Francesca #2
He gave a slow nod. “Then I’ll start thinking about it.”
I was suddenly aware of my pulse in my neck—and aware of the moment when it skipped.
I made no assumptions when it came to Wolfe, but he somehow managed to surpass expectations I didn’t have in the first place.
“I didn’t ask these questions to start a serious conversation that we’re nowhere near having. I just—”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t backpedal. Don’t be afraid to say what you want. You want to get married and have children, and if a man can’t give that to you, then fuck him. You only have so much time to have children, so don’t waste that youth on a man who’s just going to suck you dry and leave nothing left.”
The first time I’d ever heard a man say something like that—and he was the last man I’d expected to ever say it.
“You deserve everything that you want, baby.”
This man was too good to be true. Every day, it felt like a dream. A man who was no-bullshit, got shit done, spoke his mind, and didn’t shy away from commitment or difficult conversations. Who didn’t belittle me for wanting a happily ever after.
“I understand those are conditions to be with you, and I’m glad you shared them with me.
” He stared at me across the table, ravioli still in his bowl and half a slice of bread on his small plate.
“I won’t waste your time. If I can’t meet those expectations, I’ll tell you.
As for right now, I have absolutely no issue marrying you.
” A little smirk moved across his lips before it faded.
“But I’ll need some time to think about your other request, because I’m not a kid person. ”
“Again, I didn’t mean to start a conversation at the beginning of our relationship.”
“But it’s not the beginning. A month to us is half a year to others. This has been moving fast because it’s right—and I’m not afraid to say that. And the reason you asked me these questions is because you see this going exactly where I see this going.”
Now I wished I hadn’t said anything. Wasn’t sure why I even asked…unless his assumption was correct. That I wanted to be his wife as equally as I was terrified to be his wife.
“You already put your cards on the table yesterday, baby.” This was the part where he would normally smile, but his smirk was absent from his handsome face. “I see your fucking hand. You want this as much as I do.”
He pulled out two wooden sticks from his bag, carved like blunt knives.
“Come on, I want to show you a couple things.” We’d just finished the dishes and were cleaning up the kitchen, the two of us falling into an unspoken nightly routine.
He didn’t seem like a domesticated guy at all, the kind who washed dishes or did chores or lifted a finger at all, but he never hesitated to pull his weight around my house.
I dried my hands on the towel. “What are those?”
“Practice knives.”
“Practice knives?”
“I want to show you how to fight with a blade.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t like the way your brother showed up here at midnight.”
“But it was just my brother.”
“But it easily could have been anyone else, and I could have easily not been here.” He deepened his tone, warning me not to fuck with him right now. “I only want to teach you a few things. Come on.”
I was tired from cooking and drained from our heavy conversation. I just wanted to go upstairs and watch him get naked and bury himself between my legs like a sailor home on leave. But I didn’t want to piss him off when he was focused on this.
He walked outside to the front of my house where the gravel was, the lights from the interior and the uplighting from the landscaping making it bright enough to see.
He put one of the knives in my hand. “Always hold it like this.” He turned it upside down and brought my fingers around it.
“Never like this.” He pushed my hand down and showed how the blade would impale me right in the stomach if I held it incorrectly. “Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Then change it.”
I turned the wooden knife the other way.
“If you ever have to fight someone with a knife, block and wait.” He pulled his arms to the front of his body, blocking his chest and the bottom of his chin. “Like a boxer.”
I copied him.
“Now, attack me.”
I gently tried to jab him with the wooden knife.
He dodged before it hit him. “Do it again.”
I repeated what I’d done. That was when he struck, taking advantage of my opening and shoving the knife into my ribs.
“You’re a defensive fighter, not an offensive fighter like me.
So you dodge and wait for openings. They’ll underestimate you at first, so you have to kill them before they have the opportunity to realize. ”
“Okay.”
“Your father never taught you this?”
“No. Just guns.”
“Hand-to-hand combat?”
I shook my head.
He gave a sigh. “Alright, we’re going to fix that.”
“Why do I need to learn how to fight hand-to-hand and stab someone when I have a gun? There are guns all over the house.”
“Don’t be arrogant enough to believe that the setting is in your control,” he snapped. “It may not be. What if someone snatches you and takes you to a new location, and all you have are your bare fucking hands?”
I didn’t even want to entertain that thought.
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine as he stared me down.
“I’m not trying to scare you. If something happened to you, know that I’ll get you back—and I’ll cut off everyone’s fucking heads when I get there.
But I need you to defend yourself until I arrive.
So are you prepared to take this seriously or not? ”
“Yes.”
“I would be doing you a disservice if I didn’t teach you everything I know. If you’re going to be my woman and we’re going to have this life together, then I need you to be tough. A tough fucking bitch. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer to me and raised his voice. “I didn’t fucking hear you.”
“Yes.”
“Attagirl. Let’s fucking do this.”