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Amalie needs me. And I need her. Is it love? I don't know because I've never been in love, but I know it could be. When Amalie is close, my world aligns. It's as simple as that. And I don't feel a bit guilty at how I’ve used her situation to get what I want. Because I’ll do whatever it takes to make this marriage a real one.
I know Amalie needs the safety I offer, and that will keep her close, but I hope it will lead to much more. I’ll ease her into it, let her get used to me, and hopefully fall in love with me. Then I’ll make a move.
I carefully trim my beard before I clean the sink out and wipe my face off. Leaving the towel on a hook, I walk to my closet. Jeans and my favorite olive-green T-shirt will do for the rest of the day. My wedding day. Fuck, I like the sound of that.
My cows will need to be checked later, but I have a guy who comes every day to take care of them. I can’t always guarantee I’ll be home to do it in my line of work, so I hired some help. I also have to get my cruiser and pick up Amalie's stuff. After that, I’ll make us dinner and get to know my stunning new wife a little more.
I leave my room to find Amalie curled up in the swing on the front porch, holding a book from my bookshelf. She’s fallen asleep and looks so beautiful and peaceful. Her lips are relaxed, pink and soft, while her long eyelashes skim her flushed cheeks. I want to kiss her eyelids and her pretty lips, spread her thighs, and taste her sweet nectar.
I move closer and slide carefully onto the swing next to her. She mumbles sleepily as I scoop her onto my lap and burrows into me so trustingly. I feather kisses over her forehead, eyes, and nose, inhaling her sweet honeysuckle scent.
She startles awake, her eyes popping open immediately, filled with fear. Every muscle in her body tenses as if she's caught in a nightmare. Which she likely is.
“It’s just me, sweetheart. It’s okay,” I murmur, smoothing my hand over her back in calming circles. "No one is going to hurt you anymore."
She relaxes, releasing a shaky breath. "Sorry. Bad dream."
"About your father?" I ask, my breath stirring the hair at her temple.
"Yes," she whispers, a shudder rippling down her back.
"He's the one who hurt you? Did this?" I touch her injured wrist gently.
Amalie nods. "I went to him three days before the wedding and pleaded with him again not to make me go through with it. H-he hit me so hard, he knocked me off my feet." She rubs the fading bruise on her jaw. "I fell awkwardly and hurt my wrist, but I was running on adrenaline and barely noticed the pain at the time. That was the moment I knew he wouldn't relent. The moment I knew I had to escape. It was easier to slip past my guards than I anticipated. I told them I had a final dress fitting. Despite my father's demands that they shadow my every move, they weren't allowed in the dressing room. Father wouldn't permit anyone to see me undressed, thank God. He wanted to ensure I remained pure, a sacrificial lamb for his fucked-up agenda."
I frown. “What about your mother? Couldn’t she protect you?”
“She died when I was two. I don’t remember her.”
Shit. No maternal love or guidance, and a greedy, grasping father. Amalie may have had a luxurious lifestyle, but she paid a heavy price for it.
She shivers again as if the thought disgusts her. “I slipped out the back and flagged down a taxi. From there, I bought a train ticket to Des Moines, then purchased a car from a dealer for cash, no questions asked. The whole time, I thought my father’s men would catch me, and then my life would truly be over. When you pulled me over, I hadn't slept for days, and my wrist was only getting worse. But I couldn't allow myself to stop, couldn't let him?—"
Amalie bites her lip as a single tear streaks down her cheek. I wrap my arms around her, holding her together as she falls apart, releasing all the fear and sorrow she's kept inside for so long.
"Let it all out. I've got you, my little runaway," I murmur, rocking her gently as she sobs into my shoulder. "You've been so brave, but I'm here now. No more pain. No more fear. You're safe now."
My voice is calm despite the fury seething beneath my skin at what her father did to her. Fucker doesn't deserve the tears of this wonderful woman. Doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her. Her fear and pain go far deeper than I could've imagined. It's clear what her life was like before she made her way to Shelby. To me.
My T-shirt quickly dampens with her tears, but I don't give a fuck. My woman—my wife—needs me. I don't care if I have to wring the damn thing out when she's done. I'll hold her forever if that's what it takes to ease her pain.
Finally, her tears ease into hiccups, and she relaxes into me, exhausted. God, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to put all that on you,” she says thickly.
I lift her chin and thumb the last of her tears from her cheeks, looking into her red-rimmed eyes. They're swollen from crying, but she's never looked more beautiful to me. "Never apologize for sharing with me, Amalie." My mouth quirks. "I'm your husband now, remember?"
Amalie hiccups a laugh. "Not like I could ever forget that. You're pretty unforgettable, Lucas." She sighs, her smile wry. "I tried to warn you what you were getting into with me. Maybe you should've listened."
I smooth her hair away from her face. "Oh, I listened. I don't scare easily, sweetheart. And if you're my reward, you're worth any sacrifice."
Her eyes soften at my words. "I don't know where you came from, Lucas Lawson, but I'm so glad it was you who pulled me over." She lifts a hand to my face, smoothing her thumb over my beard. "I'm safe when I'm with you. But it's so much more than that. You make me feel things I've never felt before." She licks her lips nervously. "I… Would you kiss me again?"
A groan rumbles up my chest. "Fuck, yes, Amalie. Thought you'd never ask."
Chapter Nine
Lucas
Amalie tilts her head, gazing up at me with trust and something else, something deeper. Dipping my head, I seal my lips to hers in a soft kiss. When they part for me, I slide my tongue inside to caress hers. My hand moves through her silky blonde hair to her nape, cupping her head and holding her where I want her as I feast on her mouth.
