4.Pamela

The cops came the day after Raymond fell. They questioned me for hours, their eyes sharp and probing. I was terrified I'd let something slip, that the truth would spill out in my panic. But I didn't, and they ruled Raymond's death a suicide. The relief was almost paralyzing.

It's been a week and I haven't left the apartment. I can't bring myself to face the world outside these walls. Every sound makes me jump, every shadow feels like it belongs to the ghost of Raymond. My mind is in turmoil, my body constantly on edge.

My only highlight are the gifts that keep appearing in my postbox. They're all from Hugo. A silk scarf, a box of gourmet chocolates, a book of poetry. He's been so wonderful to me. I shiver at the thought of my hero, the man who saved me. I think about him day and night, his strong hands, his piercing eyes, the way he killed to protect me.

I glance at the card that came with his latest gift. The card is simple, but it makes my heart race.

Join me for drinks at the Terrace, eight o'clock this evening...if you want.

I hold the card in my trembling hands. The thought of seeing Hugo again fills me with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. I don't know what the evening will bring, but I know I can't stay hidden forever. And if there's anyone that can make me feel ready to face the world again, it's Hugo.

I run over to my closet, rummaging through my clothes to find something to wear. My fingers linger over a white dress, light and airy, something that makes me feel pretty. I pull it out and hold it against my body, looking at myself in the mirror. It's perfect. Hugo's eyes flash in my mind, and I imagine him looking at me with approval.

I take my time getting ready, because I want to look pretty for him. I want him to see me and know that I'm trying, that I'm not defeated.When I glance at the clock it's seven-thirty. My heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in my chest. I hope he likes how I look. I hope he sees me and thinks I'm worth all the trouble he's gone through for me.

Taking a deep breath, I grab my purse and look around my apartment one last time, trying to muster the courage to leave. For Hugo, I tell myself. For my good doctor.

***

I arrive at the Terrace, a rooftop bar, with twinkling lights and a gentle breeze sweeping through the outdoor seating area.

My eyes search for Hugo, and I find him at a table near a window that offers a panoramic view of the city below. He's wearing a suit jacket but no tie, looking effortlessly handsome. Clean. Fresh. I've never had a man make my mouth water before.

When he sees me, he stands and pulls out my chair. "You look lovely," he says, his voice deep and sincere.

My heart hammers in my chest as I sit down. "Thank you," I manage to reply, feeling the warmth of his compliment. "It's one of my favorite dresses."

Because Raymond hated it. He said it made me look like I was asking for other men's attention. He was insecure like that, but Hugo's all confidence.

Hugo orders wine for himself and a mocktail for me, and somehow his eyes never leave my face. The place is crowded and yet it feels as if it's just the two of us.

"So, how have you been?" Hugo asks, his eyes never leaving mine and I love how he's not staring at my cleavage.

"I'm managing," I say, trying a smile. "It's been a rough week."

Hugo's gaze softens. "I'm glad you decided to come tonight. You're being very brave. I can tell this isn't easy for you."

"I came for you," I admit, playing with the edge of the linen cloth. "I thought, if there's anyone who can help me feel normal again, it's Hugo."

His smile makes my heart skip a beat, maybe because it's so rare. "I've been thinking about you a lot," he replies, "more than I should. A patient nearly lost his middle finger because my mind kept wandering."

I snort, choking on my drink. "Middle finger, huh?" I snicker. "That sounds like one of my favorite heavy metal songs."

Hugo's brows fly to his forehead. "You like heavy metal?" he asks, and I nod. "Are you sure? Isn't that a little too aggressive for you."

"No, I love it. It puts me at ease."

He watches me curiously as if I've surprised him and I quickly change the subject. But as we keep talking, I notice there's an undercurrent of tension, something unspoken that lingers in the air.

Finally, Hugo leans back in his chair, his eyes stroking mine. "There's something I want to ask you," he says, his tone suddenly serious. "The reason why I wanted to see you."

He places a small box on the table. My breath catches in my throat. Another gift? I open it, expecting a necklace or a bracelet. But it's not. It's an engagement ring. A huge one. I wouldn't be surprised if an astronaut could see it right now.

I nearly drop the box, staring at him in shock.

"Marry me," Hugo rasps, his eyes intense.

"I can't," I protest automatically.

"Yes, you can," Hugo insists, his tone firm. "All you have to do is say yes."

"I... don't know," I stammer, feeling like I'm out of breath. "This is a little sudden.."

"Say yes," Hugo interrupts, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I don't want you to go back to that place of yours tonight again. I want you to come home with me. As my wife."

The truth is that I don't want to go back to my place either. I want to put my old life behind and here Hugo is offering me an opportunity to do just that. If I decline, I might just be making the biggest mistake of my life.

I feel as if I'm melting under his determined gaze, my knees weak. He's not going to take no for an answer. And the man did save me. I owe him whatever he wants from me.

"Yes," I whisper and there it is. I've said it. I'm going to be his. For life.

***

Hugo

That same evening, Pamela and I arrive at the courthouse. Tension and excitement radiates between us, making my pulse race. Her white, simple dress flows around her like a cloud, but there's a probative blush on her cheeks that makes me very well aware of the situation going on down my pants.

Her eyes flicker with a mix of apprehension and determination. I didn't think she'd actually say yes and I feel like I have to lasso the moon and yank it down for her, in return. The moment is surreal, but it's happening. We're getting married.

Pamela's hand is trembling in mine, and I give it a reassuring squeeze. Our eyes meet, and sparks go off between us.

The justice of peace begins the ceremony, her voice calm and steady. Pamela's eyes are fixed on mine, wide and shimmering. I can see the swirl of emotions in them – hesitation, hope, something that looks almost like trust. Her lips part slightly, and I can't wait to feel them against mine. Even if it's for a fleeting second, but a snowflake is worth it because it's one of a kind, even if it disappears.

"Do you, Hugo Meister Payne, take Pamela Marie Berry to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," I say, my voice firm and resolute. This is right. We're doing a good thing here. She's mine now, and I will protect her.

The justice of peace turns to Pamela, asking her to have and to hold. Pamela hesitates for the briefest moment, her eyes searching mine.

Then she nods, her voice soft but clear. "I do."

"With the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

I step closer, lifting Pamela's round face to mine. Silently, I ask for consent and she gives a quick nod but her eyes flutter as if she's nervous about getting intimate. Pressing my lips to hers, I try to make it quick but I linger. Her lips are soft and warm, and I can feel her heartbeat quicken through the kiss. I can barely tear myself away, tempted to flick my tongue against her but I can't startle her.

Forcing myself to pull away, I notice her cheeks are flushed, her lips quivering and she looks at me as if searching for my approval. And, fuck do I approve. We're husband and wife. The realization hits me like a wave, and I feel a mix of triumph and possessiveness. She's mine, officially. Irrevocably.

We sign the marriage certificate and Pamela's hand shakes as she signs her name, but she manages a small smile when she's done. I'm smiling too. I have her now. For life. And I'm going to make sure she never regrets saying yes. But as I look into her vulnerable, innocent eyes I have a feeling I'm getting ahead of myself…and the stab of guilt…fuck, it cuts like a knife.

***

"Welcome to your new home," I rasp, opening the front door to my place. I bend down, to pick her up and carry her over the threshold but she jumps ahead of me. Hiding the scowl, I close the door behind us and watch her take everything in. Leaning against the wall, I let my eyes roam down her body. Such a tight, pretty dress. And those turquoise sandals? Heels that I'd perfectly okay with if they gave me little stabs in the back.

"It's amazing," she murmurs, referring to the sleek interior and the large windows. "Much nicer than my apartment."

She's never going back there. That was his territory, and this is my way of pissing all over it.

"Here we have the living room," I say, gesturing to the open space with its plush sofas, contemporary artwork, and a large electric fireplace. "I have over 800 channels on the TV in case, so you should be able to find something you like.

Pamela nods, breathless and a little overwhelmed but she'll get used to it.

We continue the tour, moving through the dining room and the home office, before finally reaching the master bedroom. "This is my room," I cough, opening the door to a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden.

Pamela stands in the doorway, her body language tense and she stares at the king-sized bed. I can see the hesitation in her eyes. "You can sleep in the guest room if you want," I offer, trying to sound casual, but my heart is pounding in my chest. "It's just down the hall."

She looks at me, her eyes searching my face. I hope, with every fiber of my being, that she'll say she wants to stay with me. But she nods, agreeing to take the guest room. And I almost can't hide the disappointment.

"It won't be like this forever," she adds quickly, as if trying to ease the sting. "Only until I'm ready."

My throat feels tight, and I force a smile. "Take your time," I rasp. "No pressure."

Pamela breathes out, relief washing over her face and I can see the gratitude in her eyes. It hurts but I'm not going to pressure her. Fuck knows, I've already done more than enough.