Page 44 of Break Me Gently

Luke: I’ll be watching you.

I glanced up at the house—curtains drawn, porch light glowing amber against the dark—but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Me: Kinda creepy, but okay, boomer.

I pocketed my phone and reversed out of the driveway, briefly considering scraping my car against his Aston Martin on the way past. My Audi could take it. But the thought of the paintwork bill put me off fast enough.

It wasn’t until I was on the road home that I properly turned Luke and Isabella over in my head. He was fiercely protective of her—overbearing, controlling, borderline unhinged at times—but never actually harmful. Not to her. Not to Amber either, as far as I could tell. Just everyone else who dared get close.

I flicked my playlist on as I merged onto the motorway, streetlights strobing past in steady rhythm. Amber had been buzzing all evening about the new baby, and some of that had leached into me too, whether I wanted it to or not. Both mother and daughter had been animated in the best way—hands moving, words tumbling over each other, faces lit up.

It was only then, watching them from the edge of the room, that I’d caught the look in Luke’s eyes. Soft. Dreamy. Laced with a heavy dose of self-satisfaction, like a man watching a plan finally click into place.

I guessed that made me an extension of that prick’s family now, too.

At least Isabella was normal.

I turned the music up, the bassline thudding through the seat, and let my mind wander to booking a weekend away with Amber. Somewhere south, maybe, since the weather up here still couldn’t decide what season it wanted to be.

I sent a silent, half-serious prayer of thanks to my maternal grandparents, wherever they were, for setting up my trust fund all those years ago. Maybe some part of them had known exactly what kind of woman their daughter would grow into.

Thoughts drifted, one into the next, until they settled on my dad—on the values he’d spent years quietly trying to instil in me, half of which I’d only started listening to now that he wasn’t around to see it.

“I’m trying, Dad,” I whispered.

The words got lost under the music before they’d even finished leaving my mouth.

Chapter 23

Amber

24 hours before the wedding…

“We’re in church,” I protested, as he dragged me down some stone stairs.

“You should have thought about that before wearing that dress,” he muttered, as we reached the lower level.

The air changed the further down we went—cooler, tinged with damp stone and old candle wax, the kind of smell that clung to buildings centuries old. He tried a few doors before finding one that gave.

We descended another narrow flight, our footsteps echoing off the walls, until we reached a cramped storage room. A couple of tables sat pushed against the wall, cleaning supplies tucked beneath one, a hoover propped against the other. Beneath the stairwell, an arched doorway led to a small lavatory and sink, the tiles chipped and yellowed with age.

“But the rehearsal—” I began to half-heartedly protest.

“We’re an hour early,” he cut in, pushing me back against the table, the wood cold and unforgiving beneath my palms.

Hot lips worked down my neck, and I arched back to give him more access, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the mustiness of the room. This was so very wrong, but wasn’t that our thing?

“Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands…” he murmured, raising my skirt.

“What?” I gasped, as his fingers slid beneath my underwear.

“I’ve been brushing up from Sunday school,” he said, wet lips moving along my jawline, breath warm against my skin.

Then he froze.

I smiled.

“You’re bare,” he rasped, voice catching.