“Oh, for fucks sake.” I grumble. “Of course there’s a fucking watermelon.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Seraphina
Never Be The Same – Camila Cabello
I’ve just finished drying my hair when the bedroom door opens and Trey walks in carrying a tray.
I settle onto the bed, the white dress I chose floating softly around my knees. He crosses the room and sets the tray beside me with surprising care, like the moment matters more than the movement. He lifts a glass of orange juice and hands it to me.
“You look beautiful, baby.”
Warmth blooms across my cheeks, impossible to stop. “Thank you.”
My gaze drops to the fruit he’s prepared, neat and thoughtful. I pick up a strawberry, bringing it to my lips.
“There was also a watermelon, but I thought it might curb your appetite.” He says, watching the first strawberry disappear.
The shift in him is instant.
His eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he takes a slow step back, then another.
“I can’t even watch you eat breakfast without getting hard,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.
A laugh slips out of me, light and unguarded.
“Stay right there, sweetheart,” he adds, already backing toward the closet. “Don’t move. I’m going to get changed. If you so much as twitch in my direction, I’m going to end up twitching my way inside you.”“Trey,” I laugh, shaking my head, “you really are impossible.”
Something low and indistinct comes from the closet. Probably a response, but I can’t quite catch it.
I take another bite of fruit, smiling to myself.
I’m happy.
Nervous, too.
Because today…we get to see our baby.
We’re in Trey’s truck—his pride and joy, Black Betty—large, black, and imposing in a way that feels entirely like him. I’m fairly certain he once told me it’s some kind of Harley-Davidson special edition, although it’s hard to keep track when he tends to flood me with information and expect me to just keep up. He follows the security convoy down the drive, the engine growling low beneath us as the trees blur past the windows, and the closerwe get to the gates, the tighter something pulls in my chest, unease creeping in as we leave the enclosure and relative safety our home provides. I don’t like heading out—not like this—but it’s important, and we can’t stay holed up forever.
There are people there.
Too many of them.
Signs. Cameras. Voices I can’t quite make out, but I feel them anyway, pressing in. I don’t know these people at all, but they have been whipped into a fury. With signs telling me to leave Trey, to head back, for Trey to die, repent, save our souls…too many to count, some have quotes, twisting love and acceptance into hate, the way I now know my father did. They don’t know me, they certainly don’t know Trey, and I find myself getting angry just thinking of the scorn he is receiving because of me.
Trey curses under his breath.
“Some of those people holding those signs are so young...”
His hand drops to my thigh, while his other grips the steering wheel so hard I can see the white of his knuckles. “Seeing it makes me sick.”
Guards on foot move forward, stewarding the crowd so there is no accident.
“Heh…if one of those Bible thumpers step out of line, they are going to beBible thumped.” My pulse climbs as we inch forward.
Two SUVs surge ahead of us. Two fall in behind. The formation locks in, swallowing us into motion.
