Page 139 of Captive Bride

He tastes like whiskey and sex and—Tristan.

I roll to my side and trace circles on his chest with my finger. His strong, chiseled chest never fails to excite me and to remind me I’m with a strong man, my dream man.

I remember the days that now seem so far off when I fantasized about this moment. I had wanted to meet my soul mate, and now I have.

I lay my head back down on the pillow and look over at him. His profile looks handsome against the light of the moon that’s streaming in through the window.

My man.

My happiness.

“Tristan, I just can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe we’re actually safe.”

He turns to look at me, and I’m transfixed, as usual, by his emerald green eyes. They’re clear and bright, like the potential of our future is also shining, lighting him up.

“Believe it, baby. This is just the beginning for us. I’m gonna keep you so fucking safe from the world and from everybody.”

“Tristan, you know I’ve been kept in a prison my entire life. Promise me that won’t happen again. You can’t be my new jailer.”

He takes my face in one of his broad hands and looks at me searchingly.

“Don’t you know yet, Isobel, that I would give you the whole world? You’re my princess. You want to be free? Be free. But I will keep you safe.”

I nuzzle into his chest and breathe lightly, feeling as though the weight of the world has finally been lifted from my shoulders.

I sigh back into the sheets and think about how lucky and excited I am. Walking through this darkness has been totally worth it because it meant getting to the other side and sharing my life with Tristan.

“Isobel, what you think about going to Vienna?” he asks.

“Vienna? I mean, I never really thought about it. But Vienna? Yes. Definitely.”

“Good. Because I’ve got a place there, a mansion, and Vienna will be the perfect place for us to start a new life.”

“That sounds nice,” I say sleepily.

“You understand this war between the Capulets and the Montagues is centuries old, and it will continue. You know this, right?’

“Yes, Tristan,” I say the words but care not for their meaning.

I know the battle lines between our families had been drawn a long time ago. I know the feuding will continue.

“The Governor is dead, Isobel, but your father isn’t. We have to make it look like you died in the crossfire. That’s the only way to get away from him. Otherwise, he’ll search the ends of the earth to find you.”

“Okay, Tristan. Whatever you think is best.”

A heavy sleep is starting to encumber my entire being. I feel him there—him, my man, and I feel like the worst is behind us.

I can dream of a better world and a better life.

I sleep, and I dream.

It’s finally happening. My happiness.

And, at last, I am content.

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