The cameras flashed harder as Q held out his hand, beckoning to me.

“What is he doing?” I murmured, slinking further into my chair. Today was about him, not me. I would never get used to being in the spotlight. I’d gone from a small town Australian girl to a married billionairess, who stood beside her husband by day and submitted to her monstrous master by night.

My brand had been on magazines around the world—the woman who scarred herself for love. I was proud to show Q’s mark—it was the other intimate ones I didn’t want them to see. The bite marks on my inner thighs. The wax burns on my br**sts. Even though life swept us swiftly with its current, Q still found time to tie me in Shibari and broaden my horizons on what my body could feel.

Franco laughed. “You didn’t expect him to open up his life to complete strangers without having back-up did you?” He grabbed my elbow, forcing me to stand. “Go on. Be his back-up. He doesn’t need me this time.”

Franco’s injuries had healed well. His thumb was in the process of undergoing regular surgery to equip his brain receptors to accept the trial robotic. He’d be one of the first in the world to have one—top of the line—a thousand times better than a real digit.

I fought his hold. “Wait. He doesn’t want me. I can’t wave a gun at anyone and tell them to back off. You go do it.”

Franco chuckled. “Words are needed here, Tess. Not bullets. Now go.” He shoved me, stumbling into the aisle.

Damn egotistical ass. I’d have him fired.

Suzette giggled. “I don’t think the prime minster would appreciate bullets.” Her eyes flickered to Q, whose face had darkened with growing annoyance. “You better get up there before he loses it.”

Holy hell. I wasn’t ready for this.

Tucking a curl behind my ear, I second guessed my outfit—worrying I’d come across as a young idiotic woman who had no right to be on Q’s arm. My hair was a messy tangle of curls—Q hadn’t exactly left them sleek and blow-dried fresh after getting carried away in the limo.

We’d been married for six months and our need for each other grew more insane rather than depleting. Who knew how many household items could be used in play? Who knew how much love my heart could contain when he adored me so sweetly? Who knew how many different tears I could shed when he let himself free?

Happy tears.

Fearful tears.

Lustful tears.

Vengeful tears.

Franco moved his legs out of the way, so I wouldn’t trip. He patted my butt. “Get up there, Mrs. Mercer. Your husband needs you.” Shoving me again, I had no choice but to lurch toward the stage. I glowered over my shoulder.

Suzette slapped Franco’s arm. I couldn’t hear what she said but Franco smirked, grabbed her hand, bit her palm, and placed it on his thigh.

I smiled. I knew it.

Q’s voice cut through my nerves. “Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. The minute my wife decides to join me up here, I’ll begin.” My attention flashed to the stage, goosebumps spreading with a mixture of fear and need. I loved when he called me his wife. Especially in that tone.

He wouldn’t hold back when we got home.

I better hide the collar. He’d scared me last time he used it—letting himself get a bit carried away. But he’d made it up to me by loving me sweetly and importing a pair of beautiful parrots—slowly filling his aviary once again.

Hundreds of lenses zeroed in on me as I smoothed down my grey dress. A frill of lace decorated my chest, running diagonally down my torso to flare out at the hem. The matching jacket lay over the back of my chair. Winter had well and truly thawed—the heat in the room was stifling.

Striding forward, I climbed the three steps onto the small stage—thanking heaven I didn’t trip. The moment I was in grabbing distance, Q snaked his arm around my waist, holding me tight. “Took your f**king time, esclave,” he murmured in my ear. “You’ll pay for that later.”

My heart kicked harder, thrumming from his proximity, heat, and gorgeous scent of citrus and sandalwood. He tugged me behind the podium with him.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, trying to keep my lips from giving away my nerves to the press.

“I’m using you, obviously.”

I frowned. “Using me?”

He shook his head. “You still don’t get it do you, Tess? I wouldn’t be here without you. I wouldn’t have found happiness. All of this is yours, not mine. I’m not going to take the limelight when it’s falsely given.”

A reporter grew impatient. “Mrs. Mercer—how does it feel to be married to a man who has personally saved over one hundred girls from trafficking?”

I lost the power to breathe, stunned stupid by the question. The microphones, the cameras—they all loomed closer, hemming me in.

Oh, God. I’d be on TV. Friends from school would know everything. Family who I hadn’t called would know what happened to the daughter they ignored. My life would be known by everyone.

Q tightened his hold, giving me strength.

But it doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter because Q was my life and no one else existed in our realm of togetherness.

I nodded, sucking up courage. “I’m privileged to share his life. He’s beyond incredible.” I cringed from my overly bright voice. I sound like a freaking five-year-old.

The reporter tilted his head. “Give me a real answer. You married the guy—why?”

My forehead furrowed. “Why?” What sort of ridiculous question was that?

Q stiffened, his muscles locking into place.

Hoping Q wouldn’t say anything reckless on a live broadcast, I said, “The truth? It’s simple. Marrying him was like coming home.”

A small murmur of satisfaction bled around the room. Cameras clicked faster, hands shot up with notepads and recording devices.

Questions rained.

“Tell us what happened.”

“What does fifty-eight mean to you?”

“Have you met any of the women your husband has saved?”

“Do you believe the cheating allegations that he uses the women he rescues?”

“Tell us about your wedding—is it true you released a thousand birds?”

Q held up his hand, silencing everyone with one savage downward sweep. “Enough! We’ve agreed to one interview, and those questions will be answered at the appropriate time.” Looking as if he wanted to shoot everyone in the room, he said, “I wish to thank everyone who donated to Feathers of Hope, for their continued support of Moineau Holdings, and for everyone who has been a true friend right from the beginning.” Holding up the scroll, he growled, “But this has been given incorrectly. I’m not deserving of this accolade. I’m nothing but a man with a past looking for a way to deserve everything I’ve been given.”