Listen to Riley.
If only she understood what she was asking.
“Have a wonderful time, Mum,” I whispered. I could hear the hollowness in my voice, but she couldn’t. “Everything is perfect.”
Marcus gave my shoulder a firm, approving squeeze. “You two look after each other. We’ll see you soon.”
They climbed into the sleek black sedan, its leather seats swallowing them whole. The car pulled away with smooth indifference, heading toward the airport, toward the honeymoon, toward a world where their joy was untouched, undefended, complete.
The moment the vehicle disappeared behind a veil of palms, the air seemed to thin. The remaining silence stretched between Riley and me like a taut thread, humming with all the things unspoken and all the things he had every intention of saying.
Another black sedan rolled to a stop before us. The one meant for us. For him. For me.
“Ready, princess?” he murmured.
His voice was a quiet blade. Soft. Sharp. Slipping under skin without breaking the surface.
I turned to him slowly. “You shouldn’t have gone into my room again.”
He tilted his head, studying me with an expression that pretended to be thoughtful. “Shouldn’t I? I figured we’re family now. Families help each other.” He let that sink in, then lowered his voice even more, just for me. “Besides, I wanted to see what you packed. Gives me a sense of what I’ll be… dealing with.”
A flush shot up my spine, equal parts anger and the kind of fear that made my bones feel hollow.
He smiled wider. Innocent to any passerby. Lethal to me.
“You should thank me,” he added lightly, picking up his passport from his suitcase and tucking it into his back pocket. “I’m making this really easy for you.”
“Easy,” I repeated, the word cracking slightly in my mouth.
His eyes gleamed. “For now.”
He crossed the space between us with that silent, predatory ease he carried everywhere, the early sunlight carving lines of gold and shadow across his shoulders. He reached for his own jet-black suitcase, muscles shifting beneath his white T-shirt as if even the smallest movement was an assertion of control. Then his hand slid toward mine. My suitcase. My things. My boundary.
Something in me snapped, fast and instinctive.
“I’ve got that,” I said sharply, the veneer I had worn all morning peeling away in an instant. My steps were quick, almost too quick, my hand reaching the handle a fraction of a second before his fingers closed around it.
He froze. Not fully. Just enough to let me know he had registered the rebellion.
He glanced over his shoulder, his smirk slow and unhurried, as intimate as a touch that knows exactly where it leaves itsmark. “Hardly. It’s heavy, princess.” His voice dipped, warm honey over steel. “And your mother asked me to look after you. This counts.”
“I don’t need looking after,” I said, curling my fingers around the handle with a white-knuckled grip. “I can carry my own bag.”
It was such a small hill to die on, but it was mine. My one scrap of territory. My single, pathetic act of defiance in a morning where he had already trespassed everywhere else.
He turned fully this time, facing me head-on, his eyes dark and almost luminous in the tropical light. They shimmered with wicked amusement, the kind that understood everything I was trying to hide.
“You needed looking after last night.” The words were soft, meant only for me. “If I remember correctly.”
Heat flashed up my neck. Anger. And something I refused to name.
Before I could snap back, he stepped closer, lowering his voice to a velvet growl. “A gentleman insists, Luna. And besides…” His gaze dipped to my suitcase with a knowing flicker. “I know what’s in here.”
Blood roared in my ears.
He leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek, smelling faintly of mint and sin. “Let’s not start the trip with unnecessary resistance. It makes me want to test your limits early.”
I stiffened, anger fusing with fear until my ribs ached from the pressure. He placed his hand over mine, large, warm, unyielding. Not yanking. Not forcing. Just letting me feel exactly how impossible it would be to fight him.
