Page 48 of Sweet Oblivion

Delaney

The apartment feels smaller tonight. Not in a bad way. Just... full. Like Ryker’s presence here fills the space in a way I wasn’t ready for. I guess maybe it’s the vineyard. The reality of what we’re doing settling in deeper than I expected.

Or who knows . . . maybe it’s just him.

He drops his keys in the small ceramic dish on the kitchen counter, the soft clink echoing louder than it should. Tori trots over immediately, her tail swaying with her back legs like she’s shaking her ass just for him. I used to be her favorite person, but I think her loyalty may be wavering.

“Hey, girl.” He crouches down and scratches behind her ears. “Do you want a cookie?”

I watch him for a second. His shoulders loosen. His whole body softens. And I’m not sure why, but it does something to me seeing him this way—with my pig, in my space.

“Are you buying her love, pretty boy?”I kick off my shoes and toe them toward the wall, wincing as I straighten. Still sore. Still tired. Still everything. I’m not sure why I let Ashton convince me to wear heels tonight. Wedges or not, they weren’t flats, and they weren’t sneakers, and my already sore body is regretting the decision. She tried convincing me to wear a dress, but she lost that battle. No one needs to seeevery bruise on my body like they would have in a dress. I just hope they’re healed before the wedding.

“Sit,” Ryker orders as he rises, not even looking at me.

I blink.“Excuse me?”

I want to be indignant, but I’m a little more proud than anything because I know I got those words right.

“Sit, Lane.” His eyes flick to mine, steady, relaxed, and utterly unimpressed.

I’m not sure why I indulge him, but I do. Without arguing, which, if I’m honest, feels like a personality shift that should probably concern me. It doesn’t, but it should.

Instead, I walk into the living room and sit down, closing my eyes for a moment, taking in the day. When I open them, my fiancé is standing in front of me, a glass of water in one hand and the bottle of pain meds I’ve been avoiding like the damn plague in the other.

I stare at him, unblinking.

He stares back, unimpressed.

We do this dance for a solid five seconds before I shake my head.“No.”

“Delaney . . .”

“No, Ryker. Don’t,”I warn him.

“Don’t what?” His lips tug up, fighting a smile. He really is pretty when he smiles.

Ugh. No. He’s not pretty, and he’s not getting his way. “Don’t do that thing where you think I’ll do what you say just because you say it. This one is a hard no. We’ve been over it.”

“I know. But you’re not them,” he answers quietly.

I stop breathing. Literally stop.

There’s no judgment in his voice. No real pressure.

Just . . . concern.

Damn it.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and you’ll heal faster if you’re not in constant pain. It’s proven.”

My throat tightens.“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” he pushes, squatting next to me the same way he did with Tori a few minutes ago.

I open my mouth and close it. Because how do you explain the kind of fear that’s been ingrained in me?

That kind of history?