Page 97 of Jetmir

“What was I supposed to do?” I muttered under my breath. “He blinded my brother.”

“You were supposed to stay.” Jemir’s voice startled me and I spun around and found him leaning against the doorframe.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Does it matter?”

I shook my head, trying to clear his words from my mind. Even worse, the feelings it had stirred—or rather heightened—inside me.

After all this time spent longing for me, he’d kidnapped me. Years spent writing letters he never sent, all to decide that stealing me away was easier than letting me go.

And now… Now he was determined to punish me until I was moaning his name instead of cursing it.

I almost choked on my bitter laugh.

No matter how desperately I wanted to hate my husband, I couldn’t. All that remained was confusion.

Every lie and cruel thing he’d done warred against the tenderness I’d discovered in those letters, against the man who cooked for me, watched over me, and looked at me as though I were the center of his universe.

Of course, it didn’t erase the kidnapping. It didn’t excuse the lies. It didn’t make any of this right.

And yet, no matter how fiercely I told myself I wanted to leave, another part of me whispered that I stay. That it was only natural to gush over the man who wanted to give me my happily-ever-after.

That terrified me more than anything.

There were some wounds neither longing nor stolen moments could heal. His greatest betrayal still stood between us, and so did my brother’s blindness. Those two things remained an impossible wall neither of us had managed to tear down.

But I wanted to. God, how I wanted to!

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

JETMIR

Icould see a splash of emotions—all the ones I was starving for—in Anya’s eyes.

They flickered across her face in rapid succession—longing, fear, lust, need… maybe even love. Hope hit me so hard it nearly brought me to my knees.

Her hand trembled as it reached toward me.

I closed the distance in three long strides, gently catching her wrist before she could second-guess herself. With reverence, I pressed her palm against my chest, right over the frantic beat of my heart.

“Please, my angel.” My voice cracked. “I want to make our marriage work.” My lungs burned as I struggled to steady my breathing. “I know what I’ve done.” I swallowed hard. “I know I’ve made many mistakes. I know how much pain I’ve caused you.” My fingers tightened around hers, not to inflict pain, but to anchor myself. “Please… just give me one chance. One chance to be the husband I should’ve been from the beginning.”

A broken sob escaped her.

“How?” she whispered, tears spilling freely. “How could my parents ever forgive you? How are we supposed to fix what happened to my brother?”

Each word landed like a knife because she was right. The road to forgiveness—if that was even in the cards—would be bumpy.

The urge to pull her into my arms and shield her from every one of my mistakes consumed me.

“I know,” I murmured. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” I brushed a tear from her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “But give me a chance to earn it.”

She searched my face as if trying to find the lie she’d missed before.

“Give us a chance,” I added. “I swear to you, I’ll fix everything I possibly can. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right. I don’t care what it costs me.”

Those impossibly blue eyes held mine. They looked like the ocean before a storm: beautiful, endless, and filled with turmoil.