I smiled. “Just for that, you get a raise, Robert.”
He nodded to Jared, and then popped the trunk, pulling our bags from the back. “I’ll have your things laundered and returned to your room.”
“Thank you, Robert,” Jared said. He grabbed my hand and led me to the Escalade, pulling open the door. He lifted me into his arms and placed me gently in the passenger seat. “Since I don’t have time to carry you across the threshold, I suppose this will have to do.”
I laughed. “It’ll do,” I said, placing each of my hands on his cheeks for a quick kiss.
Providence seemed different. Remnant rain dripped from the trees, the beautiful buildings still loomed over the streets, and the traffic still made walking across the post-storm street a challenge for pedestrians who wished to remain dry. But it was foreign somehow. Providence would always be home, but for now it was a battleground—a place to stand off with those who would harm my child. For the next months until I gave birth, I would walk the streets on guard, in constant suspicion of everyone I came across, and cautious of every dark street. Having no idea when Hell would act, or what they had in store for us, it was important now than ever to be prepared and vigilant. All things considered, I was glad it was on my own turf. My ancestors weren’t just Rhode Islanders. I was Nephilim. We survived King David, the flood, and the yellow fever epidemic of 1797. My husband was half angel. I could stand up to whatever they could throw at me. That was what I would keep telling myself, anyway. No sense in worrying myself to death about it.
“What is that?” Jared said, referring to whatever emotion he was sensing.
I shrugged. “Courage, I think,” I said. “We can do this. I believe in you. I believe in us.”
Jared’s eyes darkened a bit, and he reached over the console to grab my hand. The muscles under his jaws twitched, and his fingers tensed as they intertwined with mine. “I definitely like the new attitude.”
Chapter Six
Answer
Titan’s tall, block-and-mortar fa?ade loomed over Fleet Rink. Summer was just a few weeks away, and the rink had been transformed from its usual icy amusement to a popular hangout for local rollerbladers. Jared parked in his usual spot, kissing my lips before I stepped out onto the sidewalk and to the front entrance of the lobby.
I paused, the first few steps without Jared felt strange. Except for the few hours I spent getting ready for the wedding, Jared and I had been side by side every day for a week. An unsettling feeling came over me, as if I’d forgotten my cell phone or locked my keys inside the car.
I pushed through the front door and walked across the lobby, dismissing my unease. Jared remaining in the car meant that everything was just fine. If he sensed even the slightest bit of danger, he would be next to me.
“Get a grip, Nina,” I whispered to myself. Inside the elevator, I pressed the button, and took a deep, cleansing breath as the doors slid closed. When they opened again, the relaxing breath proved to be futile.
“Well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Sasha said. One hand on her hip, one hand holding a short stack of papers, her long red curls set off her sharp features. A mature person would admit that Sasha was beautiful—I, however, had accepted long ago that Sasha brought out the stubborn, angry child within.
“Oh, my. Did you get yourself a perm while I was away? I guess the eighties are coming back.” I brushed past her, deciding against shoving my shoulder into her bony arm.
“Hot rollers. Grant has made a point to mention the curls today, too.”
“Where is Grant?”
“In his office. He waited for half an hour in yours. You’re late.”
“I came straight from the airport. Why are you still here?”
Sasha shrugged. “I keep whatever hours Grant keeps.”
I rolled my eyes and held out my hand. “Are those for me?”
“Yes,” she said, handing them over. “I was about to make copies.”
“That won’t be necessary. Thanks for staying, but you should head home.” I took the papers and made my way to Grant’s office. His shoeless feet, in hideous tan and green argyle socks, rested on his desk.
“There she is: Mrs. Peanut.”
“Don’t start,” I said, setting the documents on his desk. “I told you I would be right over. Why did you send Sasha to make copies of these?”
Grant covered his face with his hands. “Sasha’s a sweet girl—to me—but she’s an overachiever. I’ve been making up things for her to do.”
I laughed once. “She wants the assistant job. That’s why she’s been in your hair.”
“In my hair, in my office, in my desk, in my face, in my way. She’s incorrigible. I honestly don’t have enough for her to do. She refuses to help out in the other departments and won’t leave until I do.”
“Grant. She’s an intern. She shouldn’t refuse to do anything.”