Page 39 of Reckless Promises

Till death.

I spin my wedding band around on my finger. After the ceremony, Cillian bought me something more practical to wear for everyday use. And even if it’s still covered inemeralds, at least they’re embedded in the band, so they don’t catch on anything.

Birdie runs over to the door as Peyton knocks again. “Mrs. Cross, your clothes are here.”

Clothes?

Climbing out of bed, I walk over to the door and swing it open. Peyton has three clothing carts wheeled to the end of the hall, and they’re overflowing with clothes.

My side of the closet has always been emptier than Cillian’s, but I didn’t expect my father to have the courtesy to send more of my wardrobe over, given how things spiraled at the auction.

“What is this?”

“Mr. Cross ordered your wardrobe.”

“Of course he did,” I mumble, stepping aside and waving Peyton in.

The man is an enigma. He’ll be cold and detached one second, gifting me jewelry and clothing the next. For someone who doesn’t care about me, he has a confusing way of showing it.

Peyton rolls the carts into the room one by one, wheeling them over to the closet.

“I can do that,” I say as she starts unzipping dress bags.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sit. Drink your coffee. It’s my job.”

Reluctantly, I make my way over to the coffee cart Petyon brought in with the clothes and pour myself a mug. Peyton starts unpacking dress after dress, while I sit on the couch facing her.

“I haven’t had the chance to thank you for the wedding.”

The few times I’ve seen Peyton the past couple of weeks, she’s been around Darci. And I’m quickly learning that when Darci is around, she tends to be the one who takes charge of whatever is happening.

“What about it?” Peyton unzips another bag and hangs a beautiful black silk dress up in the closet.

“I know I said I didn’t care about the wedding colors, but you picked them out perfectly anyway. It’s like you read my mind.”

Peyton pauses, glancing over her shoulder and smiling at me. “I didn’t pick the colors. Or anything else for that matter.”

“But if you didn’t…”

Peyton chuckles, amused at my confusion. “Mr. Cross did.”

“Cillian?”

A sweet smile brightens her cheeks. “He said you’d like them.”

I did, and once more those knots he keeps forming in my chest pull tighter. It’s easier to resent him when he isn’t constantly doing thoughtful things for me. And I’m not sure what to think of the fact that he designed our entire wedding in black and green—almost like he could have guessed I’d like it.

Peyton smiles, reading whatever’s written all over my face as she turns back to unpacking the new wardrobe.

“There sure is a lot of black in here,” Peyton says, unpacking a stack of nylons and garters. “Hopefully, you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” Something else my husband knows, which I suspect is why he did this.

If Cillian wasn’t so infuriatingly closed off, I’d appreciate the observant side of him. He might be a cold-blooded killer, but he pays attention.

“How are you settling in?” Peyton asks, hanging a navy-blue shirt next to a series of black ones.

The entire wardrobe is lace and silk. No doubt overpriced. Maybe Fallon is right. If Cillian’s going to force me to be married to him and hold me hostage as his wife, at least he can waste some money in the process making up for it.

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