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The justice of peace begins the ceremony, her voice calm and steady. Pamela’s eyes are fixed on mine, wide and shimmering. I can see the swirl of emotions in them – hesitation, hope, something that looks almost like trust. Her lips part slightly, and I can’t wait to feel them against mine. Even if it’s for a fleeting second, but a snowflake is worth it because it’s one of a kind, even if it disappears.
“Do you, Hugo Meister Payne, take Pamela Marie Berry to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” I say, my voice firm and resolute. This is right. We’re doing a good thing here. She’s mine now, and I will protect her.
The justice of peace turns to Pamela, asking her to have and to hold. Pamela hesitates for the briefest moment, her eyes searching mine.
Then she nods, her voice soft but clear. “I do.”
“With the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I step closer, lifting Pamela’s round face to mine. Silently, I ask for consent and she gives a quick nod but her eyes flutter as if she’s nervous about getting intimate. Pressing my lips to hers, I try to make it quick but I linger. Her lips are soft and warm, and I can feel her heartbeat quicken through the kiss. I can barely tear myself away, tempted to flick my tongue against her but I can’t startle her.
Forcing myself to pull away, I notice her cheeks are flushed, her lips quivering and she looks at me as if searching for my approval. And, fuck do I approve. We’re husband and wife. The realization hits me like a wave, and I feel a mix of triumph and possessiveness. She’s mine, officially. Irrevocably.
We sign the marriage certificate and Pamela’s hand shakes as she signs her name, but she manages a small smile when she’s done. I’m smiling too. I have her now. For life. And I’m going to make sure she never regrets saying yes. But as I look into her vulnerable, innocent eyes I have a feeling I’m getting ahead of myself…and the stab of guilt…fuck, it cuts like a knife.
***
”Welcome to your new home,” I rasp, opening the front door to my place. I bend down, to pick her up and carry her over the threshold but she jumps ahead of me. Hiding the scowl, I close the door behind us and watch her take everything in. Leaning against the wall, I let my eyes roam down her body. Such a tight, pretty dress. And those turquoise sandals? Heels that I’d perfectly okay with if they gave me little stabs in the back.
”It’s amazing,” she murmurs, referring to the sleek interior and the large windows. ”Much nicer than my apartment.”
She’s never going back there. That was his territory, and this is my way of pissing all over it.
”Here we have the living room," I say, gesturing to the open space with its plush sofas, contemporary artwork, and a large electric fireplace. ”I have over 800 channels on the TV in case, so you should be able to find something you like.
Pamela nods, breathless and a little overwhelmed but she’ll get used to it.
We continue the tour, moving through the dining room and the home office, before finally reaching the master bedroom. "This is my room," I cough, opening the door to a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden.
Pamela stands in the doorway, her body language tense and she stares at the king-sized bed. I can see the hesitation in her eyes. "You can sleep in the guest room if you want," I offer, trying to sound casual, but my heart is pounding in my chest. "It's just down the hall."
She looks at me, her eyes searching my face. I hope, with every fiber of my being, that she’ll say she wants to stay with me. But she nods, agreeing to take the guest room. And I almost can’t hide the disappointment.
"It won't be like this forever," she adds quickly, as if trying to ease the sting. "Only until I'm ready."
My throat feels tight, and I force a smile. "Take your time," I rasp. "No pressure."
Pamela breathes out, relief washing over her face and I can see the gratitude in her eyes. It hurts but I’m not going to pressure her. Fuck knows, I’ve already done more than enough.
5.
Pamela
When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I see is the giant ring on my hand. It glimmers in the morning light, a constant reminding that I belong to someone now. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying, like I’ve been uprooted from a concrete jungle and planted in a lush, blooming garden.
I get out of bed, but I can’t shake the guilt from choosing to sleep in the guest room last night. I’m even surprised he agreed. Hugo’s been nothing but kind and patient, and I want to make it up to him. An idea forms in my mind: I’ll make him breakfast.
Sneaking down the hall, I enter the kitchen and start gathering ingredients. Soon the smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee fills the air. I’m just about to scramble the eggs when I suddenly sense someone behind me. A large body, lingering but not touching me. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze when I feel his breath on my throat. It makes the fuzz on my nape rise.
“Is that for me?” Hugo rasps, his husky voice sending shivers down my spine.
“Uh-huh,” I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest. I barely dare to move. If I do I’ll bump up right against him.
I get the feeling he’s going to put his hands on my hips. Use me. Tell me to get down on my knees and offer up my mouth but instead, he steps back, giving me space.
“Smells good,” he says, his voice softer now as he sits down at the kitchen island.
