Page 89 of Midnight Wedding

Is it even safe to care about him this much? I know he’d never hurt me, even though he’s kind of a psycho. But his line ofwork is dangerous. There’s always the chance he might not come home one day.

That would break me.

But it feels silly to try to protect myself still.

Like it’s way too late for that.

“I can feel you thinking,” he says, absently stroking my hair.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The wheels are spinning. I hear the hamsters chirping.”

“I don’t have hamsters in my head,” I say, slapping his chest. “They’re cats, and they power me with their general disdain.”

“It’s really okay, you know, if you aren’t ready yet.”

I close my eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I have no interest in rushing you, baby. We have a lifetime together.”

I let out a stupid laugh. He’s right, isn’t he? Maybe when we got into this marriage, I thought it might not last more thanafew years at best. We’d live separate lives and amicably part one day.

Except now that’s clearly not how this is going down.

I’m his. Totally and completely. It happened gradually, and not all at once. Like the start of a landslide.

Just a few rocks then the whole mountain’s coming down.

“I’ll be ready soon,” I whisper, holding him tighter. “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He kisses the top of my head. “My beautiful little wife. Now, get that piercing girl back in here. I want to poke more holes in you.”

“Jesus, you’re insane.”

“It makes me fucking hard. Are you complaining?”

“You have a really weird fetish.”

“I ask again, are you complaining?”

“No,” I say, blushing pink. “Sicko.”

“You like it.” He brushes his lips against my ear. “You might even love it.”

Yeah, I might even.

Chapter 31

Lena

Even though the library organizing was clearly just some busywork Maud gave me to keep me occupied, I find myself getting into it anyway.

The room really is a mess. I have to wear a dust mask, it’s so bad. Some shelves look like they haven’t been touched in decades. More than a few of the books crumble in my hands.

“Where’d they even get all these?” I mutter as I catalogue a few volumes that are at least a few hundred years old. Some of this stuff looks like it belongs locked away at a university in a climate-controlled vault.

As if in answer, I hear an odd rattle in the wall.

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