My Runaway Mafia Groom Wants Me Back
“No long lines of sight they control. If anything smells wrong, you withdraw me like I’m a mission and not a wife.”
His mouth tips, not a smile, an ache. “You are both,” he says. “And I don’t like sentences that have withdraw you in them.”
“Stop making me laugh in front of Bruce,” I whisper, and Bruce, polite, checks the pantry clock as if time is the only matter requiring his attention right now.
I write the note. Adding the line, I don’t care if they call me a coward. Bruce grunts approval. Asher looks like he wants the letters to bleed when they hit paper.