She nods, her eyes narrowed. “Sort of,” she replies slowly, and I can see I’m getting through to her.
“So then you understand that men like Ali Koskos won’t be able to touch you if you are mine. Uh. I mean, if you have my name,” I correct myself quickly.
“This is ridiculous. You can’t make me do this. Just take me home. Back to the dorm. I’ll go to the police or something.” She doesn’t sound like she believes her own words.
“Trust me, the police can’t help you,” I sigh again, losing patience. Pushing my fingers through my hair, I feel the frustration building inside me.
How do I make her understand?
“Fine, I won’t go to the police, but let me go home. I can leave the city,” she suggests, her eyes wide.
“Leaving the city won’t help you, either. Stop being so stubborn. Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”
“You’re telling me tomarryyou, though, Kristopher.Marriage. Like a proper, official marriage.”
My name on her lips has me reeling for more.
It spikes my desire, which I quickly convert to anger to avoid doing something I will regret.
I spin to face her with my eyes flaring, heated with urgency.
“How many men like Koskos do you think are out there?” I snarl.
She jumps in fright, her brows shooting up. “I-I…” she stammers.
“It’s not just him I’m protecting you from. There are hundreds of different versions of him. Men who would buy you, who would take you against your will. They might chain you to their beds and use you as a toy. They might let their friends borrow you, rent you, in exchange for whatever they wanted. They have no concept of morality, of human life. They will use you until there is nothing left.” I’m shouting. I’m terrified that these things will happen to her.
And while I didn't intend to terrify her as much as I clearly have, when I watch her slowly walk towards the table with tears streaming down her cheeks and pick up the pen, my entire body releases the tension locking every muscle inside me. She understands.
“So, signing will stop that?” she asks, barely a whisper.
“Yes. I can protect you, Georgie,” I say quietly, walking closer to her.
“If I sign this…my life will never be the same again.”
“And if you don’t, it could be very much worse,” I whisper, brushing my hand over the back of her neck.
She flinches from me, pushing my hand away.
“I hate you for doing this to me,” she snaps, just before she leans over the paperwork and scrawls a messy, weighted, angry version of her signature onto the marriage certificate. The nib of the fountain pen bleeds too much ink into the crisp white paper.
She throws the pen down, and more ink spills from the nib, like a drop of black blood.
I let out a sharp breath.
It’s done.
She’s mine.
My heart somersaults.
She’s mine.
I bite down against a smile.
“You have to sign here, please, sir.” My lawyer hands me the pen.
I don’t hesitate. Not for a second. I’m desperate to have my signature on the line next to hers.
