17. 2
Sunlight filters through gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the massive bed where I lie watching Damien sleep. At last, his face loses the calculated control he maintains while awake. The hard lines of his jaw soften, and the perpetual vigilance eases from his brow. He looks younger, almost innocent—though I know better than anyone how deceptive that appearance is.
My eyes trace the curve of his shoulder, the lean muscle of his arm thrown casually across my waist, the rise and fall of his chest where my name is permanently etched in black ink. The tattoo fascinates me still—this physical manifestation of his eight-year obsession. I reach out, lightly running my fingertip over the elegant script.
Eve . My name on his skin. A mark of regret, of fixation, of something that began as guilt but evolved into something far more complex.
How strange that I feel peace this morning, lying beside the man who helped cover up my parents’ murder. The rational part of my brain still insists I should hate him—should walk away from this darkness before it consumes me completely. But that voice grows fainter with each passing hour, drowned out by a deeper understanding of what binds us together.
Forgiveness isn’t forgetting. It isn’t absolution or erasure of sin. It’s a choice—my choice—to move forward carrying knowledge rather than hatred. To acknowledge the wrongdoing without letting it define my future. To see the man Damien is now alongside the man he was eight years ago.
My finger continues its path across his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath warm skin. His eyelids flutter at my touch but don’t open. He’s exhausted—we both are—after a night spent redefining the boundaries between us, exploring this new territory of honesty and vulnerability with our bodies when words failed us.
“Are you real?” His voice, rough with sleep, startles me from my thoughts. His eyes remain closed, but his arm tightens around my waist.
“Very,” I reply, splaying my palm flat against his chest, covering my name with my hand.
“I thought last night might have been a dream.” His eyes open, now serious despite the lingering softness of sleep. “That I’d wake up and find you gone again.”
The naked vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This man who commands an empire of shadows, who dispenses justice with calculated precision, who ends lives without hesitation . . . reduced to uncertainty by the fear I might disappear.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him.
His hand captures mine, pressing it harder against his chest. “You chose this,” he says, not quite a question but seeking confirmation nonetheless. “Knowing everything, you chose to stay.”
“I did.” I shift closer, feeling the heat of his body against mine. “I chose you, knowing exactly who you are, what you’ve done.”
His free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear with unexpected tenderness. “Does that frighten you? Being linked to me, and to The Shadows?”
I consider the question seriously, examining my feelings without the filters of conventional morality or societal expectation. “Not frightened,” I finally say. “Changed. Like I’ve been sleepwalking through my life since my parents died, and now I’m finally awake.”
“You were never meant for half-measures, Eve. Never meant for the sanitized obituaries of strangers. You were always destined for more.”
“For this?” I gesture between us.
“For this,” he confirms, pulling me closer until my head rests on his chest, directly over my name inked into his skin. “For us.”
I close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. There should be turmoil in my soul—conflict about the path I’ve chosen. Instead, I feel only certainty: a strange, calm clarity about who I am and where I belong.
Not in spite of the darkness, but because of it. Not despite knowing what Damien is capable of, but because I now understand what I’m capable of too. We lie together as the sun climbs higher, neither of us speaking, both understanding that something fundamental has shifted between us. No longer manipulator and target, no longer hunter and prey, no longer separated by secrets or guilt.
And for the first time since my parents died, I feel completely, terrifyingly alive.
* * *
T he Tribune newsroom buzzes with familiar energy as I settle at my desk after weeks away.
“Thorne! Is that you?” Brian’s voice booms across the room, causing several heads to glance my way for a moment before returning to their screens.
“Morning, Brian,” I reply with practiced casualness, powering up my computer as though I haven’t been mysteriously absent.
He approaches my desk, coffee mug clutched in one hand, dark circles shadowing his eyes. His rumpled shirt and loosened tie suggest he’s been here since early morning—typical for when we’re closing in on a major story.
“Two weeks, Thorne,” he says, planting himself against my half-wall. “More than two weeks, actually, without so much as a text, and you waltz in like it’s nothing?”
“I sent an email,” I remind him, referencing the message I’d composed from the cabin, explaining a family emergency requiring immediate attention following my “bout with the flu.”
“A vague email about a family emergency when, as far as I know, you don’t have any family.” His voice lowers as he leans closer, studying my face with the keen observation that made him a good journalist before management dulled his edges. “You disappear right after bringing up dangerous accusations about one of the most powerful men in Chicago, then return looking . . .” He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in my appearance.
“Looking what?” I prompt, meeting his gaze steadily.
“Different,” he concludes, folding his arms across his chest. “Focused. Energized.” His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he believes me, but he’s at least relieved to see that I’m okay. “You planning to share what this mysterious discovery might be?”
“Not today.” I turn to my computer, pulling up the template for obituaries I’ve written hundreds of times before. “But I do have something to discuss with you when you have a moment.”
His curiosity is visibly piqued, and he gestures toward his office. “I have a moment now.”
I follow him into the glass-walled space overlooking the newsroom, taking the seat across from his cluttered desk. Coffee-ringed papers, notepads filled with his nearly-illegible scrawl, and several half-empty mugs create a chaotic landscape that would drive me crazy. He settles into his chair, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“I want to move from obituaries to investigative journalism,” I state without preamble, my voice steady and confident. “I’ve been here five years, Brian. I’ve paid my dues writing about the dead. I’m ready for something more.”
His surprise is evident, though not for the reason I expected.
“About damn time.”
“What?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for years,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a creak of springs. “You’ve got the instincts, the drive. You’ve been conducting your own investigations on the side anyway. Might as well put those skills to official use.”
I’m momentarily speechless, having prepared arguments for resistance that isn’t coming.
“What? Seriously? After shutting me down all these years?” I don’t hide the frustration in my voice. This bastard has the audacity to say I just had to ask for it?
“Hey, I never said you couldn’t be a journalist. I simply said I wasn’t okaying you going rogue on some unsanctioned, harebrained idea you were following. You can’t risk our reputation by ruining someone else’s life, Eve.”
I take a deep breath, more aware than ever of how serious accusations can be. “You’re right,” I say softly, “and I’m sorry. I will only follow sanctioned stories.”
“Why now?” he asks, his journalistic curiosity resurfacing. “What changed during your mysterious absence?”
I choose my words carefully, crafting a truth that conceals more than it reveals. “I had time to think, and to reassess my priorities. I realized I’ve been playing it safe, staying in a comfortable role rather than pursuing what I really want.”
“And what exactly do you want, Eve?”
“To expose corruption,” I answer honestly, feeling that familiar fire igniting in my chest. “To bring hidden truths to light. To make a difference beyond documenting deaths after the fact.”
Brian studies me for a long moment, then nods as if coming to a decision. “I’ve got something that might interest you. A city contract showing some suspicious patterns. Nothing concrete yet, but with the right digging . . .”
“I’m interested.” My pulse quickens at the opportunity—not just for my career, but for The Shadows. Municipal corruption is exactly the kind of target Damien’s organization pursues. Something I’ve learned rather quickly since being in his life is that corruption at the bottom only leads to more at the top.
“It’s not glamorous work,” Brian warns, pulling open a drawer and extracting a worn manila folder. “Lots of document review, source cultivation, dead ends. A different kind of frustration than obituaries.”
“I’m not looking for glamour.” I lean forward, letting him see the determination I no longer need to hide. “I’m looking for truth.”
He seems satisfied with my answer, sliding the folder across the desk. “Then welcome to investigative journalism, Thorne. Don’t make me regret this.”
As I take the file, a secret smile plays at the corners of my mouth. If Brian only knew what resources I now have at my disposal, what connections I can leverage, what justice might follow my discoveries . . .
“I won’t let you down,” I promise, already imagining how this assignment might serve my new purpose.
“One more thing,” Brian says as I stand to leave. “Whatever happened with that Knox investigation you were so fired up about a few weeks ago?”
My expression remains neutral despite the sudden spike in my heart rate. “I’m still gathering evidence. Some things require patience.”
He studies me again, perhaps sensing the shift in my tone. “Just be careful, Eve. Men like him don’t appreciate being investigated.”
“I always am,” I assure him, clutching the folder to my chest as I exit his office.
The rest of the day passes in a productive blur. I dive into the contract records Brian provided, identifying connections and patterns with an efficiency that would have surprised me weeks ago. My phone buzzes twice with messages from Damien—short, encrypted communication about tonight’s gathering. The anticipation builds steadily throughout the afternoon, my mind already in overdrive.
By late afternoon, I’ve created a preliminary map of suspicious contracts, identifying three officials whose patterns suggest potential corruption. It’s solid work, though just a fraction of what I’ll be able to accomplish once I apply The Shadows’ resources to the investigation.
As I pack up my laptop and notepad, Ingrid pauses by my desk with a concerned look. “Everything okay, Eve? We were all so worried when you just disappeared.”
“I’m good,” I assure her with a genuine smile. “Better than good, actually. Sometimes a break is exactly what you need to gain perspective.”
She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but nods anyway. “Well, welcome back. A few of us are grabbing drinks later if you want to join.”
“Can’t tonight. Prior commitment.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, already mentally preparing for the evening ahead. “Rain check?”
“Sure thing.” She watches me for a moment longer before returning to her desk.
The drive to Eden gives me time to mentally prepare myself for the inquisition I’m about to face tonight during my first real meeting with The Shadows.
* * *
T he underground chamber beneath Eden pulses with subdued energy as I push open the heavy doors. The room falls silent as I enter, seven pairs of eyes turning toward me.
“Eve,” The Vigilante acknowledges, her stern expression softening slightly. We’ve developed an unexpected mutual respect since our first meeting. “We were just reviewing the preliminary information you sent.”
“Good timing,” The Raven adds, nodding toward the empty seat to Damien’s right. “We have questions about this pharmaceutical connection you’ve identified.”
I take my place, feeling Damien’s hand brush mine beneath the table—a brief gesture of private acknowledgment before we continue with business. The screens at the far end of the room display information I compiled on our latest target, a network of corrupt officials protecting a pharmaceutical company’s deadly negligence.
“The connection runs through these offshore accounts,” I explain, using a tablet to highlight specific transactions. “The company diverted funds through this shell corporation, then into the personal accounts of these three officials.”
The Heiress leans forward, her gaze sharpening with interest. “The pattern matches what we’ve seen in Milwaukee. Same financial architecture, possibly the same facilitators.”
“Exactly,” I confirm. “I believe we’re looking at a regional network, not just isolated corruption.”
“Evidence quality?” The Skull asks.
“Substantial but not yet court-ready,” I admit. “The Raven’s team will need to access their internal communications to solidify the connection completely.”
“Already in progress,” The Raven confirms. “Preliminary findings support your theory. Their security is sophisticated but . . . inadequate.” The Raven’s technical expertise makes any digital barrier a temporary inconvenience.
Damien watches our exchange with quiet satisfaction as their initial skepticism slowly gives way to genuine collaboration.
“Your journalistic approach provides excellent cover for this investigation,” The Phantom observes. “The Tribune’s reputation lends legitimacy to your inquiries without raising suspicion.”
“And creates public pressure once we’re ready to act,” The Vigilante adds, already thinking ahead to execution. “A well-timed exposé followed by our intervention would achieve maximum impact.”
The discussion flows naturally as we refine our approach—identifying key targets, determining appropriate consequences, and establishing timelines for both public exposure and shadow justice.
“We’ll begin surveillance immediately,” The Vigilante concludes, making notes on her tablet. “Eve’s public investigation provides the perfect cover for our initial reconnaissance.”
“And The Heiress’ financial team can trace the offshore connections,” Damien adds.
As the meeting concludes and the council members file out, Damien approaches me, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that still makes my breath catch. But within a second, his expression changes as he moves toward me at the speed of light.
His hand closes around my throat as he presses me against the wall, eyes blazing with a fury I’ve never seen before.
“I watched you today, with your source.” His lips curl in a snarl. “You let him touch you,” Damien growls, his grip firm but controlled. “His hand on your lower back, his lips too close to your ear.”
“It was a business conversation,” I manage, pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Nothing more.”
“Nothing is ever just business,” he says, his face inches from mine. “The thought of another man even looking at you makes me want to peel his eyelids back so he can watch as I remove his hands that dared to touch what’s mine.”
The terrifying part isn’t the threat itself, but the absolute certainty that he means every word. I have zero doubts he would carry it out without hesitation or remorse.
“Damien—”
“Do you understand what you are to me, Eve?” His voice drops to a whisper, his body pressed against mine. “I would burn this city to ash if it meant keeping you safe. I would dismantle empires, destroy dynasties, create rivers of blood . . . and I would do it all without a moment’s hesitation.” His lips brush against mine. “There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice to protect what’s mine. Nothing and no one who could stand in my way.”
His possessiveness should terrify me. Instead, it ignites something dark and hungry inside me—the knowledge that I am singularly, obsessively wanted by the most dangerous man in Chicago.
“Show me,” I whisper.
“Patience,” he says against my lips before nipping at them. Then, like nothing happened, his expression changes back. “Dinner in the greenhouse?” he suggests, his voice dropping to a register meant only for me.
“Of course.” My nerves are already giddy with excitement.
“Can’t wait. I’ll be up within an hour. Just need to finish up down here.”
* * *
A fter dinner, we move deeper into the greenhouse.
“I’ve missed this,” I admit, watching as Damien’s long fingers tend to a particularly rare bloom. “Watching how gentle you can be—taming your brutality.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me. “I thought you liked that about me.”
“The brutality, or the gentleness?” I play coy, slowly dragging my finger over his back as I step around him.
“Both.”
I take a seat on the bench opposite him, reaching down to slowly lift up the hem of my skirt, inch by inch.
“What are you doing?” His jaw tics, his eyes dropping down to where my hand has reached its destination.
“I want to come, Damien.” My fingers rub against the silk of my panties, my thighs falling open. Since meeting Damien, my sexual confidence has skyrocketed along with my drive. I find myself shamefully daydreaming of him bending me over the desk in my office, taking me unapologetically. “I need to come.”
“Did I tell you that you could?” He keeps the pruning shears in his hand as he steps toward me. His eyes darken as he approaches, pupils dilating so that only a thin ring of dark brown remains. When he reaches me, he drops down to his knees in front of me, setting down the shears with deliberate care, and turning to face me fully. “You’re playing with fire, Eve,” he murmurs, voice dropping to the register that vibrates through my entire body.
I dip my finger just inside my opening, letting my juices gather on the tip of my finger. Leaning forward, I drag the same finger over his lip, leaning in close enough that my breath stirs the open collar of his shirt. “Maybe I want to burn.”
The restraint shatters between us. Damien moves with predatory grace, backing me against one of the stone planters. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s nothing like the controlled passion we shared last time.
I arch against him, fingers tangling in his hair as I pull him closer. His hands find my waist, then slide lower, gripping my hips with enough force to leave marks I’ll discover tomorrow.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he growls against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear that makes me gasp. “Watching you control that room earlier . . . do you have any idea what that does to me?”
“Show me,” I challenge, already working at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers.
He captures my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head as his other hand works at the zipper of my skirt. “I intend to. Look at you,” Damien breathes, stepping back slightly to take in my nearly-naked form after tearing my clothes from my body. “Perfect. Mine.”
“Yours,” I confirm. “Now touch me before I lose my mind.”
A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest as he sheds his own clothes with efficient movements. “So demanding,” he teases, though I see the barely-leashed hunger in his eyes. “Where’s your patience, Eve?”
“I left it in the council chamber,” I retort, reaching for him. “Along with my restraint.”
His skin is hot beneath my palms as I explore the familiar terrain of his body—the hard planes of muscle, the scars that tell stories of violence survived, the tattoo bearing my name that still makes my breath catch whenever I see it.
“Need you,” I whisper against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my lips. “Now, Damien.”
Instead of answering, he lifts me in one smooth movement, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me from the greenhouse. The journey to our bedroom passes in a blur of heated kisses and filthy confessions whispered against my skin.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are like this?” he murmurs. “Desperate for me, shameless in your need, begging for my cock?”
“Your fault,” I gasp as his teeth find my shoulder. “You made me this way.”
When we reach the bedroom, Damien doesn’t make it to the bed. He presses me against the closed door, his body pinning mine as his mouth reclaims every inch of exposed skin.
“I want to taste you everywhere,” he growls, dropping to his knees before me. His hands slide up my thighs with deliberate slowness, spreading me open to his hungry gaze. “Hold on to something.”
I tangle my fingers in his hair as his mouth finds me with urgency. The first stroke of his tongue tears a cry from my throat that fills the spacious room.
“God, Damien,” I manage to gasp as pleasure coils tight in my belly. “Just like that . . . don’t stop.”
He hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my core. “I love how responsive you are,” he murmurs without lifting his head. “How wet you get for me, how easily your body surrenders. You’re my little toy, aren’t you?”
“Only for you,” I pant, rolling my hips against his mouth as tension builds. “Only ever you.”
His fingers join his mouth, stretching and filling me as his tongue works mercilessly against my clit, a combination that has me seeing stars. Just as I’m about to topple over the edge, he pulls back, leaving me trembling and desperate.
“Not yet,” he says, rising to his feet with fluid grace. “I want to be inside you when you come.” In one swift movement, he lifts me again, turning to press me against the door. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling him hard and ready against my entrance.
“Look at me,” he demands, one hand coming up to cradle my jaw. “I want to see your eyes when I take you.”
I meet his gaze. “Take me, then.”
He enters me with a single thrust, his size stretching me completely in a way that still surprises me no matter how many times we’ve done this. The sensation is exquisite, like every nerve ending in my body is primed for what’s about to come next. My head falls back against the wood as my pleasure builds, his rhythm perfectly calibrated to bring me to the edge.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice rough with restraint. “Take what you need, Eve.”
“More,” I demand, nails digging into his shoulders as I move against him. “Harder.”
He complies, and his pace increases as his control begins to fracture. “You feel so fucking perfect,” he groans, forehead pressing against mine as we breathe the same air. “Made for me.”
The intensity builds between us, pleasure spiraling tighter with each thrust. I can feel myself teetering on the edge, every muscle in my body straining toward release.
“Damien,” I gasp, my voice breaking on his name. “I’m close . . . so close . . .”
“Come for me,” he commands, his thumb finding my clit. “Now, Eve.”
My body obeys instantly, pleasure exploding outward from my core in waves that leave me crying out his name. He works me through it, his rhythm never faltering as I shudder against him. Before I’ve fully recovered, he carries me to the bed, laying me across the sheets with surprising gentleness given the hunger still evident in his eyes.
“I’m not finished with you yet.” He positions himself above me. “I want to taste your pleasure again.” He moves down my body with deliberate slowness, pressing open-mouthed kisses to sensitive skin, lingering at my breasts until I’m arching up, begging for more.
“Please,” I whimper as he settles between my thighs again.
“Please what?” he teases, breath hot against my sensitive flesh.
“Your mouth,” I manage, beyond pride now, consumed by need. “I need your mouth on me.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my inner thigh. “So specific. So desperate.”
“Your fault,” I gasp as he finally gives me what I need, his tongue sliding through my slick folds. His pleasure is evident by the loud moan he emits as he does it again and again.
“Sit on my face,” he demands suddenly, pulling away to look up at me with hungry eyes. “I want to feel you come against my tongue.” I shift positions, straddling his face as his hands grip my hips, guiding me where he wants me. The first sweep of his tongue in this new position has me seeing stars, the angle allowing him deeper access.
“Oh God,” I moan, one hand bracing against the headboard as the other tangles in his hair. “That’s . . . fuck , Damien.” His grip tightens, holding me in place as his mouth works magic against my core. He brings me to the edge again before deliberately slowing, denying me with calculated cruelty.
“Don’t stop,” I plead, trying to rock against him as pressure builds unbearably. “Please don’t stop.”
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against me with each word. “Beg me properly, Eve.”
“Please,” I gasp. “Please let me come . . . I need it so badly, please.” My desperation is pathetic, but I’m beyond caring. All I want is for him to allow me to come. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” he teases. “Now that could be fun to exploit.” He flicks the tip of his tongue over my clit, sending convulsions throughout my body. “Would you let me tie you to this bed?”
“Yes, anything just—” He sucks my clit, bringing me right to the edge, then releases it again.
“How about letting me wrap your scarf around your neck and using it for leverage while I fuck you from behind?”
I pause, looking down at him, my hand still in his hair. “Depends.” He drags his tongue slowly up my slit, darting out to flick my clit again, making me shudder. “Are you going to be rough with me?”
“Is that what you like, kinky girl? Getting thrown around and choked like the little slut you are?” This time he doesn’t stop, his tongue diving deep inside me while he sucks my clit.
“Oh God, yessss . . .”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, before returning to his task with renewed vigor.
This time when release claims me, it’s even more intense than before, my entire body convulsing as pleasure whites out my vision. I’m vaguely aware of Damien’s hands guiding me back down beside him, his mouth glistening in the dim light as he moves up to claim my lips in a kiss that tastes of me.
“Beautiful,” he whispers against my mouth. “So fucking beautiful when you fall apart for me.”
Before I can catch my breath, he’s positioning himself between my thighs again. “Look at me,” he commands softly as he begins to move. “Stay with me. You’re everything,” he murmurs, the words seemingly torn from him against his will. “Everything I never knew I needed.”
The confession, rare and precious, pushes me toward another peak. “I love you,” I breathe, the words still new enough to feel dangerous between us. “God, Damien, I love you.”
Hunger flashes in his eyes, mixed with possession at my confession. His pace increases, control fracturing as we drive each other higher.
“Mine,” he growls, one hand sliding beneath me to change the angle until I’m gasping with each thrust. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I confirm, nails scoring his back as pleasure builds again. “Always yours.”
I’m almost there when he shifts positions again, flipping me over onto my belly as he pulls out and reaches down beside the bed.
“What are you . . . ?” I see the green scarf in his hands before I’m able to finish the question. His hand is already around my neck, pulling me toward him so my back is against his chest.
“I’m going to destroy you,” he whispers before nipping my earlobe as he winds the scarf around my neck. “One delicious orgasm at a time, baby.” The material tightens around my neck when he pushes me forward and wraps the loose ends around his fist.
Another second later, he’s back inside me in one long, deep stroke. My head tips back with the motion, his strokes starting out punishingly slow, his cock pulling almost entirely out of me before sliding back in.
“Now relax,” he says softly when he’s all the way inside me. He leans forward, biting down on the flesh where my shoulder meets my neck. “Are you ready for me to use you?”
“Yes, please.” I don’t have to beg this time. He’s thrusting into me hard and fast, the sound of my arousal so loud.
“Oh fuck, yes! Listen to how wet you are,” he groans, lifting his leg to plant his foot on the bed as he drives into me harder. It’s so deep, I’m certain he’s rearranging my organs at this point. It’s painful and I know that tomorrow my body will be aching, but I long for it like a masochist.
My body belongs to him. Just that thought alone has me clenching, my arms collapsing as I fall forward. When release claims us both, it’s together. His body tenses above mine as I arch to meet him, his name on my lips and mine on his—the connection between us transcending the physical. He pulls the scarf from my throat right as my orgasm releases, its intensity soaring to new heights.
Afterward, as we lie entwined in the darkness, his fingers move in idle patterns on my damp skin, his lips replacing the scarf as he traces the red line that’s left behind. “Perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“You like marking me.”
“Yes,” he acknowledges. “I’m greedy and possessive, Eve. I want all of you, all the time, and I want everyone to know you belong to me.”
“Isn’t that toxic?”
“Yes, but I know how to handle toxic things, don’t I?” He plants a gentle kiss over my lips. “I’m not going to tell you it will change, because it won’t. I made no pretenses about how I intended to possess you, did I?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Good,” he kisses me deeper this time, the pace of it alerting me to something coming with it. “I’m an easy man to please.” He flashes that devilish grin. “Just never tell me no.”
“That easy, huh?” I laugh, his grin morphing into a smile that mirrors mine. “And what kind of things are you going to demand of me that I can’t say no to?”
His face grows more serious, his fingers intertwining with mine as he lifts them over my head.
“Being my wife.”