And it felt exactly right.
Now she's standing in front of me in clothes several sizes too big, hair still damp from the shower, and I'm trying to figure out how to tell her that the arrangement she thinks she made with me isn't the one I'm offering.
"Sit," I say, gesturing to the bed.
She hesitates for half a second, then obeys. Folds herself onto the edge of the mattress with her hands in her lap, spine straight despite the oversized hoody swallowing her frame. The posture is all careful control, but I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
Awareness stretches out from her. I can feel it.
I pull the vanity chair around and sit, keeping the distance minimal. Close enough that she has to look at me. Close enough that she can't pretend this conversation isn't happening.
"You offered to work for me," I begin.
Her eyes flick to mine, uncertain but ready to take whatever role I give her. "Yes."
"You won't be."
Confusion crosses her face. Good. She should be confused. Because what I'm about to propose isn't logical. It isn't strategic. It's the opposite of every decision I've made in my entire life.
"I don't need household staff," I continue. "I have Marie to manage that that. I don't need an assistant. Stefan handles the business side of things."
"Then what—"
"What I need," I cut in, leaning forward slightly, "is someone who won't betray me."
Her breath catches, just barely.
"You proved something last night," I say. "When you gave up your brother. When you chose a consequence you couldn't take back over the comfortable lie your family would have preferred."
A small frown line appears above her nose as she opens her mouth to say something, but I hold up my hand to stop her.
"You chose loyalty. To me. Over them."
Her jaw tightens. "I chose myself."
"Because you believed I would protect you." I hold her gaze, not letting her look away. "And I will. But protection comes with expectations, Matilda. It comes with boundaries and structure and a very specific kind of arrangement."
She's not stupid. I can see her mind working, trying to piece together where this is going. Trying to figure out if she should be afraid.
She should be. Because once I say this out loud, there's no taking it back.
"I'm offering you a place here," I say. "As my wife."
The silence that follows is absolute.
Her eyes widen, lips parting on an inhale that doesn't become words. I watch the colour drain from her face, then flood back in a rush of pink that climbs her neck and settles high on her cheekbones.
"Wife?" The word comes out strangled.
"Yes."
"You—" She blinks rapidly, like she's trying to clear her vision. "You can't be serious."
"Marriage is not something I would joke about."
She stands abruptly, hands coming up like she needs something to do with them. Paces two steps toward the window, then stops. Turns back to me.
"You killed my brother six hours ago."
