Right now, she’s alive, and Briar’s alive, and that’s all that matters. I leave Sachelle in the hall, glaring after me, and head out the front to my car.

I have to be like this. I have no other choice.

17

Sachelle

Jakob’s behavior goes round and round in my head for the next few days. I understand that he can’t share all the ins and outs of all his official duties with me, but it’s not like I’m not involved and my life isn’t being threatened by the man he’s hunting down. Not for the first time, I wonder about what he went through to put King Anson on the throne. Judging from his temper, some of it must have been horrible.

It’s a good thing our engagement is fake, because that’s not the sort of man I want to marry. Or is it a fake engagement? Ever since taking Jakob’s side over dinner, everything’s become that much more complicated.

One afternoon a box arrives for me from Jakob. I take it upstairs to open it in private, and find it’s full of French and Italian bridal magazines.

Subtle. I shove the box under the bed.

Later that night, I pull the box out again and spread the magazines on the carpet. They’re thick and glossy, and a dozen smiling brides gaze up at me within clouds of white tulle and satin. My eyes land on a bride wearing a beautiful gossamer veil, edged with lace. She’s dark-haired, like me. I remember what Jakob said about wanting me in a veil so that he can draw it back and kiss me. I see it so clearly in my mind, standing at the altar in a long white dress as my husband lifts the veil, and kisses me like I’m the only thing he ever wanted in his whole life. He would kiss me with all the possession and adoration that I see shining out of his eyes whenever he looks at me. I lie down on the carpet with the magazine clutched to my chest. It’s a beautiful daydream.

Except the rest of the wedding wouldn’t be so perfect, would it? Levanter and Wraye couldn’t stop touching each other at their wedding, their fingers entwined even as they spoke to other people. Jakob’s not like that. Our vows would taste sour in my mouth as I promised to love, honor and obey my husband. Emphasis on the obey. That seems to be all that matters to him, tightly wound as he is. Maybe he’ll be calmer after Tieman’s caught. But maybe he won’t.

The only other thing that would go right would be our wedding night, because every time Jakob touches me, I turn into a horny mess. The next morning, we’d wake up like strangers and off he’d go to work while I’d be expected to stay put in his apartment like a good little wife.

Sighing, I throw the magazine aside. A wedding doesn’t make a marriage. A kiss doesn’t make a husband.

The next morning, I call Jakob at his office.

“Little fox. How good it is to hear your voice.”

The genuine pleasure in his voice short circuits my irritation. I hesitate, giving him the chance to apologize for what happened the other night, or to tell me how his work is going, but he does neither.

“Are you well?” he asks.

I’ve been bored and frustrated, but I can’t say that to a man who’s out there on the streets risking his life night after day. “I’m fine.”

He chuckles. “You sound angry with me.”

“And that’s funny?”

“If you’re mad at me it means you’re still breathing.”

I close my eyes. I hate it when he says devastating things that make my heart turn over. I hate it and I crave it. “How can we have a relationship when I’m trapped at home and you’re always working and keeping secrets from me?”

“It won’t be forever. The sooner I catch the bastards who are trying to hurt you, the sooner we can make plans for our wedding. All you have to do is wait and leave the rest up to me.”

“And then what? I even mention your past and you blow up like a bomb.”

“Has your father been going on about the past again?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“No, he hasn’t, but I saw how defensive you got at even the merest mention of it at dinner.”

“I’m trying to protect you from all that.”

“I never asked you to!”

Taut silence stretches on the line. Every time we talk I see the shadows of the past in his eyes. I see the scars on his body. What sort of scars must he be carrying in his mind?

“I don’t understand why you do and say things you do. I appreciate how hard you work, but I’ll never understand you unless you talk to me. I wonder why you want a wife in the first place.”

Tags: Brianna Hale Erotic
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