Page 79 of Fear Me, Love Me

Drawing her arm through mine, I escort her toward the door. The priest has returned to the front of the church, but Camilla and Carla are waiting outside for us. Camilla shakes her head at me, exasperated, and Carla has a scandalized smile on her lips as she passes Vivienne her bouquet.

The music begins, and all the heads turn in the church as the bridesmaids begin their slow walk down the aisle.

Vivienne is basking in the music and all the smiles as we follow slowly behind them. Suddenly she gets the giggles, and whispers to me, “Wait. You’re supposed to be up there so I can walk toward you.”

I smile down at her, delighted to see her in such a sweet and giddy mood. I know how nervous she was about today and having so many people looking at her. “I’ll walk you up there. I don’t want you to be by yourself, and I’ll be jealous if anyone else does it.”

As we slowly approach the enormous gold cross above the altar, she rises on her toes and whispers to me, “Your cum is on my thighs.”

I smile even wider. “Exactly where I want it when I marry you.”

When we reach the priest at the front of the church, I give him a polite nod, and then turn to Vivienne and draw her veil back.

Her cheeks are flushed. Her bump is pressing into my stomach. Her eyes are the brightest I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with Vivienne. She touches my cheek and then turns and searches the front rows until she sees Barlow. Her brother—now our adopted son—is on Angela’s lap, and he waves a little toddler hand to Vivienne when she waves to him.

My bride turns back to me with the most breathtakingly beautiful and happy smile.

“Who’s Tyrant’s beautiful woman?” I whisper against her lips.

Vivienne smiles again and wraps her arms around my neck. “Me.”

I don’t remember what happens for the rest of the ceremony. I’ve already said my vows and so has she.

EPILOGUE

Vivienne

The maternity ward at the hospital feels almost like a hotel, and we have our own private room with a double bed. Not the world’s most comfortable double bed, as it’s a hospital bed, but still, there’s room for Tyrant to sleep here with me and that’s what matters.

It’s just past seven in the morning, and our son Huck is fifteen hours old. He’s lying on the changing table while Tyrant has his forearms braced on either side of him. Tyrant is gazing at Huck with rapt attention. Every little thing the baby does, he’s drinking in. I don’t think my husband has moved since the nurse finished weighing and changing him ten minutes ago.

“He’s just so perfect. I didn’t realize he’d be so perfect. Look at his fingers, Vivienne. Hiseyelashes. They’re so small. How is he even possible?”

Tyrant has barely slept all night. He’s wearing sweats and nothing else, and the sight of my dangerous man with his bare chest covered in tattoos, enraptured by the sight of our baby, makes me smile. I’m propped up against the pillows, and as exhausted as I am after labor and birth, I don’t feel the least bit sleepy.

Tyrant looks up, catches me watching him, and smiles at me. Picking our son up in his arms, he carries him over and slides into bed with me. With one arm around me and one around our son, he holds us both close.

“You’re amazing, angel. I can’t believe you were able to do this. You’re so strong and beautiful. You’re incredible.” He presses a kiss to my mouth. “How are you feeling?”

There’s a small line between his brows as he gazes down at me, and I know what he’s asking about. The medical staff all saw the scarring on my belly as I was giving birth. Tyrant knows how hard it was for me to reveal them to my obstetrician at the beginning of my pregnancy, but it got easier every time. Slowly, the scars stretched and changed as my belly grew bigger and bigger. As they changed, it became easier to stop thinking of them as “my scars” and instead see the evidence of our baby growing inside me.

“I was too caught up in everything that was happening that I didn’t even think about it,” I tell him truthfully. It’s because of Tyrant’s love and support, my new friends and new home, my studies, plus regular appointments with a therapist, that the girl who was so lonely and afraid is becoming a distant memory. I’m healing. I’m growing. We all are. All four of us.

“Look at him. He’s perfect,” I whisper, gazing at our baby. “I can’t believe this is our life now. You, me, Barlow, and Huck.”

“Speaking of Barlow, Angela will be here with him any minute.”

“Wonderful. I can’t wait for him to meet Huck.”

While we wait, we cuddle our sleeping baby and discuss the future. Tyrant’s work and plans for Henson. My studies, which I’ll be returning to in four months. Tyrant’s promise to get me pregnant again as soon as possible.

“We need a girl if you’re going to sew all those adorable little dresses I’ve seen you sketching,” he points out with a smile.

It’s true. I have been drawing little girls’ clothes. And little boys’ clothes. Fantastical, make-believe clothes. Costumes for dress-up days, parties, and stage plays. Dressing up is some of the most carefree time I ever spend, and children love it as well.

“A girl would be lovely…” I start to say, and then break off with a laugh as I see the determined gleam in Tyrant’s eyes. “You’ll be trying your hardest as soon as we’re able. I can tell.”

“You know I will,” he murmurs and brushes his lips over mine.

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