Chapter 12 Calder #2
“You got what you wanted, now get out of my house.” Pastor James practically collapses on the couch.
Saint moves toward the stairs. “Dad, I need to get some things—my clothes, my—”
“No. I said to get out!” His voice rises, grief and rage finally breaking through the pastoral facade. “I’ll bring you what you need. Later. When I can stand to look at you again without remembering what you just did.”
The words cut her deeper than any weapon could. I see it in the way she folds in on herself, the way her shoulders curl forward like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
“Dad, please—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t have anything. I need—”
“You should have thought of that before you chose him.”
“Don’t talk to my wife like that.” My voice drops, quiet but sharp as a blade. “Your problem is with me, not her.”
He doesn’t respond, merely stares at me with venom in his eyes.
I grab Saint’s hand and pull her toward the front door.
She follows numbly, tossing one last look over her shoulder at her father.
I help Saint into the truck and then head to the driver’s side, and I climb in beside her.
She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my presence at all.
Just stares straight ahead with those dark blue eyes that used to spark with life and defiance, but now look flat. Empty.
I did that. Took everything that made her Saint and crushed it under the weight of Bishop brutality.
“I know you wanted your things, but I can buy you new stuff.” I start the engine. “Or your father can bring some of it over whenever he decides to visit.”
Saint doesn’t respond. Doesn’t ask where we’re going, doesn’t do anything except stare out the window at her father’s house like she’s memorizing it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not. I really am sorry. I didn’t…” How the fuck do I apologize when we both know that I would’ve done whatever I had to do to get her father to agree?
“Just stop. I don’t want your apology. It changes nothing. You got what you wanted. I’m your wife now.” The ring on her finger catches in the sunlight, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
“We both know this has nothing to do with what I want. I did this so you could live without being in constant fear. This was survival. Nothing more.”
Even as I say the words, I know they aren’t true. I did this to protect Saint, to protect myself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a certain part of me is excited about giving Saint my last name. Making her all fucking mine.
“You know I never put much thought into what my wedding day would look like,” she says. I look away from the road and catch her staring at the ring on her finger. This strange possessiveness fills my chest. “Even if I had, I doubt it would have looked anything like today.”
“Weddings are overrated anyway,” I say, trying to lessen the heavy feeling in the cab.
“Right. Well, I thought, when the day came, I’d marry for love. That my father would smile and give his blessing. That I’d get this big fairy tale, happily ever after.”
“He’ll forgive you, Saint. I know it hurts and that marrying me wasn’t what you had planned, but like I said before, I’ll do everything in my power to make this marriage work. To make you happy.”
“Marriage is more than making it work, and making the other person happy. What about love?”
“Love? It would be ridiculous to let feelings get involved in our situation.”
“Why?” The way her voice cracks makes my heart ache.
I’m attracted to Saint, and I definitely want to fuck her, but loving her?
I’m not sure I’m capable of that. Then there’s the fact that, in my family, marriage is about survival and alliances, not affection.
I don’t want to be another nail in her coffin, but I also don’t want to lie to her.
I stare straight ahead as I speak, knowing that if I see her face, if I see any more tears on her cheeks today, it will kill me.
“It’s just not a good idea. Falling in love with me would be the worst decision you ever made. Right beside marrying me. That would be the second worst.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Saint whispers after a long second. “Pretend to be in love with you, pretend that I’m happy.”
The last thing I need is her doubting herself, especially when both our lives depend on her making it believable to the town and to my father. “We’re past the point of doubt. You don’t have an option. We have to make it believable.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean without actually falling in love with you.”
“I’ll be sure to remind you every chance I get why you don’t want to fall in love with an asshole like me. Besides, you hate me anyway.” I smirk at her, but it doesn’t seem to help.
Thankfully, our drive is over. The cabin appears through the trees, isolated and hidden. Safe, for now. But it’s also a prison, and we both know it.
I put the truck in park and kill the engine. Neither of us moves. Shifting in my seat, I turn to explain what will happen next, to assure her we won’t be here forever.
“We’re going to stay here until the day of the rodeo. Then after we make our public debut as husband and wife, we will move into a house closer to the main home.”
“So your father can watch us?”
“Yes, but also because it’s required.”
“Okay.” That’s all she says. “Can we go inside now?”
All I do is nod, then open my door and climb out. She does the same and walks up to the cabin door, waiting for me to unlock it. Once inside, she moves straight to the bed, sitting down on the edge without looking at me.
I stand by the door, listening to the silence.
No tears. No screaming. Just... nothing.
Which is somehow worse.
I pour myself a whiskey from the bottle I keep hidden under the sink and lean against the small kitchen counter. Saint is my wife now.
Legally, officially mine in the eyes of God and the state of Montana. The ring on her finger proves it, the license with her father’s signature makes it real.
None of that changes the fundamental truth that I took her against her will, destroyed her life, and forced her into a marriage she never wanted.
There’s no redemption in that. No love story buried under the brutality.
I’m still a monster, and she’s still the woman I couldn’t let die.
I drain the whiskey and pour another, letting the burn distract me from thoughts I shouldn’t be having. Across the room, Saint has moved, lying down to face the bathroom. Her shoulders shake gently. I know she’s crying and doing her very best to hide it.
I grit my teeth and squeeze the glass in my hand.
I’ve done so many terrible things, so how does forcing Saint to marry me take the cake? Because she’s innocent, because she didn’t fucking ask for any of this to happen to her.
My only hope is that she survives this, even if that means she grows to hate me even more than she already does.
I finish my second whiskey and consider a third, but decide against it.
I need to stay sharp and in control. I can’t take her pain away, can’t make anything better, not yet.
Especially when I know it’s only going to get worse. All I can do is plan for the next step.
In a few days, we’ll go to the rodeo. Show the whole town that Saint James is now Saint Bishop, accepted and claimed by the family everyone in this town fears.
Make it so public, so undeniable, that even Roman will have to accept it.
Only then will we see if this desperate gamble pays off or if I’ve just delayed the inevitable.
I grab a blanket from the trunk at the foot of the bed and spread it out on the floor on the opposite side of the cabin, as far from the bed as the small space allows.
Saint shifts on the bed, dragging my attention back to her. I’m tempted to go to her and offer whatever little bit of comfort I can, but I don’t. She needs this moment to grieve what she lost. Because while all of this was done to keep her alive, it’s not just about that anymore.
When her father signed his name on that license, she became mine.
Until death do us part. It’s selfish, but when she said, "I got what I wanted," she was right.
I’ve wanted to claim her for damn near a year now, and now that I have, something is fulfilling about the moment. This isn’t the way I would’ve made Saint my wife, if given the chance, but she’s my wife, and that’s all that matters.