Substitute Marriage: Healing My Disabled Husband

Holm

les on the marble welcome mat. The moment I crossed the threshold into Kensington Mano

cast cold white light down onto my faded hoodie, s

a tailored dark gray butler's tailcoat. His gray hair was combed

met, a cold glint flashed in his pupils. A twisted scar running

shrapnel wound from close-quarters combat. Th

n the stone, and placed a half-inch-thick leather-bound manual

nsington. On behalf of the Bond fam

hard on the wo

orway with my hands tucked into

I'm in a hurry to go upstai

nto a cold smirk as he tapp

must memorize the rules of Kensington. This is th

ook open, his vo

eters of the master bedroom without permission. Rule two: the underground rink and medical

over me as his right hand rose in what looked like a polite gesture,

to dislocate an ordinary

ingertips touched my fabric, my rig

nter of force. My hand clamped onto the outside of his w

t arm went numb under the nerve spasm, his muscles j

wo-hundred-pound body down against the marble tabletop. His own el

r, my amber eyes freezing b

giment's night combat manual. Too bad you're old. Tha

ingers. He gritted his teeth and tried to jerk free, so I pressed slightly harder

septic wipe from my pocket, and slowly wipe

le to steady himself, rubbing his bru

are you... Who

d toward the Glock hid

Bond, your employer. That's the

e his leg. Hoisting my canvas backpack over one shoulder, I walked pas

soaking through the back of his shirt. He pressed the

man is a dangerous fighter. We need to ac

al seconds before a deep, raspy ma

o see what kind of mo

lowered his hand from his waistband

p banners of the Boston team and giant posters of Conley lif

g eagle. Pale light seeped through the bottom crack, accompanied

cold tips resting against my skin. Without knocking, I gripped