Chapter 9 - Lena

"Oh my gosh. So, you weren't off rescuing animals, but being a super soldier? That is so much cooler!"

Rosie is gushing over Cyrus's explanation as we sit around my small dinner table, trying to explain why in the world I'm suddenly married and why we were attacked in our home. The pit in my stomach is intensifying with every word.

"I mean, if it makes it any better, I did have a mission in Africa for a while and did get to see some elephants," Cyrus offers with a genuine smile.

"They're still my favorite."

Rosie had not taken this news nearly as badly as I had thought. Apparently, the prospect of Milo following her around at school made her all giggly. I don't like it. I understand their reasoning, but I could do without a miniature Cyrus with gorgeous eyes and a much better sense of humor capturing my daughter's attention. This whole situation makes me sick to my stomach.

"So, Rose, what do you think? Do you have any issues with the plan? You're going to have to stick to the story. We'll need you to help us sell this whole "your mom and I were just long-lost loves," angle. Are you up for the challenge?"

"Totally," Rosie gushes at him. I hate how she lights up talking to him. It's not the same kind of girly infatuation she has about Milo. The way she looks at him makes the guilt settle heavy in my chest for not having provided her with a stable male figure in her life. She looks at him like he hung the moon.

"Right, well, you need to go and work on getting your stuff gathered up and moved into my room so that we can give the guys your room. Just the essentials. You can use that empty side of my closet."

She bounds off up the stairs, chattering about being a spy. Fabulous.

"That went well," Cyrus says from across the table. Every time he looks at me like this, I have to resist the urge to just reach out for him. He's so close and I physically want to find comfort in his arms.

"I think we have very different definitions of well. I really wish you wouldn't let her fall back into old habits with you. She's going to be devastated when you leave."

"Who says I'm going anywhere?"

I push my chair back and walk slowly to the sink, turning my back to him as I lean against the counter and stare out the window.

"It's what you do. I'm sure this mission has an expiration date, much like this sham of a marriage."

I focus on the trees out the window over the sink a little too much as the heat of my tears becomes too much to fight. The tears are falling, no matter how much I wish they wouldn't.

I hear his chair sliding across the hardwood floor. My body tingles with anticipation as he crosses the room as if it can sense him getting closer. The tears fall harder as he closes the last few feet between us. Damn it.

"Please don't…"

I hate that my voice is cracking.

I don't know what I'm asking him not to do anymore. I just can't take any more of him. He's too much. His earthy amber smell, the warmth I can feel radiating off him, and this electric feeling in my body. It's overwhelming.

He just stands there. I know he's right behind me, close enough that I could probably turn and be in his arms instantly. I can't let myself do that. I won't let myself fall back under his spell. I can feel it in my very soul. If I do, I don't think I will actually survive it this time.

He slides both arms around me slowly, giving me plenty of opportunity to pull away, as he pulls me back against his chest in a hug.

Damn it.

I inhale slowly as the stress and chaos of the last several days hits me in a wave and allow myself this one opportunity take comfort in his closeness.

"I promise, Lena. If you just give me a chance, I will show you that I am still the person you can trust."

"Prove it."

***

We had the weekend to settle into our weird new version of coexistence. The idea of having two of the team members stay with us seemed like a lot at first, but in reality, they are all in and out so much that it feels like all six are here. My house is just full of men all the time. Pecs everywhere you turn.

Somewhere, a woman is dying for this. Sadly, it's wasted on me now that I've given men up for life.

It doesn't help that my main reason for swearing off men has a habit of lingering far too close to me every chance he gets with no shirt on. I'll just keep reminding him about the "No shirts, no service" rule.

He has nothing better to do than lurk around my shop while I try to work today.

At least on Mondays, I am busy with filling all my standing online orders for the week that need to be shipped. At least 3 days a week, I have to spend time either fulfilling orders or restocking items. It is a lot of work on a good day, and with my right arm still stuck in a sling and my shoulder still hating my existence, it is going to take me forever.

I turn music on over the speakers to help drown out my brain's inclination to dwell on Cyrus and the mess he had brought to my doorstep. It is easier to try and pretend none of it is real while I lose myself in the work of creating a large batch of loose incense that is one of my best sellers.

I am so relieved when he and Orion step out of the back of the shop for a minute to check the security camera they're installing. Peace. Finally.

Oddly, the combination of sandalwood and amber in the incense I am mixing was inspired by the warm spicy scent of Cyrus years ago, but I am trying to ignore that little piece of information. I focus on pouring and measuring the ingredients to the recipe and try to just ground myself in the moment and let all the stress fall away.

I turn from my worktable and jump half out of my skin when I realize someone is standing far too close to my personal space.

"Tom!"

My large metal mixing bowl topples to the ground with a clang as I drop it in my flailing jump back from him, trying to catch it with my immobilized arm. I grimace in pain as my shoulder reminds me it hates me and as the contents spill across the wood-slat floors. The amber I use is high quality and costs more than I want to admit as I watch chips of it falling between the old floorboards.

"Shit," I groan as I bend down and try to salvage as much of the batch as I can. "Sorry, Tom. Let me clean this up really quick, then I can help you with whatever it is—"

My words die in my throat as I watch Tom's body lift up off the ground and move backward. The confusion is quickly replaced by surprise when I see Cyrus looming behind him, his hand twisted around the back of his shirt.

"Stop it!"

I push myself up and move toward them when Tom does some sort of ducking maneuver and frees himself before using the large block of wax on the counter to take a swing at Cyrus's jaw. What the hell has gotten into them both?

The impact from the wax doesn't even seem to faze Cyrus. Instead, there is a look of sheer rage in Cyrus's eyes. I'm less worried about Tom and more concerned about what Cyrus will do.

"Hey, hey," I try to caution, wedging myself between them. I put my good hand on Cyrus's chest like I had when he was ready to fight poor, harmless Merl.

He doesn't break eye contact with Tom this time, and I swear he growls. A full-on growl. What the heck?

"Wouldn't want to lose control of yourself there, Friend," Tom snaps.

I shove harder against Cyrus with my good arm.

"Oh, I'm definitely not your friend," Cyrus snaps.

"Okay, that's enough of a pissing contest for me for one day, guys. Thanks. Tom, please, excuse my… my husband. He's a little on edge. Someone broke in on Friday night."

The tension in the room is smothering. It was the first time I'd said it out loud, and it made something deep inside me perk up. It feels like I dropped a bomb in the room.

"Husband?" Tom asks from behind me. I haven't turned around yet. My eyes are still looking up at Cyrus, trying to make him break eye contact with Tom.

Unfortunately, he keeps his eyes locked over my head the whole time. I flex my fingers a bit, digging my nails into his chest, and see a ripple of tension work through his body, but I am only rewarded with his hand reaching out and gripping my hip firmly. Stubborn ass. I do not need him to beat the shit out of Creepy Tom.

Fine, I'll resort to unfair techniques if he's going to keep up his caveman routine.

I drag my fingers slowly down his chest, trailing them lightly to the side of his back where I know he is particularly ticklish. This time, he looks down.

"Yes, husband," I repeat slowly as he meets my eyes. Cyrus pulls me closer, tucking me in at his side and sliding his hand around to linger on the curve of my butt possessively.

There's no chance to spin the rest of our meticulously planned story for Tom. By the time I turn to see what's going on, he is already striding out of the shop like someone had lit him on fire

"What the hell was that?"

I push away from Cyrus, trying to clear my head. The closeness and the feeling of his hand on me and his arm around me is too much. I am furious over this possessive jerk routine he's been running with. Yet, there's still a traitorous part of my body that wants his arm back and his hands in so many more places.

Right. We're mad. Stop thinking about how nice it felt to have his arm around you.

"I'd like to know the same thing," Cyrus grumbles as he bends down to help clean up the spill. "Why was he standing so close to you?"

"Oh my God, why are you acting like a jealous asshole? This isn't a real marriage, remember? You don't actually get to claim ownership of anything. Besides, I don't know. I wasn't paying attention; I was in the zone making this, and he crept up on me and surprised me. That's not an excuse for you to act like this possessive, aggressive jerk."

He's quiet, staring up at me from the floor as he pauses his clean-up efforts. Cyrus looks so vulnerable there for a minute, which seems really hard to reconcile with the image I have of him in my head.

"Has there been something between you and him?"

"Me and Creepy Tom? I call him Creepy Tom. What do you really think if you use your grown adult man brain and not the toddler in your pants who only knows the word mine?"

"I don't like him. I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Neither do I. So, chill with the jealous dramatics. I have successfully rejected him for the past three years just fine without your help. I don't need it now. Please relax and remove the stick up your ass."

"I can't help it. I can't just watch you being uncomfortable like that. Vulnerable."

"Don't call me vulnerable. I'm anything but. Frankly, you don't have a choice, Cy. I agreed to this insanity, yes. Because I can't argue with the evidence that the guys have shown me and that I've seen. I will not be treated like I'm incapable of taking care of myself. You don't get to take that away from me too. I"m not made of glass."

"What else have I taken?"

I pause. I genuinely can't do this today. I can't lay all of this out there. That really would make me feel far too vulnerable.

"Nothing, forget it. Now, I am going to clean this up and try to salvage the several hundred dollars' worth of product that is trying to fall down between the floorboards. Then, if you really want to help, you can take this stuff to the post office to be shipped so I can go home and get ready for my book club."

He stays quiet and looks down as he finishes cleaning up what he can of the pile before standing and setting the bowl on the table.

"Book club? Didn't you used to hate reading unless it was for research? Did that change, too?"

"No, it still makes me want to gnaw my own arm off in boredom. We don't really read. We call it that, but really, we just get together and drink some wine. It's the only socializing I do."

"I'll go with you."

"No. You won't. It's a girl's night, you weirdo."

"That's a terrible idea."

Oh my God. He's going to drive me insane. No risk of harm if I end up in a strait jacket!

"You know what? You want me to trust you? That's a two-way street, Cy. I have done this on my own for eight years without you. You can't just waltz in here and expect me to fall at your feet. I can go hang out with my friends and drink some wine without you breathing down my neck."

A pained look flashes behind his eyes as a sigh escapes his chest.

Why does that look make me feel guilty?