In Name Only (Pine Falls #2) - Jennifer Peel Page 0,1

Afghanistan for six weeks. I’m not going to lie; it made me nervous.

“I thought we were all having dinner tonight?” Meaning our group of friends—Kinsley, Ariana, Jonah, Brant, and probably Jill if she happened to be in town.

He ran a hand over his dark hair, now cut military short. “We are, but I wanted to talk to you alone.”

I bit my lip. “Oh.”

“Dani.” He closed his deep-blue eyes and paused before opening them, his gaze hitting me full force. “I think we should talk about our future when I get back.”

“Ours?”

“Yes.”

“What are you saying?” I could barely breathe out.

He flashed me his crooked grin. “That I’m going to miss you and we’ll talk when I get back in a few weeks.” He always played it close to the vest. It was maddening.

“Maybe I’ll be around,” I teased.

“I’m counting on it.” He walked around my desk and opened his arms.

I flew out of my chair and into them. He wrapped me up tight while I soaked in his peppermint-and-spice smell. Minute after minute, I clung to him, memorizing the steady beat of his heart. “Come back to me safe and whole,” I whispered.

He kissed the top of my head. “I promise.”

Chapter One

“It is the price that must be paid,” rang through the chapel during Sunday services. The same chapel I had been married in nearly three weeks ago to the man who sat unnaturally stiff by my side. Brock sat close enough to me so that no one would question the validity of our unholy union, but he kept enough distance so that I would understand exactly where I stood with him. The pastor’s words were more apropos than he would guess. I was paying.

I dared a glance at my handsome husband, who stared straight forward so he didn’t risk looking my way. His clean-shaven face still bore the marks of his harrowing capture and escape in Afghanistan over two months ago. So much joy and misery had taken place since that time. The cuts above his eye were healing and the bruises had all but faded, but his deep-blue eyes shadowed by a forest of dark lashes spoke of deeper hurts. His tight, strong jawline screamed for me to look anywhere but at him. My gray tear-filled eyes obeyed and fell away.

I stared down at my lap, which was covered in the most elegant champagne chiffon, willing the tears not to drop. The dress was another reminder of the lie I lived. I had never owned clothes so fine, but any wife of a Holland was expected to look and play her part. My hands, resting upon the expensive fabric, were wrung so tight I could almost see the blood flow through my veins. If my blood spilled out, it would be a welcome relief, easier than the pain I bore now. I would do almost anything to forget, even if for only a moment, the heartache that ensconced us. But . . . my hands unfolded and rested upon the reason the man I loved despised me. A reason so precious I would do anything to protect it—even live in the very hell I currently found myself in.

My eyes fluttered up and landed on the intricately carved wooden altar where the pastor in traditional white robes orated so eloquently about sacrifice. Light filtered in behind him through the stained glass window depicting a dove flying out of a starburst. Ariana, my older sister, had created it. Her beautiful work of art was casting dancing colors, just like it had on the day Brock and I stood before the pastor to become man and wife in name only. The pastor, unbeknownst to him, preached a sermon that paralleled the life Brock and I had begrudgingly agreed upon. Brock’s sacrifice was his name. Mine was him.

The man who’d brokered the deal sat on my other side, as if to make sure I played my part exactly how he had scripted it out. John Holland, Brock’s father, ex-senator, CEO/owner of Holland Industries, and devil incarnate. He flashed me his gleaming smile as he sat in a three-piece suit that was as dark as his soul. It was his cold eyes, though, that sent shivers down me. His green eyes bore secret agendas. “Lovely service,” he whispered.

I couldn’t bring myself to respond to him. He knew nothing of light, God, or what real sacrifice was. Instead, my gaze turned up to the magnificent ceiling painted with gold leaves. Once upon a time I