He glances back over his shoulder. “Then you can go.”
I stiffen. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re still here,” he says.
That lands.
Hard.
Because he is right.
Because I have not left.
“Fine,” I snap. “Temporary.”
“Everything is,” he says.
He starts toward the cabin without checking if I follow.
And I hate that I do.
I hate it more that he knows I will.
The door creaks as he pushes it open, stepping inside. I follow, my boots sharp against the wood floor, the space smaller than I expected, warmer too.
“Rules,” he says, turning to face me.
I fold my arms. “Of course there are.”
He steps closer again, and this time I feel it immediately, the shift, the way the air changes.
“You don’t leave without me.”
My jaw tightens.
“You don’t open that door unless I tell you to.”
My fingers curl against my arms.
“And you don’t lie to me again.”
That one hits.
“You don’t get to?—”
“I do,” he cuts in, his voice low. “Because you’ll be my wife, and if I don’t have the full picture, I can’t protect you.”
Silence settles between us, thick and heavy.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But this goes both ways.”
His brow lifts slightly. “Oh?”
“You don’t get to hover,” I say. “Or bark orders. Or whatever this is.” I gesture between us. “You don’t get to control me.”
He steps closer again, and my breath stutters before I can stop it.
“Then stop giving me reasons to.”
