Page 116 of Unleashed

He sighed, handing me a plain white envelope. "I promised him I’d deliver it. Please, just take it."

I hesitated before snatching the envelope and shoving it into the bridal money bag at my side just as Slade returned with my drink.

He handed me the glass, his fingers brushing mine as he kissed my cheek. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, taking a sip, but my thoughts were far from settled. What could Michael possibly have to say to me now?

I didn’t get a chance to read the letter until a couple of hours later. I slipped away to the bathroom for some privacy. Maneuvering in my wedding dress was no easy feat, but I managed to perch myself on the toilet, the heavy fabric bunching around me. After finishing, I washed my hands and sat on the small, padded bench in the corner of the beige-tiled bathroom. My heart pounded with anticipation.

The bag at my side was already overflowing with envelopes and cards stuffed with money. I fished through it until I found Michael’s envelope, crumpled at the bottom. My hands shook as I smoothed it out, the simple white paper trembling under my fingers. I slid my French-manicured index finger under the flap and gently tore it open. Inside was a letter embossed at the top with “From the desk of MSB.” Michael’s initials. Sinclair, his mother’s maiden name, was his middle name—just like Lincoln’s.

I hesitated before unfolding the paper, lifting it to my nose, as if I could still catch a whiff of his cologne. That faint,familiar scent hit me, and my mind conjured up an image of him—Michael, sitting at his desk, his left hand lightly gripping the paper as he penned the words I was about to read. His handwriting, bold and generous, sprawled across the page.

Morgan,

My dearest. I know that’s not something you want to hear, but it’s true. You mean the world to me and always will. By the time you read this, you’ll be married, and any chance I had will be gone. I regret that I didn’t try harder. I regret going out that stormy July Fourth. It’s what sealed our fate.

I’ll always love you. One day I might get married, but that person will never hold my full heart, because you do. I can’t give myself fully to anyone else.

I wish you a good life, and I want you to know I think Slade Abbott is the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

I love you,

Michael

The words blurredthrough my tears. I swallowed the lump in my throat, allowing myself a moment to wonder—what if? What if Michael hadn’t been lost to me? Would we be here now, together, married? Would he have won over Slade? But those thoughts were fleeting. I had made my choice. The die was cast, and I was Mrs. Morgan Abbott. Slade was my husband—my future.

Yet, as I clutched the letter to my chest, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia washed over me. I sat there for a moment longer, lost in the ‘what ifs’ before slipping the letter back into the bridal money bag. When I exited the bathroom, Slade was waiting, leaning against the doorframe with a crooked grin.

“There you are,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pushed the door open and gently nudged me back inside.

I frowned, laughing lightly. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a moment alone with my wife,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“Everyone will be looking for us,” I protested, glancing nervously toward the party still in full swing outside.

“They’re fine,” Slade said with a wave of his hand, shutting the door behind him. “They’ve got free food and drinks. Trust me, they won’t miss us.”

“You make it sound like we invited a bunch of freeloaders,” I teased.

He chuckled, his hands settling on my waist, pulling me close. “Not at all. But they’re having a good time—they can survive without us for a few minutes.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I reached up, running my fingers through his thick hair. He’d had it cut recently, a fade that left the top long and wild, just how I liked it. “I love your hair like this,” I whispered, watching as his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted slightly in silent pleasure.

“I love you,” he breathed, his brown eyes dark with desire as he opened them again. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

“We are alone,” I whispered, feeling my pulse quicken under his touch.

He grinned, tilting his head. “So we are. What should I do with you, Mrs. Abbott?”

“Nothing,” I replied, playfully pushing against his chest. “This dress is way too restrictive.”

His grin widened. “Then maybe I should relieve you of it.”

“Slade,” I warned, my tone light but firm. “We can’t… not here.”

His eyes darkened even more, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I’ve been hard since I saw you walk down that aisle.”

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