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Yeah, odd, I knew.

But, in my own way, I was immune to violence. Hearing his statement didn’t make me cower, didn’t fill me with fear.

If anything, I liked it.

I responded to it.

Fucked up, but true. Because that growl? Signified safety. Protection. And I’d never had that before. Certainly not from my father. He was too high up the ladder to touch, but Eoghan could touch him. Hehadtouched him, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to convey just how grateful I was for what he’d done for me today.

Though I had that in mind, I let my gaze drift to his once more, sending him a silent message, one I wasn’t sure he’d be able to interpret.

Men always hurt women.

He wasn’t mine—sure, in name he was, but we hadn’t had sex. We didn’t know each other. We’d barely spoken all day, and what we had discussed wasn’t exactly talk of love.

Eoghan couldn’t hurt me more than my father had, at least, well, he could sexually, but I didn’t get that vibe from him. Still, pain…that was all men like him gave to women like me. I was telling him I knew that. Showing him what I’d gone through already, and silently asking him not to treat me the same way.

He stepped forward, still looking as neat as he had when I’d arrived at the church. In fact, it was uncanny how put together he was, especially in the face of my own appearance.

His suit wasn't even rumpled, the sleeves showing few creases. If anything, he looked so immaculate and tidy that I wondered if, halfway through the day, he’d changed suits or something. His hair was still well-coiffed, and even his chin was stubble free.

Mentally, I filtered through the day’s events, trying to see if it was possible for him to have gone off and fucked someone, then changed clothes and showered—but, as far as I was aware, he hadn’t. Yeah, while that sounded insane, it was possible. Antoni hadn’t noticed Father eying up and fondling his new bride because he’d been fucking her maid of honor! I’d caught them at it in the bathroom.

So while it was distinctly doable, I didn’t think he had. Nor had I seen any giggling women trying to make eye contact with me, rubbing my nose in the fact that my groom had just slept with them—and trust me, in our circles, that was exactly what would happen.

He came to a halt a few inches away from me, but I could feel his heat, his warmth sinking into me like I was freezing, even if I wasn’t.

Then he raised his hands, let them hover over my shoulders for a second, and I watched him, watched him hesitate, before he bridged the gap.

He stared at me, and I stared at him, then his fingers traced up and down my arms. My sleeves got in the way of direct contact, but it still felt good.

“I’m sorry.”

I tilted my head to the side, not willing to allow him to use the word ‘sorry’ as a whitewashing tool. “For what?”

His eyes narrowed, but his top lip quirked to the side. “You’re not going to let me get away with shit, are you?” Before I could answer, he rumbled, “Probably for the fucking best.”

I arched a brow, then winced when that did all kinds of things to the bruises and cuts on my face. He saw it. Of course. But his soothing hands didn’t change in pace or strength. Not by an inch did his reaction surge through him, changing how he touched me.

His level of control surprised me, and I’d admit, it appealed to me on a base level.

I was used to hot tempers, raging moods, and backhands that were triggered by a wrong word… Eoghan wasn’t like that.

My throat tightened, and I merely replied, “I can be as silent as you want.”

His brow puckered at that. “I don’t want a doll for a wife.”

I smiled. “That’s exactly what my father said you’d want in a woman.”

“Yeah, well, as much as the fucker knows about us, I doubt he comprehends the kind of woman I’d like to marry, and considering I haven’t married any fucking one, he knows shit.” His nostrils flared. “I don’t know what I want in a wife, honestly, but I can guaran-fucking-tee that I don’t want you to be scared to say a word.

“I already told you I won’t hurt you—”

“I know. I believe you.” Not physically he wouldn’t.

He froze at that. “You do?”

“You don’t have the temperament for it.”

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