Liam #2
And then—then—my bride shocks me. I’m waiting for her fist, but instead, she starts laughing. Full-bodied, breathless laughter. Her whole body shakes with it as she grabs a handful of wet earth and smears it across my cheek.
“Oh, that’s how we’re playing this?” I grin, grabbing her wrists and flipping us so I’m straddling her, my mud-soaked jeans and hoodie rubbing filth all over her. I use my sleeve to wipe my cheek.
“You’re a mess,” she says through her laughter, cheeks flushed.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur, brushing hair from her face. She quiets beneath me, her chest rising and falling with each breath. God. She’s beautiful.
I stand and hold out a hand to help her up. She takes it, and I pull her close once she’s on her feet.
“You going to keep running?” I ask quietly.
“No.”
“Good.” I lean in and press a kiss to her temple, then brush my thumb along her cheek where a streak of mud still clings to her skin. “I know I fucked up, beauty. I will again. That’s a guarantee. But I’ve got your back, always. Even when I’m being a dumbass.”
She exhales through her nose, but it’s not a scoff. Not this time. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
I nod. “Yeah. But let’s get out of here first.” Her lips are turning blue.
She follows me to the car without another word, sliding into the passenger seat. Elizabeth shuffles over to set Taryn’s purse on the passenger’s side floor. She whispers something to my wife before closing the door.
I watch Taryn out of the corner of my eye as I drive—still gorgeous, even with her hair wild and mud drying on her bare legs.
We’re both silent as I crank up the heat.
Not tense, exactly. But quiet. Taryn leans her head against the passenger window, watching the dark campus roll by, her arms still wrapped in my coat.
I reach for her hand, and she doesn’t pull away.
It’s only a few minutes to our place. I whip into a parking space.
“Wait here,” I instruct, before hopping out of my SUV.
I open the door and scoop up my wife. Before she has a chance to protest, I remind her, “You’re not wearing shoes.”
She gives me a jerky nod in response.
She doesn’t complain when I carry her bridal style through our door. I set her down in our entryway.
“I’m disgusting,” she mutters, looking down at the dried mud flaking off her legs.
“I like you dirty,” I offer with a suggestive grin. She doesn’t smile, but she does sigh.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s clean up.”
She follows me back to our bedroom without argument, peeling off her socks and leaving a muddy trail behind her. I start the shower, adjusting the temperature, steam already fogging the mirror by the time she steps into the bathroom.
She stands in the doorway for a second, hugging herself.
“Here,” I say, walking over to her. I reach for the hem of her tank top and wait. When she nods, I pull it off slowly. She doesn’t meet my eyes. I take off the shorts next, then unbutton my own jeans and strip out of my shirt.
We don’t say anything as we step into the shower. The spray hits us, warm and constant, and she lets out a quiet sound, somewhere between relief and resignation.
I grab her body wash and lather it into my hands before gently working it over her shoulders, her arms. I don’t rush.
I don’t talk. I just take care of her. She closes her eyes as I rub her back, then turns, so I can rinse her off.
I run my fingers through her wet hair to loosen the knots, careful not to tug.
At one point, she rests her forehead against my chest. I kiss the top of her head but say nothing.
We take our time. When we step out, I wrap her in a fresh, oversized towel and dry her off, then scoop her into my arms. She doesn’t protest.
I carry her to the bedroom, set her gently on the bed, and go to grab another towel for her hair. When I return, I lean over her and start drying the dripping strands off with careful hands.
When I finish, she’s sitting still, wrapped in terry cloth, slightly damp hair clinging to her cheek. That’s when I take a step back and ask:
“You tried to move your money.” My voice is low. “Why?”
“Funny how you know that.” Her voice is hoarse.
I pause, watching her from where I lean against the dresser, arms crossed, the towel I just used on her hair slung over one shoulder. “You think I’m spying on you?”
“Aren’t you?” she snaps. “You knew the second I tried. How? You tracking my laptop? My phone? Put a bug in my purse?”
“I didn’t need to track anything.” My voice stays calm, but it’s a fight. “Ryan set up alerts on that account. We knew the Greeks would be watching it, so yeah—when someone tried to access it, we got flagged.”
She glares at me and tightens her plush towel. A droplet falls onto one of her creamy shoulders. “So that’s why I can’t even access my own goddamn money? You and your brother decided I didn’t need to anymore?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“No? Then explain it. Because I tried to access it like any normal person would, and I got locked out. I entered the password I always use. It didn’t work. I tried the next logical one. Didn’t work. And now you’re sitting here, acting like I committed treason.”
I take a breath. We didn’t change her password, but I don’t point that out. I’m trying to stay calm as it is, and this is not a point I want to argue.
“It’s not about you accessing your money,” I bite out. “It’s about timing. The Greeks are watching that account. Everything you did tonight made you look a lot more dangerous than you are. You triggered every alarm they have.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I made myself look dangerous,” she shoots back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“God forbid they see me as more than just your property. I wasn’t trying to be covert.
I was trying to make sure I had options.
I wasn’t even going to use the money right away.
I just wanted to know I could get to it. ”
“But you were going to take it. For what? A rainy day?”
“Yes! Because I don’t trust you!”
The words hang between us, sharp and sudden.
I take a step toward her. My voice is a snarl. “You don’t trust me.”
“You’re hiding things from me, Liam.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“There it is!” She barks out a bitter laugh, backing up on the bed. I assume she’s trying to get farther away from me. She sits against our headboard, hands waving as she shouts at me. “That’s the line. That’s always the fucking line! You’re protecting me. From what? Information? Choices? Myself?”
“You’re my wife, Taryn.” I try to stay calm despite her volume. I think that only further pisses her off.
“That doesn’t mean I belong to you!” she yells.
“No? No? Well, what the fuck do you think it means? It means I’m responsible for you.” My own volume is increasing.
“That’s not marriage, Liam. That’s control.” Her loud voice breaks on the last word.
I rake a hand through my damp hair. That’s it.
I raise my voice. Shout right back at her.
“You think I want control? I’m barely holding on here.
I could have walked away, Taryn, the minute I learned about where you invested your money.
I didn’t. I’m still right fucking here!” I throw my hands in the air, indicating our bedroom.
“You left me. You lied about why. You didn’t come home, and then you moved your money like you were running. ”
“Because I was thinking about running!”
“Why?” I force out the word. I clench my jaw to keep myself from yelling again. “Why do you keep trying to leave me when everything I’ve done is to make sure you’re safe at my side?”
She exhales, sharp and shaky. “Because I’m scared,” she says, her voice cracking enough to make me go still.
“Because I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the fighting and the marriage and you looking at me like I’m the center of your damn world…
it stopped feeling like a setup. It started to feel real. ”
She turns away for a second, like she can’t quite look at me while she says the next part. “And that terrifies me, Liam. Because I don’t know if it’s real for you too, or if I was just your best move. Some way to clean up the mess, tie the clans together, and look good while doing it.”
My chest tightens. She’s not yelling anymore. That almost makes it worse.
“You keep calling me your wife like that means something. And part of me wants to believe it does. But the rest of me?” She shrugs, makes a bitter little sound in the back of her throat.
“The rest of me still doesn’t know why you wanted to go ahead with this marriage.
I know you want to impress your father.”
My breath leaves my chest in a slow, deliberate exhale. “Jesus, Taryn…”
“I’m falling for you,” she says, voice cracking. “And I didn’t want to. I didn’t plan to. That’s why I tried to move the money—because if this all blows up in my face, I need to know I can walk away.”
I close the distance between us, sit next to her. “You can’t walk away.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“I mean—you could. I’m not locking the door.
But the idea of you leaving, of having to wake up without you?
It fucking gutted me. You disappeared to Elizabeth’s, and I couldn’t sleep.
I tried not to come after you, but I lost my goddamn mind.
I kept thinking, this is it. I pushed her too far.
I don’t even remember what stupid thing I said to Ryan that did it, and she’s gone.
And the worst part? I didn’t even blame you. ”
Her expression shifts, softens. “You didn’t?”
“No. Because I handled this all wrong. I was trying to fix things. Trying to protect you. I know how upset you were about that money. I didn’t want you reminded of it. That had nothing to do with my father and everything to do with wanting to keep you from getting hurt again.”
She swallows. “So what now?”
I reach my hand out. “Come here.”
She hesitates.
“Honest to Christ, beauty—”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “No need to manhandle me again. I’m coming.” She scoots toward me, and I pull her onto my lap.
I press her head to my shoulder, my voice rough. “I didn’t miss what you said, you know. About falling for me. I need you to know I’ll catch you.”
She puts her arms around my neck, snuggles closer. “I don’t need to be caught, baby. What I need is for you to be honest with me. I need choices. Options.”
I squeeze her tight. I goddamn love when she calls me baby. “I’m fucking free-falling here, Taryn. How’s that for honesty?”
She lets out a broken laugh and fists her hand in the towel still slung around my neck. “I hate how much I needed to hear that.”
“I hate how long it took me to say it.”
We sit there for a moment, just breathing, the space between us finally quiet.
Then she tilts her head up, lips barely brushing mine. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I know.” I kiss her anyway. “You can be mad. Just don’t leave. Because I’ll find you, beauty. You wanted honesty, so I need you to know that too. I’ll always find you.”