Marion couldn't help the gleeful smile that made her cheekbones hurt. One disappointing PI after another, and just when her stay of execution was going to run out, she received the text.

Dove is in Arkadia. 1946 Maple Drive.

Had the little brat been under her nose all this time? She didn't know whether to think the girl stupid or cunning.

The timing couldn't have been better. Her bank account had seen better days; she was practicing wasting away with only a half a million left. Sure, to some it was a comfortable amount, but not with the lifestyle she'd grown accustomed too. Fashion week in Paris, skiing in Chamonix Mt Blanc, lounging poolside in the Hamptons—all expensive luxuries she reveled in.

She was growing weary of having to please men to get what she wanted. David St. Clair was meant to be the last. He'd been an attentive husband. Handsome. Richer than sin and barely any family to bequeath his fortune. Until the cancer diagnosis. When she suggested to send Dove away to a school that dealt with problem children, he started to turn his back on her.

God, the man would've been perfect, if not for that little oddball. All her little tantrums and oddities, the incessant need for order, as if she was some anal school marm. God forbid a book not be alphabetized, or a pink shirt with the yellow ones. After he got sick, it was even worse how she monopolized his time and sat at his bedside every waking moment. And, of course, David encouraged it. That's the part she hated the most. The kid always came first.

And now, the end was in sight. Her plan falling miraculously into place. Perhaps God really was smiling down on her, and she'd soon get all that was rightfully hers. All she had to do was take it.

The car rolled to a stop, and Mack got out first to case the place, while Rocco opened her door. The stench of manure carried on the breeze from the cow field down the road. The simple country house was a far cry from what the little darling grew up with. Landry's report had revealed she'd been shacking up with man fresh out of prison! David would surely roll in his grave with the knowledge of his perfect little princess living with a thug.

No car in the drive, and the curtains in the front window pulled back for anyone to take a look-see. Just as well. It would give her time to pull herself together because her nerves were on edge.

"Mack, take the car and stash it out back."

She choked back a laugh. After all this time, the wait had been worth it. Other than money, maintaining the appearance of the loving, caring step-mother was crucial. Marion needed people to think that she only wanted what was best for the girl. Running away and getting involved with a felon proved she wasn't capable or stable enough to run the company. Fiona definitely could not counteract that. It couldn't have been more perfect if she'd planned it. A damaged girl making bad decisions. Everyone would applaud her for saving Dove from some criminal who wanted to drain the St. Clair's dry.

But as happy as the thought made her, it created a different problem. If this Roman Who-ever knew his girlfriend was an obscenely rich heiress, he just might put up a fight. Clearly, a guy like him would only get involved with the girl for one of two reasons—sex or money. She'd probably have to pay him off. If not, Mack and Rocco would take care of him.

The sound of a dog barking somewhere inside broke her concentration. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head, then strolled to the front door. After knocking with no response, she made short work of the lock with a hair pin. Funny, she still remembered how to do it.

She turned to face her partners. "Remember, this guy is a felon, so things might get heated. Nothing will stop me from rescuing Dove. Understand?"

"Not a problem," Rocco responded. "There's two of us and only one of him."

She moved to the sofa and sat.

Mack ran his hand through his buzzed scalp. "Now what?"

She cut her eyes over at the pair. "Now we wait."

Now that the marriage was official, a wave of panic washed over Zoya. As she changed from her wedding clothes into jeans and a tee shirt, she thought about the earlier conversation concerning kids and realized how little she knew about her new husband. Husband. The word caused a knot to form in her stomach.

No doubt she loved him and he'd said he loved her a million times, and she believed him. But was that enough? Sure, living together had provided some insights to his habits, but there was more to compatibility than not squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle and liking the same foods.

She hung her wedding gown on the hanger and covered it with the clothes bag. It was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen, and the way Roman had gazed at her when she'd appeared at the end of the aisle, he agreed. However, if he saw the price tag, he'd have more to say about her being rich. Which brought another question to mind.

Did he have debt? If so, should she offer to pay it off? Would they share a bank account? Would he ever be willing to live in Baton Rouge permanently, or would they have to fly back and forth forever?

Why worry about all this now—after the fact. She shook the thoughts from her mind and remembered how handsome her new husband looked waiting for her at the altar. When she'd joined him there, he'd taken her hand and kissed it, and she'd almost collapsed from happiness. And then later, during their first dance together, her heart pounded.

Someone tapped on the door, then opened it. Roman leaned against the jamb and smiled. "Mrs. DeRoux, you ready to go?"

She turned to face him, but with all the thoughts swirling in her head, she couldn't speak. Why was she questioning everything now? It was a done deal. But, yet a feeling a gloom settled in her chest like something bad was about to happen.

He must have sensed her panic because he rushed forward and took her in his arms. "What's wrong?"

She rested her forehead against his chest and drew a deep breath. She loved how he smelled and the comfort of his embrace. "We know so little about each other. What if we mess up?"

He released his hold, took her hand, led her to a small bench, and pulled her down next to him. "We will mess up, that's life. This was a rushed affair. It's natural that you have a case of jitters but I promise everything will be fine." He chuckled. "You already know the important stuff—like I prefer boxers over briefs and I can't see worth a shit without glasses or contacts, but ask me anything."

"This isn't funny."

"Sorry. I shouldn't joke. I can see you're serious, but nothing you say will make me mad. Especially not on our wedding day, so fire away."

"Do you have debt—and if you do, will you let me pay it off?"

He shook his head. "No debt. The state settled with me for all the years I was in prison so I'm okay. Next question."

"What about bank accounts and monthly expenses? I have more money than you. I'm afraid that will be an issue. I know we should have discussed all this before we got married..."

"Hey, I have no problem with you being rich anymore. I won't be living off you." He laughed, then his face morphed into serious. "I prefer a joint account, but if you want your own, I'm good with that, too."

This was going much better than she expected. He'd not challenged anything but this next question might change that. "Will you ever be able to live in Baton Rouge, or will we always have to fly back and forth?"

He stroked her cheek, then ran his fingers over her bottom lip. "Like I've said before, you're my home. Wherever you are that's where I'll be. But I'm not going to lie to you. It will be an adjustment, but if you give me time to ease into it, I'll make it work." He placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted it up. "Look at me."

She met his gaze. Those beautiful dark eyes she loved so much stared back with nothing but adoration.

"Look, sometimes I'm restless and reckless and a dick, but I love you. Even so, there'll be times when I piss you off. But you're my family now— and I'll be damned before I let anything or anyone come between us. Even my stubbornness. Understand?"

"Yes."

He stood and pulled her back into his arms again. "Okay. We good?"

She nodded, then tiptoed to kiss his throat. "I want to make you happy."

"Babe, you do." He leaned to whisper in her ear. "Do you have a church on that list of yours?"

She shoved away. "No!"

He laughed. "Just checking because if you did—I mean, we're already here, so no need to miss the opportunity."

She smacked him in the shoulder.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What?" She drew back, peering up at him.

"I know we didn't discuss a honeymoon, but I planned one—with the help of Fiona. Tomorrow morning, we're flying to a cottage in Fishers Island in New York. We'll have the whole place to ourselves for a week. So we need to get home and pack."

"Okay. Sorry about all the questions."

"Hey, we're about to spend a week pretty much isolated from the world. That'll give you time to quiz me all you want." He wiggled his brows. "That is if we have time for questions."

Roman didn't have time to worry about Zoya's inquisition. For now, he hoped he'd eased her mind, but if not, he'd deal with that later. He had more pressing matters. Like making sure they got away from Arcadia before the wicked stepmother showed up.

As the farm came into view, his heart pounded. No strange cars sat in the drive, which was a good thing. Miles had said the earliest Marion could arrive was one o'clock, but that was only if she walked out the door as soon as she got his phone call. Roman figured a woman like her couldn't be ready that fast.

He glanced at his watch. A little past one. His bag was packed and sitting by the front door. If his luck held, he'd have Zoya in the truck and on the way within the next forty-five minutes.

Ophelia, Roxanne, Mariana, Flynn, and Lemon weren't far behind him, so as soon as they arrived, the girls could help Zoya get her stuff together.

If trouble showed up before that, well, he'd deal with it. The only problem was he didn't know what to expect. He could handle Marion, but if she brought reinforcements, that would be a complication.

Roman parked in the carport, then looked over at Zoya, who'd been quiet the whole way. He took her hand in his. "Are we okay?"

"Yes. It's just our lives are about to change and I'm worried. Here at the farm, everything is so simple, but once I come out of hiding, it'll be total chaos. What if I can't handle that?"

"Things will change, but not us. Just different circumstances. I'll be by your side every minute. If any of it gets to be too much, I'll shut it down. Now, come inside. We'll get you packed and head to Breaux Bridge. I've booked us a room there so we'll be near the airport. In the morning, we'll fly out with your aunts, drop them in Baton Rouge, then go on the Fishers Island." He laughed. "I've only been married a few hours and I'm already getting spoiled by having a private plane at my disposal."

Zoya snorted.

He didn't give her time to answer, just opened his door and climbed out of the truck, and she did the same. Once on the porch, he fished the key from his pocket, stuck it in the lock, and lifted her into his arms. "I've got to carry you over the threshold. Don't want to break tradition."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Damn, he loved how she clung to him. Regardless of her fears, he had no doubt he'd spend the rest of his life with her because she was everything he wanted—all he wanted. He turned the knob and kicked the door open.

"Hello, Dove. Or is it Zoya now?"

Marion sat on the sofa, making herself right at home. She was more beautiful than the photos online, with her sun kissed skin and voluptuous curves. Her cold, hateful eyes looked out of place on her face.

"Marion," Zoya gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Roman's heart stopped. Roman's heart stopped. He'd already played out the possibilities a hundred times in his head. None of them accounted for her already in his house, sitting on his couch. He scanned the room, then the deck. She appeared to be alone, which didn't make sense. His instincts went on high alert. Hair prickled on the back of his neck. Adrenaline coursed through his veins just as it had in prison when he sensed danger. He eased Zoya's feet to the floor and palmed his phone. "I'm calling the sheriff."

"Go ahead, but I wouldn't recommend it. I spoke with him earlier and explained the situation. How an ex-con has been taking advantage of my step-daughter, a mentally impaired heiress. But, she doesn't seem to be harmed in any way, so I'm willing to overlook filing any charges if you don't give me any trouble."

Instead of calling for the police, he tapped the screen and dropped it back in his shirt pocket just as two men emerged from the hallway. Both easily had several inches and a hundred pounds on him, and judging from the array of tattoos on both their arms, they'd also spent time in the slammer.

"If you know what's good for you, the three of you will get back in your car and get the hell off my property."

Marion sneered and fixated on Zoya. "Not without Dove."

The transformation from socialite to bitch jolted Roman into defense mode. "I was going to ask how you got in, but I guess you've gone back to your old skill set of picking locks."

Despite her attempt to remain calm, Roman saw that his statement rattled her, so he went on. "Yeah, I know all about you. The jail time. The men. How you used your body to move up the social chain. I'd say you are nothing more than a high-priced call girl, but that'd be an insult to sex workers."

She fisted her hands like a street fighter. "You know nothing about me!"

He didn't give her a chance to say more. "That's where you're wrong. I know every doctor, lawyer, whoever you have in your pocket. And for every one who'll do your bidding, I have two who will contest anything they say. I also know you don't want your circle of friends to find out about your checkered background. Be a shame if that got out."

"I don't care about your threats. No one will believe anything you have to say. I came for Dove, and I'm not leaving without her." She smiled at Zoya. "No need to get your things. We'll buy all new."

Roman moved closer, keeping his eye on Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum that stood on either side of Marion.

"My wife isn't going anywhere with you."

Marion widened her eyes and placed her hand to her throat. "What are you talking about?"

Zoya moved closer. "Roman and I got married this morning, and as my husband, he has all the power when it comes to my mental competence, which contrary to what you say, is normal."

Marion sneered at Roman, then focused on Zoya again and thinned her lips into a tight line. "Well then, he knows who you are—and what you're worth. You're stupid if you think he's married you because of love. He was in prison, and before that, the last job he had was working at a bar. What kind of future do you think he can offer you?" She flapped her hand in the air. "Never mind. I'll answer that. None."

"You might have Zoya fooled, but not me." She glanced back at her step-daughter. "Did you ask him to sign a prenup?"

Zoya bit her bottom lip and looked at Roman, then back at Marion. "No."

"Well, you're even more stupid than I imagined," she sneered. "Which goes to show you're incapable of running a company. This marriage is proof of how easily you're influenced by the wrong kind of people."

Roman moved in front of Marion. "She didn't have to ask. You're still on the board for a few more weeks, you'll get your copy in the mail." He advanced on her but she stood her ground.

"No worries. We can just get the marriage annulled as soon as we get home."

She looked at her two goons. "Mack, grab her. Rocco, take care of him."

"I wouldn't suggest it," Roman told the man.

Rocco rushed forward, and Roman landed a jab into his windpipe. The brute clutched his throat as he wheezed in pain. Behind him, Dove shouted.

If there was one thing Roman knew how to do, it was fighting dirty. A powerful kick to Rocco's groin brought him to his knees. He curled up into a ball on the floor, both hands cradling his nutsack. He kicked him again, rendering the guy unconscious.

He turned his attention to the back door, where Mack had her by the waist, her arms flailing and feet kicking as he struggled to shove her into the SUV. "Let me go!"

"You little shit, stop kicking, or I'll give you something to scream about."

Roman took off through the kitchen and out the back and tackled them, knocking the pair away from the vehicle.

Mack released Zoya and turned his concentration to him, landing some punches in the meantime. Roman's brow was bleeding like a stuck pig, muddling his vision a little, but he barely felt it. He weaved, answering a blow to the hulk's jaw. As Mack drew back for another go, Zoya came from the end of the porch with a shovel in her hands. Raising the spade, she brought it down on Mack's head, dropping him in his tracks.

"Oh, for the love of God, do I have to do everything myself?!" Marion shrieked from the porch. Zoya's eyes went wide, and Roman followed her gaze in time to see Marion point the gun and fire.

Roman's hand flew to his shoulder as the bullet ripped into the skin of his shoulder. Stunned for a second, he stumbled and lost sight of Marion.

She was halfway to Zoya when he spotted her; she turned and pointed the weapon just as he reached her, firing off another round that skated past him. An empty flower pot on the porch shattered before he managed to knock the gun from her grasp.

"Roman! She shot you!" Shovel still in hand, Zoya aimed it with precision, but he'd already had Marion under control.

"I'm okay. It just... stings like a bitch. A little mouse shooter won't do much damage."

Flynn's truck came to a screeching halt behind the SUV, and Mariana jumped out, unwinding the flowery scarf from her hair. Roman took it from her and tied Marion's wrists. She glared up at Zoya. "You'll regret this, Dove. He'll bleed you dry and leave you with nothing."

Roman dabbed at the blood on his brow. "That won't happen, but you know what will? Free membership into a new kind of country club, Marion."

Marion snorted, "Imbecile. Who do you think the cops will believe? A fine, upstanding member of society that donates to a multitude of charitable causes, or some backwater felon? Here's the story as I see it. You attacked me. Mack and Rocco will back me up. Your only corroboration is a mentally ill runaway. So, good luck with that."

Roman pulled his phone from his pocket and wiggled it in front of her. "Actually, I recorded the entire conversation. There should be enough here to prove everything we have to say to the police."

Flynn came from inside. "The one in the living room is still out cold, but I tied him up, just in case."

"Yeah, and I called 911, after Zoya and I took care of the other one," Mariana spoke up. "She held him down with the shovel, and I found some rope in the shed to bind him."

Flynn wrapped his arms around Mariana.

As sirens blared down the road, Zoya wrapped an arm around Roman and peered up at him. "I guess we'll have to postpone the honeymoon."

"Oh, hell no, we don't." He glanced at the pool of blood on his shirt. "I'll get this fixed up, and then we'll leave."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

He wound his arms around her, tucking her into his chest. "Yeah."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I wanted to, so there's never any doubt. I love you, Zoya. Just remind me never to piss you off when you've got gardening tools handy."

Just the epilogue left for tomorrow, and we'll be finished. Parting is such sweet sorrow. 

No teaser, since we're at the end and there's not that much left.