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I’m truly cursed.
But it only takes seconds to realize his shoulders are square and impossibly hard this morning. Different than before. The air around him feels icy from where I’m standing.
Unsure what to say, I watch him for a beat. When he finally shifts his weight, I softly say, “Have you been up long?”
The seconds stretch on, and he doesn’t move. Then he leans a hand against the windowsill and tightens his jaw.
Something’s wrong.
I’m not sure what changed since we had sex, but this wasn’t how I expected him to be this morning.
Could it be me? Shame burns around the base of my throat. This is only my second time with a man. With him!
He’s experienced. I won’t even think about all the women he’s had. That thought would unleash something inside of me that might not ever be contained back in its bottle.
Self-doubt glues me to the floor. He must have hated it. I did something wrong. Maybe something he could excuse of a virgin, but now...
He must expect me to be better.
Last time, he was doing me a favor—giving me the chance to be able to choose one thing, control one thing in my life. There was no time for any cuddling or to talk about anything. We drove back and didn’t cross paths again. He was just gone. There was no morning after. No awkwardness.
This time, things are different.
He could decide to leave me... or reject me and keep me, even worse. The sting of last time, the heartbreak will never go away.
With a shake, I remind myself—he didn’t leave me, he was taken. By the police.
And he chose to come back. For me.
Now this monumental shift and he still hasn’t looked at me, but I can’t seem to move or speak.
When he finally unclenches his jaw, it’s to issue a command in a hard tone. “Shower and get dressed now. We’re leaving soon.”
My throat is pinched tight. The pit of my gut is empty and unsteady. A thousand questions tangle up on my tongue, but I hold them back. Swallow them like metal jacks. I manage to choke out one word. “Okay.”
As I take a step back, he turns his head and looks at me over his shoulder. “The wedding is next week. I’m going to Chicago to have a meeting with Coghlan.”
His words stun me. My hand flutters to my throat. I’m not ready for a wedding. He said he wouldn’t force me. What’s happening?
“Is this because we had sex and I somehow submitted to you?”
The icy glitter in his eyes tightens my throat. “The wedding was happening regardless.”
My voice grows rough and sticks in my throat. “But you said you wouldn’t force me to do anything.”
He turns and takes a bristling step toward me. “I didn’t force you to have sex with me. Either time.”
Instinct wants to make me shrink back, but screw that. I’m not shrinking anymore. I hold my ground, tightening my shoulders. “No. No, you didn’t. But I’m not agreeing to get married.”
Jaw clenched, eyes darkening more, he says, “And I told you before, you don’t have a say in this. Now go and get ready. Things are happening fast. Lives are at risk.”
Yours. If you keep this up,I think, anger rising.
I glare at him. “Next week. A wedding. A Mafia wedding. How are you going to pull that off? There’s a million things to be done.”
“It’s already in the works. Everything.”
It feels like my foundation is being tested by a tornado. Bits and pieces are flying off of me while I try to keep my roots planted and stay upright.
