Page 110 of Pucking Daddy

“Then how does it work?” she asks.

I take a breath.

“You’re my wife now,” I say. The word feels strange and solid all at once. “Which means you’re part of this. Of my life. Of Lily’s life. And that comes with… certain things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that I take care of what’s mine.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“I don’t mean that in some controlling, possessive way,” I add, because maybe this sounded creepy. “I mean… if you’re in my life, I show up. I make sure you’re okay. I make sure you’re not carrying more than you should.”

She doesn’t speak. So I keep going.

“You’re not going to have to worry about where you stand,” I say. “Or whether you’re supported. Or whether I’m going to leave you to deal with things on your own. That’s not how I operate.”

Her throat moves as she swallows. “That sounds… like a real partnership.”

“And that’s how it should be, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly.

I hold her gaze.

“This situation might’ve started as strategy,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I treat it like something disposable. Or temporary in the way it affects you.”

Her fingers tighten slightly in her lap.

“I want you to feel safe with me,” I add, quieter now. “In this… arrangement. With me.”

Something shifts in her expression.

She lets out a small breath. “I already feel safe with you.”

I reach for her hand without really thinking.

She lets me, her fingers curling slightly around mine—warm, real, grounding.

After that, the conversation drifts to her brother, Danny.

“He’s so mad he wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

I raise a brow. “You told him everything?”

“Oh yeah, there’s no way to hide anything from him,” she says with a small groan. “We’re really close. We talk about everything.”

“You mentioned you practically raised him. That can’t have been easy.”

She shrugs, but there’s something heavier beneath it. “It wasn’t. By the time he was old enough to have opinions, I was already the one making sure he got to school, did his homework, ate something that wasn’t cereal.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility for someone that age.”

“It was,” she says simply. “Still is, sometimes.”

“Do you still feel responsible for him?”

She lets out a small breath, like the answer is obvious. “Yeah. I do.”