol on her breath. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes.

"One question," I said.

"What?"

"You're not going to back out?"

She stared at me. Her jaw set. Her chin lifted.

"I don't back out of anything."

"Good." I let go of her hand and gestured toward the exit. "Then let's not waste any time."

She blinked. "Wait. Now? Right now?"

"You said you had a desperate situation. I'm assuming time is not on your side."

"It's not, but—" She looked back at her friend, who was watching us with wide eyes. "I need to tell Elowen."

"Tell her on the way." I placed my hand on the small of her back. She shivered. Just slightly. "We're going to the courthouse."

She looked up at me. For a moment, I saw something in her eyes. Fear. Doubt. But underneath it all, determination.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. Let's do this."

I guided her toward the door. Matthias appeared at my side.

"Sir," he said quietly. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive."

"What about the Whitmore family? They'll find out."

"They will." I opened the door. The cold night air rushed in. "And by then, it'll be too late."

Marlowe stepped outside. She looked back at me, her face lit by the streetlights. She was beautiful. And she was mine.

"Let's go," I said.

She nodded. And together, we walked toward the car.

Behind us, Elowen rushed out of the bar, calling Marlowe's name. But Marlowe didn't look back.

She was too busy trying to escape the cage her father had built.

She had no idea she was walking into a bigger one.

And I wasn't about to tell her.

Not yet.