“When, then?” She steps closer, close enough I can see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes. “After the ceremony? After whatever comes next? When?”
“When it’s safe.” I cup her face in my hands. “When I’m sure no one can hurt you. Not even me.”
She searches my face. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me that whatever this secret is, whatever you’re planning, it won’t end with me watching you die.”
The specificity of her fear catches me off guard. “Saint?—”
“Promise me, Calder.” Her hands grip my wrists, anchoring me to her. “Because if I lose you now, after everything, after Wayne, after the brand, I don’t know what I’ll become.”
The confession hangs between us, raw and honest in a way we rarely allow ourselves to be.
“I promise.” The words feel like a vow, heavier than the wedding vows we never got to take. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I don’t know if it’s a lie or not.
Her relief is visible, shoulders sagging slightly. Then she rises on her toes and presses her lips to mine, a kiss so gentle it breaks something inside me.
When she pulls back, there’s a new resolve in her eyes. “Take me shopping tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Shopping. In Billings. Before we go back.” She smiles, a small, determined curve of her lips. “If I’m going to be a Bishop wife, I might as well dress like one.”
The sudden shift throws me. “You want to go shopping?”
“Yes.” She steps back. “I want a day of pretending we’re normal. I want to walk down a street where no one knows our names. I want to try on clothes that don’t remind me of blood or dirt or survival.” She takes a deep breath. “I want one day of feeling like your wife instead of your prisoner before whatever comes next.”
I should say no. Should tell her we’re returning to Black Hollow Creek first thing in the morning.
Instead, I find myself nodding. “Okay. Shopping it is.”
The next day, we spend the morning in Billings’s upscale shopping district. Saint stays close to my side, eyes wide as she takes in the luxury around her.
“I’ve never seen so many zeros on a price tag,” she murmurs as we pass a window display.
“Bishop money,” I remind her. “Spend whatever you want.”
She gives me a sidelong look. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Live dangerously for once.”
“I think marrying you covered my quota for danger.” But she’s smiling as she says it, a teasing lilt to her voice that I rarely hear.
I guide her into a boutique with tasteful displays. The saleswoman approaches immediately, and before long, Saint is ushered into a fitting room with an armful of dresses.
“What do you think?” She emerges in a deep red dress that clings to her curves, the color making her eyes look like midnight.
I take my time looking, letting her see the appreciation in my gaze. “Perfect.”
A blush spreads across her cheeks. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I stand, moving closer. “Get it. And anything else you want.”
By lunchtime, Saint is carrying several bags and wearing a new pair of boots she insisted on changing into immediately. We sit at a café overlooking the river, talking about things we’ve never discussed before—favorite colors, music, books, and foods. Having a normal conversation with her feels strangely intimate.
