Chapter 1
Rose
The scent of fresh,homemade brioche fills the kitchen as I take it out of the oven and set it on the wooden countertop of the island. Our cat, Harley, jumps on the surface and observes me. I tap the dough with my index finger while the warm notes of vanilla and cinnamon drift around me. Perfect. Vox is going to love it. Right on cue, the entry bell rings, and I run toward it. My man stands there, tall and muscular, tattooed, dressed in black, giving me a grin that heats me from the inside out. And just like every day since we moved in, I leap into his arms and press a long, soft kiss to his lips. His hands catch me easily, lifting me off the floor. He never stops doing that. Holding me like I weigh nothing.
“I gotta admit,” he says in that rough, low voice of his, “I'm never gonna get tired of you welcoming me home like that.” I smile against his mouth before he lowers me down and kisses my forehead.
“I baked you something,” I sign, hands jittery with excitement against my apron, tied tight over my favorite dress.A light blue like my eyes. Only this dress isn’t heavy and long like the ones I used to wear. It floats around me, soft and airy, cinched at the waist, short-sleeved with a square neckline. Vox says I look like an angel in it. And he stares at me a lot when I wear it, which I’m pretty sure is a good thing.
“I know,” he chuckles, “you got flour on your cheek, angel.” His thumb brushes my jaw and sweeps the flour away.
I blush and sign, “Come, taste it.” Then I tug him toward the kitchen. He follows without hesitation, grinning. Just like he promised, our house is prettier than anything I ever imagined. A quiet family neighborhood, a big garden, and many rooms to fill with children one day. There’s bricks outside and flowers on the windowsills. I planted roses everywhere and even started growing tomatoes. Vox built me a shed for my gardening tools, and I love sitting on the bay window in our kitchen to see the garden, especially when it rains. There’s something comforting about being inside with a cup of tea while raindrops race down the glass.
At first, I was unsure how to decorate. I’d never owned anything meant purely to make a home feel warm. But over the past year, I added cushions, rugs, little pink trinkets in the kitchen, and candles in the living room. Vox always encourages me to add more, to express myself, but he never pushes. He knows all this is still new to me.
A year ago, I was floating half-dead in a pool during a ceremony that would have bound me forever to an old, disgusting criminal. Vox saved me, and although we moved here right away, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows like he likes to say. I’m still learning about this outside world I was taught to fear. Every day brings beauty and challenges.
“It smells great, sweetheart.” His hand settles at the small of my back, and I step back into his chest as I cut into the brioche. A sharp sigh escapes me as I shake out my hand. Too hot. I almostburned myself. “Careful, angel.” Vox eases me aside, pulls a knife from the drawer, and cuts the brioche free from the mold. He slices it cleanly, then takes my hand to inspect my fingers, his familiar frown softening my heart. He’s protective even over the smallest things.
“I’m okay,” I mouth, but he keeps watching until he’s certain. His lips brush the tiny red spot, and a shiver runs through me. This man knows exactly how to make me blush.
“Here,” he says, handing me a slice on a little white porcelain plate I found at a secondhand store. The seller told me it belonged to a wedding set. I like the idea of wedding dishes in our home, even if we’re not married yet. The gold band and square pink diamond on my finger promise we will be in a week. I still can’t believe it. Just the two of us at City Hall with Shadow and Erin. The last ceremony I attended was crowded and horrific, so I didn’t want another big wedding. And since we’re far from the rest of the club in Knoxville, keeping it simple felt right. Vox asked Shadow to be his best man, and I chose Erin. The four of us and a simple lunch at home after. I found my dress in a vintage shop not far from here. It’s hanging in my closet, and I can’t wait to see his face when I walk toward him next Sunday. Ares gave us his blessing and promised the whole club would gather in Knoxville to celebrate the next time we visit. I’m relieved everything worked out. I just want things to be simple. Vox and I, cake and laughter. He grabs a slice with his hand, no plate needed, and devours it in two bites, a low hum rumbling from his chest.
“Rose, Rose, Rose,” he says, shaking his head, palms on the counter before signing, “what am I gonna do with you? First, you’re a brilliant gardener, now a baker? I’m gonna have to step up my game.” He grins and I melt into his arms.
“I love when you sign to me,” I sign, then whisper in his ear, “I…lo-lo-love… you.” My vocal cords haven’t improved, sospeaking is still painful. He’s the only person I do it for. No one else understands what it takes to force out a single syllable. I used to think it felt like chewing glass, but now, it’s like a gift. A way to show how deeply I love him. So on these rare occasions, when I want him to hear it, I try.
“I love you, angel.” He cups my face, concern flickering like it always does when I speak. “Thank you for this.” He motions to the brioche with his chin. “Tell me about your day.” His nose brushes mine.
I pull back a little to sign, “Couch?”
He nods and lifts me easily, carrying me to our soft, cushy beige couch overlooking the garden. The sky looks like cotton candy tonight, pink and orange blending with pale blue, fluffy clouds drifting in between. A tall tree shields us from the neighbor’s window, and once I settle on Vox’s lap, our hands laced together, I bite my lower lip. I read somewhere that happiness lives in the small moments. And it’s true. The little things are the ones that matter most.
Vox
To go from being covered in blood by lunch to ending my Friday with my girl in my arms has a taste I can’t quite explain. She baked something incredible, and she’s wearing that dress I can never keep my eyes off. Same color as her blue pools. Icy and mesmerizing, catching me the way a mermaid would a helpless sailor. I wouldn’t mind drowning in those eyes. There are worse ways to go. A year has passed since she escaped her cult, and I’ve had the privilege of watching her grow, change, and discover an entire world by my side. As tempting as it is to shield her from everything, I can’t. I’m learning to let go. To let her explore, even if it means she might get hurt. It’s a work in progress.
“Mrs. Oxen,” I trail off as her fingers brush the stone on her ring. Ever since joining the club, I stopped using my real name and went by Vox, a contraction of Victor Oxen. But now that I’ve got my girl, knowing she’ll carry the name I once thought would die with me after my family passed… My chest swells with pride.
Mrs. Rose Oxen.
My wife.
“What if… What if you hate my dress?” she signs, and I catch her hand, dropping a kiss to her palm.
“Whatever you choose will be perfect, angel. Really.” I lock onto her blue eyes. “As long as you say yes, that’s all that matters.” She gives me a small smile with nerves tucked behind it. I get it. Marriage is no small thing. And after everything she has survived in just one year, her life was flipped upside down fast. She moved across the country, got a part-time job at a florist, started an online art program at Seattle University, and began discovering a world that used to be forbidden. Rose is the bravest woman I know. “Everything’s gonna be okay, angel. I got you. Always.” I kiss her forehead. “C’mon. Tell me about your day.” That’s my favorite part. Watching her sign every detail that made her smile or surprised her. Seeing that excitement spark in her eyes. There’s no better feeling, especially after a rough day drowning in paperwork over contracts, suppliers, and warehouse accounts. Right before lunch, one of our guys dragged in a traitor who snitched to another Chapter. We gave him a piece of our mind in the warehouse basement, then I went back to my office and my mountain of files. Same old routine.
“I had class this morning,” she signs. “A conference on historical paintings and how to interpret them. It was pretty interesting. The teacher talked a little too fast, though. Now I need to pick a painting and describe it for the next class. Then, lunch, and then I baked this afternoon.” She sighs softly, her golden hair sliding down her shoulders.
“Oh, and Erin emailed me about the wedding,” she adds, “and asked if I needed help with my hair.”
“And?”
“And I said yes. Look at that,” she lifts a handful of her thick wild hair, “I need help if I want to make it look all polished and pretty.” She and Erin grew close this year. They write emails back and forth since Rose can’t talk on the phone. I love that she has a friend on the outside who understandsourworld. “What about you?” she signs. I glance toward the garden. A few new vegetables are sprouting thanks to her hard work. We’ve got just enough space for her to grow the things she wants, tall trees giving us privacy, and the city close enough that she can walk everywhere. I plan on teaching her how to drive this year. She insists she can’t do it, but I know she’ll be great. One thing at a time.
“Routine, sweetheart. Nothing out of the ordinary.” I spare her the darker parts. She already knows what my work is. No point rubbing salt in it. When I step into our home, I leave that world at the door. “What are we watching tonight?”
“No action movies. I’ve had enough of those,” she signs.
