My husband raises a brow.
“For the activities you have planned for after the wedding, of course,” I say, and his face lights up with a deft grin.
“Not with the pace at which you’re eating,” he says, stabbing a piece of my pheasant with his fork and popping it in his mouth.
We sit in silence for a moment, watching the reception play out beneath us. Most everyone appears to be done eating, and the chairs have been moved out of the way to make room for dancing. In the far corner, Michael sways and spins to the music. I watch as Maddox saunters toward him, soon mirroring Michael’s dance moves. I giggle, watching Maddox’s bulky form attempt Michael’s rather erratic movements.
“You’re not the only one who’s amused,” says Nolan, nodding toward the other side of the deck.
Charlie is watching from afar, hand over her mouth to suppress what I imagine has to be a giggle. Soon, she’s prancing over to the other side of the deck, and joining Maddox andMichael in on the dance. When the song shifts, Michael takes her hand, and Maddox takes the other, and the three spin around in a circle, falling down at Michael’s cues.
“You should go down there,” says Nolan. “Dance with them.”
I shake my head. “No. For the longest time, Michael only ever interacted with family. And then, when he started interacting with others, it was only with family around. Watching him have fun and play without me nearby—that’s another dream I never thought I’d get to see.”
And then, for what has to be the seventh time tonight, the tears are rolling down my cheeks.
My husband catches them with a crooked finger, then lifts my chin to look at him. “I can’t stop staring at you.”
I blush. “Charlie did pretty well with my hair, didn’t she?”
Nolan shakes his head. “No—I mean, yes—but it’s just that I keep looking over and thinking ‘that’s my wife.’”
A question lingers on my tongue, but it’s stuck behind the fear of how presumptuous it might sound.
“Ask it,” Nolan says, reading my mind despite his earlier assertion that he couldn’t.
“When did you first imagine it—me being your wife, I mean?” The question comes out unsure, dry, cracked.
Nolan sits back in his chair, examines me for a long while.
“It’s alright if you don’t remember,” I say softly.
“No, I remember. It’s just that there are two possible answers, and I’m not sure which one you’re looking for.”
“I assure you I won’t leave you if you tell me both.”
“Very well, then,” says Nolan, crossing his arms. “The first time I imagined proposing to you was the day I overheard Peter’s pitiful excuse for a proposal. It was a fleeting thought, at first. But only because I caught myself enamored with a daydream of how I would do it better. Of how it would be about you and not me, and how I’d have picked out the ring beforehand. How I’dmake sure you knew it was because I’d been pondering it for a long while, not because in the heat of the moment, I simply wanted to get into bed with you…” The corner of his lip twitches. “Not that the two are mutually exclusive.”
My heart races in my chest as he continues, “But I caught myself thinking about it over the next few days. At that point, I told myself it was my Mating Mark infiltrating my thoughts. But even then, I knew it wasn’t just that. I knew you were kind, and though there were so many things about you that irritated me to the very core of my being, I knew I wanted better for you than what I’d overheard. I told myself I was just feeling protective.”
“And the second time?” I ask.
“The second time…” he says, “was the night we spent at the Carlisles’. Throughout our time there, I kept finding myself forgetting to pretend. Calling you my wife felt so natural, so right… It terrified me. That was why I was so cruel to you that evening, I’m ashamed to admit.”
“You weren’t cruel,” I say, thinking of Nolan cornering me by the desk in the bedroom the Carlisles had arranged for us. “I’d just pried into your past. You weren’t ready to tell me what had happened with Iaso, but I weaseled the information out of Lady Carlisle anyway. It wasn’t fair to you.”
Nolan’s brow lowers. “That’s where you’re wrong, Darling. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t ready to tell you. Iaso’s death was as integral to your past as it was to mine. It was selfish to pretend I owned it. And it was worse to say the awful things I did to you that night.”
I reach my hand across the table and find his. His fingers actually flinch underneath my gentle touch. Like he’s not expecting it or doesn’t feel as if he deserves it. “You could always make it up to me now.”
Nolan’s eyes fill with gratitude, and he pulls his chair forward so that he’s right in front of me, his knees and thighs pressing inon the outside of mine. My heart pounds as he leans in close and traces my Mating Mark with his finger. “Do you know what I see when I look at you, Darling?”
“What?” I breathe.
“I see the Mate I never deserved. I see the adversary to my every flaw. I see the furnace that softens the iron and turns it into something moldable, something useful, the furnace that turns iron into a blade. I see the sugar that makes the tea less bitter. I see a woman whose strength was always too elusive for me to recognize. A quiet strength, the type that endures. I see patience and kindness and a woman who can douse a runaway fire with a soft word. I see a woman who would do anything, who has done anything, to protect her family. I see a soft embrace for Michael to wrap himself up in. A patient sister who will play the same game with him for hours on end. I see…” He takes my arm and traces his finger over the red marks that Michael left as he scratched me earlier, when he was panicking over Nolan trying to carry him. “I see someone who carries the pain for others so they don’t have to bear it on their own.”
I’m torn in two at his words, because as much as my heart swells at the thought Nolan thinks all these things about me, my mind is caught on one quality and one alone.
