Page 83 of Promise of Punishment

I cried for the twisted fate that led me to Wes, the man I saved, and who ended up saving me in return. He freed me from the monster. He freed me from the constraints of my life. He freed me from the walls I built around my heart, afraid to let anyone know my secrets, because how could someone love me when my own father didn’t?

I cried for Wes too. For the way his family treated him. For the way he had to protect his sister. For the way it shaped his life and who he became—a person capable of killing people like my dad, even though I’m grateful. I cried because neither of us knew love until we found each other.

And I cried because I know how much Wes loves me. He’s my angel in the same way that I’m his.

There is a happily ever after for people like me—like us. Even broken puzzle pieces have a match. The edges might be jagged and harder to fit together, but when they do—if you’re lucky enough to find the matching fragment—an unbreakable bond forms.

I realize now a part of my heart fractured when I found the shed empty in that garden, and Wes was gone. It would never be whole again until it was reunited with him. We couldn’t have known at the time. We were young and different. Our pieces weren’t meant to lock back then. But they were meant to reconnect.

29

SHE LOOKS LIKE AN ANGEL

Two weeks later

Wes

She’s nervous as hell. I can feel her little body shaking next to me. I thought getting to the airport before Lachlan and Emery would help avoid an awkward meet-and-greet before boarding the jet.

I chose the biggest one for this trip. Spencer Securities has two. Lachlan, Rory, and I bought one for personal use and ease of traveling from here to London and Scotland.

I tuck Fable under my arm and kiss her plump lips.

“What was that for?” Those big eyes can bring me to my knees.

“No reason.” I shrug and rest my head back, prouder than I’ve been in a long time.

She looks gorgeous in a pale green sweater edged in lace and cream wide-legged pants. Turns out Fable has a boho style and likes pastel colors that make her honey skin radiant. Her dark hair creates a beautiful contrast to the soft shades. I love her in them, maybe even more than the red. She looks delicate and pure, like an angel—my angel.

Getting her to buy the colors she loves was a bit of a struggle.

“I can’t wear these,” she said to the reflection of the three mirrors at the boutique I had closed for the day so she could shop.

“Why? You love them.” Each outfit she tried on after showing the personal shopper what she liked made her beam with happiness.

“What if they get stained? This type of material gets ruined easily.”

“I’ll buy you new clothes.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t want new clothes. I would want these.”

“Then I’ll buy you three of everything. I’ll buy you the damn store if you want.”

She gaped, then threw up her hands. “I don’t need any of this.”

“You’re getting it, even if I have to pick everything out. I’d prefer it if you did though. I won’t be the one wearing them, only stripping them from you.”

She blushed but remained defiant until we left and for hours after.

Stubborn in so many ways, except in the bedroom. She lets me have her however I want, and she loves it.

“What’s mine is yours,” I told her that night after I gave her three orgasms, in three different positions. The entire time I kissed her. I kiss her so much I’m shocked her lips aren’t bruised.

I told her again that everything I own is hers, and I’ll have to keep telling her until it sinks in. Perhaps once we’re married, she’ll accept her new fortune.

I play with her wavy strands, loving having her with me.

She stares at the door, her lips parted like she wants to ask if they’re coming again. She’s convinced it will be too uncomfortable for them and they’ll back out. She doesn’t get that because of me and what she’s done for me—saved me, loved me, and gave me hope—they’ve already accepted her. Christ, Lachlan has been giving me shit ever since I told him about her and the baby.