Page 18 of Razor
"This is real to me," Razor continued."Not just a piece of paper.Not just a convenience.When I make a commitment, I honor it."
I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths."What does that mean?Exactly?"
"It means I expect faithfulness, and you'll get the same from me."His eyes never left mine, unwavering."It means I'll protect you both with my life if necessary.It means I'm in this—all the way."
The champagne flute trembled in my grip.I set it down on the nightstand before I could drop it, the movement jerky and uncoordinated.
"I don't...I've never..."The words tangled in my throat.How could I explain that my relationship with Tyler had left me with no understanding of what normal commitment looked like?That faithfulness had been demanded of me while he did whatever he wanted?
"I know," Razor said simply, somehow understanding what I couldn't articulate."I'm not him."
Those three words hit me like a physical force.I'm not him.The simplest reassurance, yet the one I most needed to hear.
"I don't expect anything from you tonight," he continued, setting his own glass aside."We've got time to figure this out.But I wanted you to know where I stand."
I nodded, a quick, nervous movement."I want this to work," I admitted, surprising myself with the truth of it."For Dante.And...for me."
Razor's expression softened around the eyes, the corner of his mouth curving slightly—not quite a smile, but warm enough to loosen the tightness in my chest.
"So do I."He hesitated, then added, "We got a raw deal, jumping straight to marriage without the dating part.But maybe we can do it backward.Start getting to know each other now."
A bubble of unexpected laughter escaped me."Isn't that what normal people do?Get to know someone before marrying them?"
"We're not normal people," Razor replied, his own mouth quirking up at the corner."Normal's overrated anyway."
For a brief moment, the tension eased, and I glimpsed what might be possible between us—not just protection and safety, but understanding.Maybe even happiness eventually.
Razor finished his champagne in a single swallow, then stood, extending his hand to me."Come to bed, wife."
The word sent a shiver through me—part fear, part desire I wasn't ready to name.I looked at his outstretched hand, tattooed and scarred, yet gentle with Dante, gentle with me.A hand that had built pillow forts and fought off threats, that had held mine through wedding vows spoken under neon lights.
I placed my fingers in his, cool against his warmth.His hand closed around mine, firm but not constraining.
"Husband," I whispered, testing the word on my tongue as I rose to my feet.
He led me toward the bedroom, his steps unhurried, giving me time to change my mind, to pull away.I didn't.Despite the fear fluttering in my stomach, despite the uncertainty of everything that had happened, one thing had become clear today: Razor Hernandez was a man of his word.And for tonight, for now, that was enough for me to follow where he led.
The bedroom was painted in shadows and light, the glow of distant casinos filtering through sheer curtains to cast shifting patterns across the walls.Reds and blues and golds moved like living fire, turning the ordinary hotel room into a dream I wasn't sure I knew how to survive.I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Razor moved to the window, his silhouette dark against the vibrant city beyond.This man was my husband now.The thought felt foreign, impossible, yet the weight of the gold band on my finger reminded me it was real.
Razor turned, his eyes finding mine across the room.He didn't rush toward me, didn't make demands.Just waited, giving me space to decide.To choose.
"We don't have to do anything," he said quietly."If you want to just sleep—"
"No," I interrupted, surprising myself with my certainty."I want this."
He nodded once, a small acknowledgment that seemed to carry more weight than words.Then he crossed to me, movements deliberate, unhurried.His fingers found the thin strap of my wedding dress, tracing it from my shoulder to where it met the silk of the bodice.
"This dress," he murmured, "should be in a museum.The way you look in it..."
Heat bloomed across my skin, a blush I couldn't control.When was the last time someone had looked at me like this?Had anyone ever?
With gentle hands, Razor helped me turn, his fingers finding the small zipper at the back.The sound of it sliding down was impossibly loud in the quiet room.Then cool air kissed my spine as the fabric parted.The dress slipped from my shoulders, sliding down my body to pool at my feet in a whisper of silk.
I stood in nothing but the simple white underwear I'd bought hastily at the department store earlier, feeling exposed and vulnerable.Instinctively, my arms started to rise to cover myself.
"Don't," Razor said softly."You're beautiful."
His hands found my waist, warm and steady, as he turned me to face him.I watched as he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the floor beside my dress.His tie followed, then the buttons of his shirt slipped free one by one.
