Page 20 of Graciously His

I fly off the stool. Suppressing my instinct to bolt, I stumble to the other side of the kitchen island, facing him with the granite countertop between us.

“I don’t understand. You say you built this house for me and now—what do you mean, husband?” I realise that my suspended grief is trailing down my cheeks, tears I brush away impatiently. My voice is hollow and piercing all at once. “My husband is dead, Nate.”

“Actually,” Nate says, producing an envelope from his pocket, “he’s standing right here, with documentation to prove it.”

He slides a paper across the island, the words Particulars of Marriage emblazoned on the top. Beneath that, I see today’s date, my name, and Nate’s. My stomach pulses with pain, my body doubling over as my mind catches up with what he’s saying.

“What I signed,” I whisper, “earlier today, that was…?”

“That was your agreement to marry me. So,” he circles the island, his lips spreading in another smile, “welcome home, wife.”

Chapter 11

Nate

Ismile as the woman I’ve loved for decades realises she’s finally mine. Grace’s big, red-rimmed eyes are wary and her lip trembles, but I catch a flicker of relief as I round the kitchen island to close in on her. I’m ready to accept whatever reaction she needs to have.

“I am not your wife.”

She puts her hands up, warding me off as she backs towards the corridor. I follow steadily, allowing her a bit of room.

I want her malleable, not panicked.

“Nick is my husband,” she continues, “and signing some bullshit paper doesn’t mean anything! He’s—he’s the one I married, and he’s—”

“He’s gone, Grace.”

She turns and flees up the curving corridor. I sigh inwardly, knowing how this will probably go. It was a risk to reveal the truth so abruptly, but it had to be done; these next hours will determine the dynamic for the rest of our lives, and I want Grace to understand exactly what I’m offering now that she’s mine.

“Grace,” I call gently, making sure she hears me before she sees me. I can hear her, too. Faint footsteps on hardwood. Gasps echoing along the inflected walls. The rattling of the brass doorknob in the foyer. She’s trying to open the front door.

“It’s locked, love,” I say, stepping into the foyer behind her.

She yanks at the door, her thin form straining. She hasn’t even put her shoes on.

“Here,” I murmur, brushing her aside to unlock the door with the key from my pocket. I take a long step back, gesturing to the open door. “Our closest neighbour is Mihirangi, and her place is two kilometres away. The closest town is twenty minutes by car. Beyond that, there’s nothing but paddocks and sheep.”

“Give me your car keys,” she holds out a shaking hand, not meeting my eyes. “And—and I need my purse. I know you have it.”

I frown, finally letting my face show some of the concern I’m feeling. I knew she’d be shocked—furious, even—but this cool attempt to leave is both more and less than I’d hoped for.

“You’re in no state to drive, Grace.”

“Fine,” she snaps, “just the purse, then. I’ll call an Uber or,” she glares up at me, readying herself to make the threat I feel coming, “I’ll call the police.”

“Shoes on first if you’re going out,” I murmur, bending down to retrieve her sneakers, not bothering to tell her that Uber doesn’t answer calls this far up the coast. “I’ll help you.”

She snatches the sneakers and I grin inwardly.

Irate little thing…

It’s not the time to show my enjoyment of her—that will come soon enough. For now, I simply watch her shove her feet clumsily into the shoes, squashing down the heel to wear them as uncomfortable slides.

“I don’t want your help.” She straightens up, meeting my eyes. “I’m leaving, and—”

“And I’m coming with you,” I interrupt. “I don’t fancy an evening stroll, but if that’s what you want, then off we trot.”

She holds out a hand. “Give me my phone. I’m calling the police.”