“I… yeah.” Bobby’s gaze slides sideways. “It’s more of a… future type… thing.”

I get it. He doesn’t mean ‘protect me’ from Mr. Parker. He means ‘protect me’ from his friends. From stripping and becoming a sugar baby and whatever Adriano Rossi wants to do to me. I gnaw at my thumbnail.

“January?”

I can’t meet his eyes. “Yeah?”

Bobby drops back onto his knee. Getting the news out seems to have relieved some of his internal pressure. “I know this is a lot to take, but it wouldn’t be a marriage like you had with Parker. I don’t want to control you. Once you’re under my protection, you can do whatever you like.”

Except go home. And I can’t imagine Doc, the man who just held a knife to my throat, letting me go skipping into the sunset with Bobby. “Will the others… um, be okay with us getting married?”

“They won’t like it. But if it’s what you choose, I’ll put my foot down and they’ll have to respect it.”

I believe him. My heart jolts. Could I marry Bobby? It would be better than stripping or being sold to the Russian Mafia. But even as I consider what saying yes would mean, my insides twist. I’m trapped behind dirty glass. I can only see pieces of what’s happening or why. I want to wipe it clean and see the whole thing. “I thought I wasn’t fancy enough to marry?”

“That’s Eli. I’m no Italian prince. You’ll be punching a few belts below your weight with me.”

There’s a smile in his voice. Without thinking I look right into Bobby’s face and his loveliness overwhelms me. His brown eyes are welcoming, and I imagine walking down the aisle toward him. Sleeping in his big, muscly arms. My mind tries to dream up what he looks like naked, and I turn away.

Bobby takes my hand again, folding it in his. “Just because I’m not a Velluto doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you. What I do pays better than Wall Street. You can have everything you had at your mom’s house. More.”

The gooshy romantic feelings vanish. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m a gold digger who wants diamond spoons and Amex black cards?”

“No! I just want you to know the world is open to you. That if you marry me, I’ll work my ass off to make your life beautiful. I’ll buy us a house anywhere you like, and you can go to college or start your own business or dance or take singing lessons or just… be my wife.”

Bobby sounds exactly the way I wanted a man to sound when he talked about marrying me. He even looks exactly the way I dreamed my husband might look. But from the corner of my mind, Zia Teresa speaks. If you marry this man, you’ll be a murderers’ wife.

“… and we can get a dog or a cat or—”

I lean forward and press a finger to Bobby’s lips. “Are you asking me to marry you or are you saying that’s what’s going to happen?”