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She jerked as if I’d slapped her.
“I’m not tryin’ to hurt your feelings, sugar,” I said, tightening my hand around hers when she tried to pull away. “I’m just sayin’ that those marriages work for the people you know, right? I’d say we have a better reason than most for gettin’ married. I won’t ever hit you. I won’t control what you’re doin’ or make you do anythin’ you don’t wanna do.”
“Why would you even suggest this?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears. “Why would you want to get married?”
I debated telling her I loved her, but I knew she’d laugh in my face. I thought about using the baby, saying that it deserved to be born to married parents—but I couldn’t quite choke that out.
In the end, I just told her the truth—or as much truth as I was willing to admit.
“Marriage is the best way I can protect you and our baby,” I said simply.
Chapter 9
Esther
“Protect me fromwhat?” I asked gently. Otto’s jaw was clenched and every muscle from the neck down was tense.
“From your fucked-up family,” he replied flatly, staring into my eyes.
When I opened my mouth to counter him, his eyes narrowed and I swallowed back the words.
“Leavin’ out the fact that your pop set you up to be collateral damage like it was nothin’,” he said, waving his hand. “They fuckin’ left you out in the middle of nowhere as what? Punishment? Anythin’ coulda happened out there. You were livin’ like a homeless person with no power.”
“I had a home.”
“Semantics,” he shot back. “You know I’m right. Why are you arguin’ with me?”
Because I couldn’t seem to help myself. I’d spent so long telling myself that it wasn’t really as bad as it seemed and I couldn’t stop. If I stopped that meant that my family had tucked me away like a dirty secret and forgotten me.
“Marry me,” he ordered, his eyes moving from my hair to my eyes to my lips. “We’ll make our own family and yours can fuck off.”
I let out a startled and completely inappropriate giggle.
“Plus, you can have my mom. You like her. She’s nice, right? There you go.” He smiled encouragingly.
I looked down at my lap. Everything was happening so fast. Was it only the day before that I’d woken up in my littlecabin completely unaware that anything was going to change? How in the world was I sitting in Eugene with Otto Hawthorne discussing marriage? My head felt like it was spinning.
It was hard to admit, even to myself, that it was exactly what I’d prayed for. That Otto would swoop in and save me. That he’d be the answer to everything and once he’d shown up I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore. That I wouldn’t have to worry that I was going to go into labor with no one to help me. That he’d take care of us and I wouldn’t have to give our baby to strangers the way my parents planned.
In my fantasy world, we’d get married and go see my parents and they’d be reticent at first, but they’d be so glad that I had a ring on my finger that they’d bend a little. Maybe they wouldn’t have us to dinner, but at least I’d get to see Noel again.
Instead, he was trying to protect me from my family. There wouldn’t be any stopping by their house. There wouldn’t be any relief in my mom’s eyes or a quietly presented blanket for the baby that she’d secretly crocheted when my dad wasn’t home. If I married Otto, I had a feeling that I’d never get to see my family again unless we crossed paths at the grocery store.
What did my dad always say? God answered prayers but that didn’t mean you always got the answer you wanted.
“Marriage is forever,” I said, my voice cracking as I looked at him. “I don’t—I don’t want to get divorced. Wecan’tjust get married because you feel guilty for something that wasn’t your fault or because—”
Otto put his hand over my mouth in exasperation. “Not even married yet and you’re already talkin’ about divorce.”
“I’m just trying to tell you that I don’t believe in temporary marriages,” I mumbled, his palm still gently covering my mouth.
“Well, lucky for you, when I make a promise I keep it,” he replied, dropping his hand. “Got no plans to leave you.”
“You can’t know that,” I said reasonably. “For all you know I snore and—and poop my pants.”
“Snoring and pooping your pants are the worst things you can think of?” he asked in amusement.
“Maybe I’m a terrible cook,” I continued, ignoring when his smile made my stomach flutter. “Maybe I watch really terrible shows and I’m rude. Maybe I’m a really mean, rude, awful person.”
