Page 95 of Desperate Actions

Santos drives us to my parents’ house, the road stretching ahead in a blur of dark asphalt and city lights fading into the quiet affluence of the Long Island Sound.

There’s a partition between us and the front seat, so I know Santos can’t see or hear anything going on in the back.

But I don’t need an audience.

I can see and hear for myself that my wife is going through something right now.

Aella is nervous.

I can tell by the way she fidgets with her hands, the way she nibbles on her lower lip, the way she keeps stealing glances out the window like she’s bracing for battle.

Maybenervousisn’t the right word.

Maybeanxiousis better.

And fuck—I don’t blame her.

Our families are a lot.

I don’t want her to feel anything but happiness over our marriage, so I place my hand over hers, my thumb stroking gently over her soft skin.

She startles, her pale green eyes snapping to mine, and for a moment—I get lost.

She’s so fucking pretty.

I lift her hand to my lips, press a kiss to the delicate skin of her wrist, lingering just long enough to feel the quickening of her pulse.

“Wanna talk about it?” I murmur.

She exhales, slow, measured.

“About what?” she says, sarcasm lacing the words. “The fact my father is a lunatic and is probably going to swing at you again? Or that my mother is going to start crying because I denied her the chance to see me walk down the aisle? I’m fine. What’s there to be nervous about?”

I smirk.

“If you wanna get married again to make your mother happy, Pixie, I’m ready and willing.”

She blinks, startled, then tilts her head, studying me.

“Really?” she whispers. “You would dress up and stand there and marry me again?”

I don’t hesitate.

“I’d marry you a thousand times if that’s what it takes to make you happy.”

Her eyes heat, and she looks at me like I just said something profound.

Like I just changed the course of the entire fucking world.

I didn’t, though.

But I would. For her, I would do anything.

She exhales, shaking her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“So, what do we do if Daddy tries to hit you?”

I chuckle, rubbing slow circles on the back of her hand.

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