We should have. I know that. But we were young and in love, and had out lives ruined for it. Jack used my father’s weakness against him. In Harmony Heights, I’ve learned, spousal abuse when the abuser is an Owed is so common, no one bats an eye. Murder is an acceptable alternative to divorce. My father killed my mouth, and Dallas’s dad used to that to make mine kill Dallas’s mother.
Part of me thought that, when Dallas learned the truth, that would be the end of us. I wouldn’t blame him, either. I know how much he loved Reese Collins, and I can’t forget the way he turned on me when he seemed to suspect that I knew something about her death. I didn’t, I’m pretty sure I never knew, but once the truth came out, I was terrified that he would blame me since he couldn’t go after Tony Wright.
I should’ve known better. Dallas will always mourn his mother, and he’ll always consider Jack Collins her true killer, but he insists that he could never blame me for the sins of my father. What would happen if I blamed him for the sins of his? I wouldn’t be able to look at him if I did, and since both men are rotting six feet under, we decide together that that’s where we’ll live them: in hell.
Still, there are moments when grief sneaks up on me. Grief for the childhood I thought I had, when Tony was the only parent I had, long before I discovered that was because hekilled my mom. Grief for the years that were stolen from me because he chose loyalty to the Order—to Jack Collins—over standing up for his daughter. Grief for the version of me I might’ve been, and for what happened to Dallas after my leaving so soon after his mother’s death broke him.
He’s tough. He’s strong. But that’s on the outside. On the inside, he’s one blow away from splintering like cracks in a mirror. He’d shatter into a millions pieces, and I absolutely refuse to let that happen.
Because I love him.
Because I finally am free to do so. No hiding. No worrying about what the Order thinks. He made a promise to me that he’ll never let them interfere with our relationship again, and though I’ve heard murmurings—from Loni, mainly, who had her own reasons to hate the Owed/Offering dynamics and the idea of arranged marriages where the Owed get to Claim their brides—that the high-ranking Owed members who want Dallas out of the top spot think he must still take a bride… and that, as an experienced widow living in sin with their King, I don’t count.
Now that? I tried asking Dallas aboutthat, and all he did was tell me that, as far as he’s concerned, I’m wearinghisring that he slipped onto my finger while I was sleeping my first night at the penthouse, I’mhiswife, and there isn’t anythingthe old guard can do about it. And then, to prove his point, he guided me against the mound of pillows he keeps on his bed, licked and sucked and fingerfucked my pussy until I could barely remember my name, let alone anything that might still try to come between me and my husband.
Because he’s mine, too. I’ve claimed Dallas Collins right back, whether I’ve been able to tell him with my words or not.
In the Order,for all its wealth and power and ostentatiousness, married couples all receive the same simple golden wedding band after an Owed-approved wedding. When I asked Dallas about his, he obviously didn’t have one. That’s when he panicked and made up the story about working at Bas’s garage, about taking it off because it was a safety hazard. Of course, that one lie snowballed into countless others, but it was all because he took advantage during the spur of the moment to call himself my husband.
After I had time to reflect on Julian, on what he did to me, on what Dallas did tohim, I wanted to throw his ring in the trash. That’s when Dallas admitted that he swapped them out because it burned him to know I was wearing another man’s ring; it was for the same reason that he lost his shit when I called him by Julian’s name during sex. So I kept it, though I did mention that I wasn’t sure if I should since we weren’t technically married.
Dallas immediately said that we were, that he considered us to be, that, as the current King, he could do that. Then, the next time I saw him, he was wearing a matching band on his left hand and, well, that was that.
As I sit next to him on the couch, curled up into his side, watching some action film from the 1990s that he insists was afavorite of mine—though my bullshit meter goes right off, and his slight smirk tells me that he knows that I know he’s full of it—I lift up his hand. He has it slung comfortably over my shoulder so it doesn’t take much for me to hold it between both of mine. I twist the ring absently, enjoying the way the light from the television reflects off the metal.
Dallas looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You okay, Luce? Not trying to take my ring off me, are you? ‘Cause that’s staying on.”
His ring is staying on, just like I’m staying with him.
“I know,” I say simply. “It makes me happy to see you wearing it.” I peek up at him. “To know that you’re letting everyone in Harmony Heights know you’re taken.”
He laughs under his breath. “Jealous, baby?”
If he had any idea what my feelings were like the day I thought I might lose him to Heather… “A little.”
“Don’t be.” He uses my grip on his hand to lead my fingers up to his mouth. He brushes a featherlight kiss over my knuckles. “I told you. It’s only ever been you for me.”
I know he doesn’t mean that literally. There had to be flings here or there, but I refuse to think about it. I mean, if he can deal with the fact that my husband sexually abused me over five years, I can make myself ignore how many women there must’ve been during our separation. He never married one. He never had a serious relationship. When he says it’s only ever been me, he’s one hundred percent telling the truth.
Just like I’ve only ever loved Dallas.
I haven’t told him. I’m sure it’s obvious. But… I don’t know. I thought, if I said so right away, he would tell me to take my time, to wait for my memories to return, that I didn’thaveto love him just because he told me that he was my husband and that he loved me. But it’s been six weeks since he walked into St. Luke’s,and after everything that’s happened… I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore.
Turning my head, I press a quick kiss to his left pec, right over his heart. “I love you.”
The look on his face is something I’ll never forget, even if I fall out of a hundred windows and my brain never quite heals rights. It’s the shock, the fear, the hope… all of it tangled together in a way that tells me that, okay, maybe it wasn’t as obvious as I thought.
“Luce— I… you don’t have to say that. Not yet. Not if you mean it.”
“I know.”
“Remember, you might just feel that way because?—”
“Because I think I’m supposed to? Yeah. That would’ve stopped working when I realized that you were lying to me about… well…everything.”
He has the decency to look ashamed. “I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t be. Babe?Don’t be. We’ve worked past that. Okay? But that’s what I mean. If I couldn’t stop after that… if my feelings for you have only grown… I have to call it. I fucking love you, Dallas Collins, and I don’t think anything’s going to change that.”
