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I blurt out a laugh. “You sleep like the dead. I’m more likely to be stabbed by an intruder than you waking up to kill me.”
She was out in about 2.7 seconds last night and snored the entire night. I’m lucky I caught a few power naps in between her hogging the covers and rambling in her sleep.
“I do not sleep like the dead. Thanks to you and your midnight groping, I didn’t sleep at all.”
I can feel my hairline rise as I pull back onto the winding drive, heading toward Enoch’s. “Groping? That’s a stretch. My hand brushed your hip one time, and that’s only because you were on my side of the bed.”
“You gripped me like I was trying to run away.”
“No, I was asleep.”
This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve had in years, yet despite myself, I am enjoying the lightheartedness of it all. The fact is, she’s right. I did grip her hip during the night. It wasn’t because she was trying to run, though; it was because the heat of her body so close to mine had my cock so hard that whenever she brushed against me, thoughts of not treating her like a wife overcame me. She’s lucky all I did was grip her hip and not bury my cock in her ass.
“Are you going to answer my question or not?”
It takes me a minute to remember what question she asked me in the first place. Oh, right. “No. I still don’t trust you.”
“You should.”
I look at her like she’s crazy.
“I am your wife.” She shrugs. “And husbands should trust their wives.”
She’s been smoking Biscuit’s catnip if she believes that. “You realize this is a punishment and not a real marriage, don’t you?”
“And you realize that everyone—including your family—thinks that it is? If you want me to sell this marriage over pancakes this morning, you better sell it to me first. I can’t act like your wife if you don’t act like my husband in front of your family.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her my family already knows. They know she was the reason we moved to Georgia, and they definitely know I didn’t ask for her hand nicely. Unlike her, my family saw what her betrayal did to me.
But she doesn’t need to know all that.
“Fine.” I sigh. “What do you want to know?”
She jerks back momentarily as if shocked that I’m agreeing with her. “How did you find Magda and the guys?”
The house of Enoch comes into view as I think back to many years ago.
“I didn’t find them.”
I put the car in park and turn it off. For a moment, all we do is sit in the driveway. But then the front door opens, and Enoch steps out.
Reese’s eyes flick to the door.
“I didn’t find Magda and the guys,” I repeat. “Enoch found me first.”
Several seconds go by before she speaks, but I can hear the betrayal in her voice when she does. “You tricked me.”
“No, I didn’t. I gave you an option, and you married me rather than go to jail.”
She shakes her head as Enoch stands at the door, looking confused. I hold my hand up, signaling for him to wait.
“Enoch married us,” she says, still staring at the man I call Father.
“He did.”
“He’s a judge,” she notes.
“He is,” I agree, “but here, we call him teacher—the Father of Eden.”
