32. Gemira
Gemira
The emerald silk whispers against my legs as we ride toward the Willowmere Estate, paired with the fur-lined boots and cloak he insisted on so I wouldn’t get cold. The way this man takes care of me is going to be my downfall.
I steal a glance at Ryewood riding beside me.
He’s already watching me, so open and tender it makes my chest ache.
My body is still humming. I can still feel his mouth on me, his fingers inside me.
And I can’t stop replaying the way he came undone.
His head falling back against the wall, his grip tightening in my hair, the sounds he couldn’t hold back.
Watching him lose control set my whole body on fire.
But nothing compared to his filthy mouth and the words that fell from it. His voice pulled the orgasm from me like my pleasure belonged to him, like my body was something he could command.
And then the way he looked at me after, like I was his.
How am I ever going to let this man go? He has ruined me for anyone else.
The Willowmere Estate rises in the distance, grand and glittering with torchlight. Ryewood pulls his horse to a stop beside mine when we arrive.
“Ready, little fox?”
Before I can answer, he’s dismounting and coming to my side.
Those huge hands wrap around my waist, warm and possessive, and lift me from the saddle and lowers me slowly.
He deliberately drags me against every inch of him and the hard planes of his chest. The scent of cedar and moss makes me want to bury my face in his neck and never come up for air.
My feet touch the ground, but he still doesn’t let go. His hands stay on my waist, fingers pressing into my hips, holding me against him.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “I’m going to have trouble keeping my hands off you tonight.”
“Who’s asking you to?”
His grip tightens on my hips. “Dangerous words. We’re still not even, and I’ve been thinking about all the ways I’m going to ruin you later.”
“You already have.” The words slip out before I can stop them. They’re too honest, too real.
His whole body changes. The playful tension drains out of him, replaced by a rawness he doesn’t try to hide. His hands slide from my hips to cup my face, tilting it up so I can’t look away.
“I’m so far gone for you, it terrifies me.” His voice is wrecked, like I just broke him open with three words. His thumb traces my cheekbone, tender and reverent.
“You’re it for me, little fox. You’re it.”
My heart forgets how to beat.
I don’t say anything. I just look up at him, this devastating man.
“Are you going to come in at some point?” Finn appears at Ryewood’s shoulder, smirking. “Or should I tell the Willowmeres you’ll be skipping the ceremony to stare into each other’s eyes?”
“Fuck off, Finn,” Ryewood says.
“That’s not a no.”
Finn’s hand wraps around my arm, casually tugging me away from Ryewood.
“I’m stealing her for a drink before this thing starts. Rosie can be your date until you remember how to function.”
It looks like teasing, but I know my brother. There’s a tightness in his jaw, and he gives me a light squeeze on my arm. He’s checking on me the way only Finn can, without anyone else noticing.
“I function fine—” Ryewood says.
“You really don’t.” Finn’s already pulling me toward the entrance. “You won’t even survive five minutes without her.”
He steers me toward a quiet alcove near the back of the hall, away from the crowd, away from Ryewood. His easy smile stays fixed in place until we’re hidden behind a pillar. Then it drops.
“What are you doing, Gemma?” The worry in his voice is unmistakable.
My throat tightens. “I’m handling it.”
“Are you?” he says as he searches my face. “Because what I just saw out there doesn’t look like you’re handling it. It looks like you’re getting in too deep.”
I open my mouth to deflect, to say something sharp and clever that makes this all seem under control. But nothing comes out because he’s right. He’s right, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Finn.” My voice gives out on his name. “I don’t know—” I can’t finish. I press my hand to my mouth to keep the sob from escaping.
His expression fractures.
“Hey. Hey, no—come here.”
He doesn’t wait. His hands close around my arms, and he pulls me into him.
I go rigid against his chest. He holds on anyway, firm and unyielding, until I stop fighting it.
I press my face into his shoulder and try to breathe.
Try not to fall apart completely in the middle of a noble ceremony surrounded by strangers.
But my hands are shaking, clutching his jacket, and everything I’ve been holding back is clawing its way up my throat.
“I didn’t—” I gasp. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.” His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head. “I know. Just breathe.”
But I can’t breathe; my chest is caving in. My body already knows what my mind won’t accept: that I’m going to lose him. That I’m already losing him. Every moment I let myself fall deeper is another piece of me I’ll have to tear out when this ends.
“Finn—” His name comes out broken. “I can’t—he’s—”
“I’ve got you,” he says, wrapped around me tight, shielding me from the room and from anyone who might see.
I don’t know how long we stand there. Me slowly giving up the fight and him holding me through it. When I finally pull back, he holds my arms and searches my expression.
“Do you love him?”
The words shatter something inside me, and the grief hits so hard I can’t breathe. I’m grieving him while he’s still mine, while he’s somewhere in this room, probably looking for me, wondering where I went. I’m already mourning the loss of him, and I haven’t even left yet.
“I can’t.”
“Tides, that’s not what I asked.”
Tears slide down my cheeks that I don’t have the strength to stop.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say barely above a whisper. “I’m going to have to leave him, break him, and he’s never going to understand why.”
Finn’s jaw flexes, and he swipes the tear away with his thumb. Then pulls me back in.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “We always do.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe there’s some version of this that doesn’t end with me walking away.
Some version where I get to keep him. But I know better.
The closer Ryewood gets to me, the closer he gets to everything I’m hiding.
Risking myself is one thing, but I can’t risk her.
There’s no version of this where we survive if I’m with him.
Finn holds me a moment longer than necessary. Then he pulls back, producing a handkerchief and presses it gently into my hands.
“Gemma—” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”
I dab at my eyes and take a shaky breath.
“How do I look?”
He tilts his head, studying me.
“Like you’ll survive the next few hours. But Gemma…you can’t be alone with him tonight, not like this.”
“Finn—”
“I mean it.” His voice is gentle but firm. “You’re hanging on by a thread. One more moment like what I saw outside, and you’re going to break. And if he’s there when that happens—”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. If Ryewood sees me break, he’ll want to know why. And I don’t have a lie strong enough for that.
“I’ll talk to Rosie and Grier,” Finn continues. “We’ll make sure someone’s always around. A buffer.”
“Grier.” I close my eyes, and the guilt twists because he’s another man I’m hurting. “He’s not going to like playing interference with Ryewood—”
“He’ll do it.” Finn’s voice is gentle. “For you, he’ll do it. You know he will.”
I do know, and the guilt of it sits like a stone in my stomach.
“Just get through tonight. That’s all, just tonight,” he says.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
We step out of the alcove and back into the glittering crowd.
Finn squeezes my elbow, one last reassurance, and then he’s drifting away. His easy smile is back in place as he heads toward Rosie and Grier on the far side of the hall.
I watch him lean into Rosie and Grier and say something. Rosie’s eyes flick to me, and she nods. Grier’s jaw goes rigid, but he nods too. My protectors, who love me enough to carry what I can’t tonight.
“There you are.”
Ryewood’s voice washes over me, and then his warm hand is on the small of my back. I didn’t even see him approach.
“For the record, I tried to wait the full five minutes and failed spectacularly.”
He says it like a confession, like he’s proud of it. And somehow that makes it even more unbearable, the teasing, the lightness. The way this man can pull a smile out of me when I’m barely standing.
His thumb traces slow circles against my spine. His gaze drops to my face, and he stills. He sees it, everything I’m trying to hide. His whole body changes, coiling toward me like he’s ready to fight whatever made me look like this.
“Gemma.” He says it like he’s already hurting for me. “What happened?”
“I’m—” The word catches in my throat. For a terrifying moment, I almost give him the part of the truth that would undo everything. Almost let everything spill out right here in the middle of this glittering hall. “It’s nothing, I just—”
“Gemma.” Grier appears at my side. “There’s some protocols we should go over before the tethering—where to stand, when to bow. You’ll want to know before the officiant calls everyone to attention.”
Ryewood’s hand tightens on my back. “That can wait.”
“It really can’t.” Grier’s voice is calm and unbothered. “Unless you want her kneeling when everyone else stands.”
A muscle feathers in Ryewood’s jaw. He ignores Grier completely.
“Gemma,” he says, softer now. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”
I want to tell him. I want to fall into his arms and let him hold me. But some truths don’t bring people closer; they destroy everything they touch, and this one would get us killed.
“It’s nothing.” The lie scrapes my throat raw. “Really, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” He says it so gently, with the certainty of a man who knows me better than I can afford.
“Rye.” Grier steps in again. “Let me borrow her. Five minutes.”
Ryewood’s eyes don’t leave my face. “Gemma, you don’t have to go.”