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They’d disowned me at first, writing a letter that’d made it clear they no longer considered me a son after I’d opted to run away instead of attending the prestigious college I’d already been accepted to. But I’d been doggedly optimistic, continuing to send letters home with well-wishes and assurances that I was still alive despite others’ attempts otherwise. Eventually they started writing back, both relieved I was safe and begrudgingly impressed by the skills and success I’d achieved without a college degree.
I’d moved to Virginia after leaving the military, not wanting to walk into a household of continued tension and figuring it’d be smart to be close to so many military bases and government sites. My gut instinct had paid off, but not in the way I expected.My bodyguarding and security jobs had all been duds, but I’d met Alex, putting me on the path I had stayed on for the past half-dozen years.
My parents couldn’t deny my success now; not with the zeroes in my bank account, the legitimacy of Alex’s and my security business, the happiness clear on my face and in my voice whenever they visited. But the awkwardness hadn’t fully dissipated, even these years later, the disappointment that I hadn’t followed the carefully carved path they laid out for me always simmering underneath any pleasant conversation we had.
It’s not that my parents were bad people. They just failed to recognize me as my own person with my own wants and dreams, regardless of the DNA they'd contributed. Even my decisions that had resulted in my success as an adult were considered the wrong decisions. I was sure they’d maintain that the decisions they would have made for me - if I let them - would’ve been better than the ones I made myself.
But it seemed as if I might have finally made a decision they approved of, the stiffness in their shoulders and the tight set of their jaws loosening as they chatted with my wife.
She was so even-keeled, even while standing in her wedding dress, forced to marry a half-stranger surrounded by her father’s mob associates, all while pretending that her father was simply her dad’s boss. She was stoic and sweet, even as my parents inundated her with questions. Humble as they forced her to list off her achievements: graduating summa cum laude from the local, small-yet-reputable university, getting her master’s degree in editing and publishing, her current job editing novels remotely for a large publishing company in New York.
They excused themselves after thoroughly vetting my wife, citing an early flight the next morning, my mother adding at thelast second, “It was so nice to meet you, Rory, especially after hearing Dev go on about you these past few months.”
And with that bomb dropped, they left us alone at the table, Rory looking at me in surprise at my mother’s words but also a handful of hurt, which she tried to hide under a veil of nonchalance. I didn’t want her to continue the line of thinking I knew was in her mind, the idea that she’d filled in the place of another woman I’d told my parents about, so I resolved to clear up this bit of miscommunication quickly.
“Let’s dance,” I told her, reaching my hand out. It took longer than I hoped for her to take it, and when she did, I didn’t hesitate to lead her onto the dance floor, pulling her into me as we swayed along with the music. Most of the crowd had cleared out, Cillian’s closest associates and Rory’s adoptive family members the only ones left this late.
It was the most alone we’d been all day, everyone too focused on their own dance partners or the slices of cake that had been handed out to watch as I pulled Rory tight against my body. Bex and Wren swayed a few feet from us, Bex’s chin resting on the top of Wren’s head, even in heels, and the look of them finally prompted me to speak.
“You know, when Bex first met Wren, she hated her.” Rory glanced up at my words but kept quiet, as if waiting for me to continue. I knew she’d heard details from the girls, how Alex and Ames had gotten together and how Bex and Wren had started dating, but I doubted she knew this part.
“Or at least, she pretended she did. She was good at pretending, most of us falling for her act at first. Until she started protecting Wren. When she spent all her time watching her, being with her, the cracks started to show. She got possessive and jealous, and was somehow even meaner.” I chuckled at memories: Bex pushing Wren in the pool, theirapple fight when we went apple picking, how she looked at Wren when she thought we weren’t paying attention.
“I could see that she was close to breaking, to admitting how she felt, so I invited her to spar one morning. And I told her that when you’re responsible for protecting someone, it forms a strange sort of bond, one you can’t find anywhere else. I understood how she felt, because it was how I’d started to feel about you.”
Rory tried to pull back from my embrace to look up at me, but I just pulled her closer, keeping a tight grip on her waist. I’d kept my distance for two weeks, and I refused to let her pull away any further on our wedding night.
She settled as I leaned down, whispering the rest in her ear, “I told my parents about you months ago because you wereimportantto me. I spent all my time watching you, thinking about you, guarding you. I couldn’t help but tell my parents about you, and I couldn’t say I was stalking you as part of a job, so I told them you were my girlfriend.”
“And now I’m your wife,” she said, words partially muffled as she finally relaxed into me, body leaning against mine as we swayed.
“And now you’re my wife,” I agreed, pulling her closer, wishing I could pull her close enough that she’d never leave.
We danced for almost an hour, my hands never leaving Rory’s body as one song switched to the next, keeping her close even when the music grew too upbeat for a slow dance. We danced until the wedding was over, when only the six of us were left. Ames asleep on Alex’s shoulder at one of the long tables, Wren tipsy and flushed while she danced in Bex’s arms, Rory still nestled in my arms.
The drive home was quiet,more from exhaustion than awkwardness. Something had changed in Rory since our kiss at the altar, though I hadn’t been able to quite untangle what it was. She seemed lighter, with less tension around her mouth and less anxiety in her eyes as we took our wedding pictures and danced at the reception. I couldn’t tell if her relief was because the wedding was over or because of our kiss, and I only hoped she felt a modicum of the chemistry arcing between us when her lips touched mine.
I’d been half-hard since, unable to get the taste of her off my lips, the feeling of her teeth off my tongue. I wanted to tear her dress off myself, wanted to tuck my head underneath the skirt that hid her body from me. Wanted to discover what she wore underneath her dress, whether she’d bought anything at the lingerie store I knew Rory went to with the girls, Alex’s incessant stalking of his own fiancée meaning we knew everywhere the three of them had gone the day before.
But my lust was forgotten as we made our way toward the house, the lights we’d left on barely bright enough to illuminate our path as we ducked beneath the bare branches of the cherry tree. Too dim to allow me to see the clues until after I’d unlocked the door, the hallway light escaping and highlighting the changes. The slight tilt of the welcome mat, the scratch on the paint of the front door that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.
I pulled out the gun I’d had in my waistband all night, scared the outline would show through the fabric of my suit if I wore a holster. It was too late to call for backup from Bex or Alex, thetwo of us already in the house, and I didn’t want to divide my attention by calling.
“Hey Red, do you know how to shoot a gun?”
“Dad taught me,” she confirmed, voice quiet but steady as she answered me. Her words, coupled with the resolve in her voice, only proved to me how perfect Rory was for me.
The type of woman who didn’t shy away from danger, who accepted its presence and was used to the violence that accompanied the kind of life I led. The kind of life she would always be a part of. A partner I’d want by my side, protecting me just as much as I protected her.
“Perfect,” I answered, handing her the smaller gun I had strapped to my ankle. “Keep close,” I told her before beginning my walk through the house. Rory’s finger threaded through my belt loop as if she worried I’d leave her behind. Just another thing I’d work on convincing her of: the fact that she wasnevergetting rid of me.
Nothing in the dining room was askew, and the kitchen looked the same, save for a scuff mark at the transition from the kitchen to the living room. I lowered my gun when I realized the couch was missing, doubting any assassin would take the time to redecorate my home before attempting to murder my wife.
The rest of downstairs was untouched, and I guessed what I would find before opening Rory’s bedroom door. Her bed was gone - not just the mattress, but the frame as well, along with the large chair I’d gotten her for reading. Everything else was in place; the drawers closed, her hangers unmoved in the closet.
“Dev, what’s going on?” Rory didn’t sound scared, just confused as she stepped up beside me, taking in the items missing from her bedroom.
“Fucking Bex,” I muttered, pulling out my phone and dialing her number. It didn’t take much thought on my part to identify the culprit as soon as I realized the intruder had been here toprank rather than harm. The only person with the balls to break into my house and steal my furniturethe night of my weddingwas my most recently acquired co-worker, though I couldn’t quite fathom her reasoning.
