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“This is crazy,” I say, tugging his hand as my feet stop, refusing to move.
Sighing, like I’m trying his patience, Oz turns and faces me. “There’s nothing crazy about me wanting you and you wanting me. There’s nothing crazy about us committing to love, honor and respect each other in front of a judge and God. There’s nothing crazy about you being Mrs. Malik.”
“It’s only been a couple of days,” I whisper.
“So?”
“So?” I gasp, wishing I could be loud and yell and shout and be confident and outspoken, but knowing that I can’t, that it’s not me, that I’ve been quiet and meek my entire life. “Normal couples are together for years before they even consider getting married.”
“If you’ve been with someone for years and you can’t commit enough to marry them, then they’re not the person for you. I knew you were mine the moment you stepped off that bus. After I got your text, I never intended to bring you home with me. I went to the bus station, wanting to get a glimpse of the girl I hated, but then there you were, and I knew, right in that moment. I knew you were mine.”
“Oz,” I gasp, tears filling my eyes.
“Life’s too short to waste a single, precious moment of it. So if we’re moving too fast, then who cares? This is our life, no one else’s, and you made me the happiest man alive when you said I do.”
He’s so earnest, so honest and real, and I melt. I dissolve into a puddle at his feet, and his dominant, controlling aura absorbs me so I become a part of him right here on the sidewalk. I might not have been one hundred percent present at our wedding, but as crazy as marrying a man who until four days ago was the star of every single one of my childhood traumas is, if I had a chance to rewind time, I have a feeling I’d say I do all over again. Since he steered me into his truck and took me to his house, I’ve been constantly moving forward like there was a crowd behind me pushing me onward. But as fast and scary and overwhelming as being the center of his attention has been, I don’t hate his controlling affection.
In the last four days, I’ve felt more seen, more cared for, and more wanted than I ever have before, and being his is intoxicating in a way that I know will easily become addictive. Marrying him is insane, but so was allowing him into my body. So was letting him dictate what I eat and allowing him to take over my life even if each bit of control I gave up only made me more content.
Instead of waiting for him to kiss me, I push up onto my tiptoes and claim his lips with mine. Parting his lips with my tongue, I slide it into his mouth and find his, tasting him while I’m the one that’s in control.
Strong fingers tangle into my hair, and he takes over, tilting my head to the side so he can deepen the kiss until all I can see and taste and feel is him. I know we must be a spectacle, making out on the sidewalk like we’re alone, but I can’t seem to care.
“Come on, wife, let’s go pick you a ring, then I’m taking you to bed,” he growls, lifting me off the ground and swinging me into his arms.
Before I have a chance to protest, he’s marching across the sidewalk and carrying me into an old-fashioned jewelry store with wood-paneled display cases full of sparkling jewels.
“Hi, I called and spoke to Simone, we’re here to pick out an engagement ring,” Oz tells the woman behind the counter.
“Ahh, Mr. Malik, please come through. Mr. Alexander has picked out a selection for you to choose from,” the woman says politely.
“Oz, put me down,” I hiss as the woman gestures down a corridor.
“Nope, I’m carrying you until we’re home and across the threshold.”
“You’re insane,” I tell him, but I’m laughing as he carries me into a small room and then finally lowers me to my feet.
“Mr. and Mrs. Malik, I’m Trevor Alexander,” a man says as he steps into the room. “I believe we’re looking for an engagement ring today?”
“Yes, please, and maybe a matching wedding ring,” Oz says.
“Why do I need an engagement ring when we’re already married?” I ask quietly.
“Because I want you to wear one,” Oz says simply.
“But—” I start.
“Be a good girl and pick out a ring,” Oz says, his tone laced with warning.
Trevor clears his throat, and heat fills my cheeks because I’d forgotten he was even in the room. “Simone mentioned that you didn’t have a particular style of cut in mind, so I took the liberty of selecting some of our more popular choices for Mrs. Malik to choose from. I also selected some of our nontraditional rings with colored diamonds and some of our other precious stones.”
For the first time, my eyes stray to the trays of rings sitting on the table.
“Take a look, see if you like anything, if you don’t, we can have something made for you,” Oz says, his voice brimming with dominance.
“I—” I start.
Instead of listening to me argue, he sits down and pulls me onto his lap. “What about something like that?” he suggests, pointing to a huge, gaudy diamond.
