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But he said nothing because there were images he didn’t want in her head. There were dark things that he didn’t want to touch her.

“I know that you are a brilliant, strong woman. It was never about that.”

“But now you’ve accepted it because there’s no going back?”

“Yes. And I want this. I want to have a family with you.”

That was an intoxicating admission.

And true. He wanted this, wanted her, more than he could remember wanting anything in all his life.

And he was going to try. Yes, he was going to try.

“Will we stay here for a while?”

“Yes. And then we will go and furnish the house. Make it home.”

He could feel a weight lift off of him. Right as she smiled down at him.

“I would love that.”

“Then you will have your wish.”

There was darkness inside of him, demons, and they were trying to rise to the surface. Trying to sabotage this moment. But he imagined a giant hand pushing them down, beneath the trapdoor. And he took a lock, put it on swiftly and turned it.

Then he smiled at her.

“You are mine.”

“And you’re mine,” she said.

Those were the only vows that mattered. They were simple, and they were real. They were everything.

He would hold them close, and he would make them his mantra.

Nothing else mattered.

He had to protect Esme. This was what it looked like.

He would die on the altar before hurting her. He swore it.

Chapter Eleven

Esme was actually kind of excited for the honeymoon to end. Not because she wasn’t having a fantastic time—she had been. For days all they had done was explore the grounds of the beautiful château, and make love.

Sometimes it was like a thunderstorm. Sometimes it was a poem. Sometimes it was claws and teeth, but it was always beautiful.

She knew him now. His body, anyway.

He was no longer a fantasy, or one night of pleasure.

He was her lover. Her husband.

It was like a dream.

But she was eager to get back to their home, and excited about the possibilities. They spent a bit of time while they were in France choosing furniture to have delivered, so that when they arrived home it was ready for them. They flew on his private plane back to Boston, and she either sat in his lap or half lay on top of him the entire flight, unable to stop touching him. Half of her was afraid that this was a dream. That she would wake up, and there would be no house. Maybe that was why she had been hoping to get to this point. Because France felt a bit like an out-of-body experience, but if they came back to Boston, and they were still together, then maybe it was all real.

Still, she realized that she was holding her breath the moment that they turned down the driveway to their new home. The moment that the house came into view, and she took a gulp of air.