Of their desire, of his anger and desperation, of her wordless need for reconciliation and his desperation to take that, even though in the end he had pushed her away.
She needed to add real words to it.
Somehow, she had to show him that they weren’t destined to be broken. He was afraid, she thought, not of being his father. But being his mother. Lost in a toxic relationship with a person who didn’t care as much as he did. And that was partly her own fault. Or maybe, they were both his mother in a strange way. And somebody had to make the first move.
She already had. It was true. But she would make the first move again and again for him.
Because it had always been him. From the beginning. It would only ever be him.
The words that they spoke in their vows were written by other people, hundreds of years ago, but she did her best to convey everything that they meant to her. To them. This was the one chance she had. This kiss. He had promised her this kiss, and nothing more. So when it was time, she leaned in, and kissed him with everything she had.
She only hoped that he felt it.
What was he? What manner of man, and what father would he be? What manner of husband?
Toxicity? Was that his story. Or was he just resisting vulnerability.
The very idea of it made him choke. She was kissing him, and there was very little else that he wanted in all the world but for Emerald to kiss him. What insanity was he indulging? He had her. She was his wife, and he was holding her at arm’s length.
She was right. She had been right all this time. He knew how to want, and he didn’t know how to have. And whatever the host of excuses he gave for that, it all came down to fear.
Because love was confusing and terrifying. Because it was both good and bad. Because it hurt, as much as it had ever healed. Because loss was brutal, and when you lost an imperfect person that you loved, you spent all the years after contending with the messy pain of it all.
But he had her. He had her.
So there was nothing left to resist.
He put his hand on her face and he kissed her, poured everything he had into that kiss. Accepted everything she was giving him. It didn’t matter what she said. It didn’t matter if he loved her more. It didn’t matter. Because what was martyrdom, sacrifice, any of it, if it wasn’t met with declaration. If it wasn’t met with absolute devotion.
His own had been contingent on her actions, and that was weak.
It was the act of a man desperately protecting himself. Maybe she would’ve chosen another man. Another fate. And so it was up to him to spend the rest of his life proving to her that this was the better path. That this was what they both wanted. He would not do that by shutting her out.
When they parted, she looked dazed, and he felt the same. Their perception was a study in endurance.
He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be alone with her. There were things that needed to be said. But first, he needed to show her that he’d been wrong. About their passion, about their desire. It was so strong that it had the power to encapsulate his rage, his betrayal, and in that moment it had been sharp. But it wasn’t toxic. That need between them never could be.
Because he loved her. And if he had to spend the rest of his life working to make her love him in return, then he would.
He would lay it all at her feet.
And finally, when they were able to go back to their suite of rooms, he didn’t wait for her to speak. He captured her face in his hands and he kissed her.
“Andrei,” she whispered.
“Let me show you,” he said.
He would worship her. Her body, her soul. Everything that she was.
He unzipped the back of her dress, and that beautiful creation fell free. He couldn’t remember what that ruined wedding dress for her aborted wedding had looked like. Because she had been a bride for him today, and that was all that mattered. Lucian didn’t matter. The only way that he mattered was that he had been the catalyst for the two of them finally giving in. For the two of them finally claiming what they actually wanted. For that, he almost had to give thanks for him. Almost.
He would not give the man that much credit.
Underneath the wedding dress was the most beautiful lingerie set he’d ever seen. White, pushing her glorious breasts up, revealing the shadow of her peach-colored nipples beneath. She had white stockings with garters on, and he could see the dusky patch of curls between her thighs, just barely covered by a web of lace.
She was worthy of praise.
She was worthy of everything.
