He looks tired too, though he’d never admit it. There’s tension in the set of his jaw, something restless in his eyes.
“I’ve decided that we should get married,” he says calmly.
For a second I think I misheard him. The words don’t make sense after our argument today. Actually, they don’t make sense at all. Surely he didn’t say we should get married.
“Have you lost your mind?” I ask sharply.
“No,” he says calmly. “But we are getting married.”
He repeats the words like the discussion is over. Like he’s announcing a business decision or telling me about dinner reservations.
“You don’t get to just rearrange my life like furniture and demand I marry you!”
“Yes,” he says flatly. “I do. Because it’s the only way I can ensure your safety.”
Anger flares fast, hot enough to burn through the exhaustion.
“Marriage is not a war strategy,” I argue. “You can’t just decide we’re going to get married because it makes sense in your fucked-up brain. This is a decision two people have to make together.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something tightens behind his eyes.
“As my wife, you’ll have my name,” he says simply. “My protection. No one will touch you. You can move freely again. Live normally. As normally as possible in this world.”
Normal. It’s like he read my mind. I can’t live normally, though. I’ll be apakhan’swife. I’ll be yet another pawn in his endless, deadly game. There will be no way to hide the pregnancy from him then. I’ll never get to live out my dreams. I’ll be trapped in a cage forever.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” I say, voice shaking now. “You don’t get to fix my life by controlling it.”
“I’m not trying to control your life,” he says slowly. “I’m just trying to give you a better future.”
“You’re taking away my future!” I shout, which causes my head to hurt more. I wince.
Silence stretches, tight and electric.
“If it makes you feel better,” he adds after a moment, voice rougher, “it can be a marriage of convenience. In name only. You’ll be my wife, but you can live however you want to live.”
His voice is hollow as he says it, and I realize that a marriage of convenience is the last thing I want. I don’t want to just have his name and not have him. I don’t want to feel like I don’t even have a husband that I love, who loves me back. His proposition makes me feel almost unwanted.
“I wouldn’t want that either,” I argue. “If sex is off the table, what even is the point of getting married?”
For half a second I think I’ve completely lost my mind. Heat rushes to my face, embarrassment colliding with defiance, but I don’t take it back. I’m too tired to be demure. If we’re going to lay all our cards on the table, then I might as well be honest.
Silence stretches between us for a long moment and he stares at me like I actually have lost my mind. Then, he laughs.
It’s quiet at first and surprised. It builds into something bigger and louder, and soon he’s clutching his sides and nearly hooting with it. I can’t help but laugh myself. This is all insane. Maybe there’s a gas leak in this penthouse. Maybe we’ve both lost our minds.
His shoulders loosen just a fraction, tension cracking enough to let something human through. His eyes soften when they meet mine, and suddenly the air between us feels completely different. It’s charged in a different kind of way.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, approaching the bed slowly.
I scoot over, making room for him.
“Take it or leave it,” I whisper back. “You can have a real marriage with me, or none at all. If we do this, I want all of you.”
“Alina,” he says softly. “Does this mean that you’ll marry me?”
I frown. How on earth did he do that? How did he make me go from incredulity to agreement?
I don’t remember moving. One second there’s space between us, the next his hand is on my face, warm and steady, thumb brushing lightly along my cheek like he’s confirming I’m real.
