Chapter 117: Be Safe, My Love

Roman There’s something seriously wrong with this guy. I don’t care what mask he tries to wear, what polite act he now puts on, what harmless little smiles he casually throws in Savannah’s direction — I can see it. Smell it. Feel it. He’s hiding something. I mean, of course he is. Any man who agrees to a grand scheme of staging a wedding is not to be trusted. And anyone who avoids eye contact as much as he does is already guilty of something. Doesn’t matter what. My gut never lies. Dean. Fucking Dean. He’s leaning against his car in my courtyard like some kind of half-baked gentleman, waiting for Savannah to be done with her goodbyes so he can cart her off. His eyes have barely lifted to mine since he arrived, but I’ve felt them grazing my skin in quick, cowardly flickers. The kind of look a man gives when he knows he’s already lost. And he has. Because she’s with me now. Savannah’s clinging to me like I’m oxygen, and I bury my face into her hair, inhaling her scent like a man starved.