Page 138 of The Unwilling Bride
My toes curl against the floor. My breath grows shallow.
He hasn’t moved,but there’s a subtle shift in his stance. His shoulders seem to swell. His biceps strain his shirt. His hands remain buried in his pockets, like he’s restraining himself.
Like he doesn’t quite trust what he might do if he doesn’t.
The silence stretches.
The tension radiating from him presses into the room until it feels almost tangible. My head spins slightly with the force of it, with the awareness of him standing there—my husband, now—close enough that a single step would erase the distance between us.
Neither of us takes that step.
Levity. I need to lighten the moment.
I clear my throat. “If you stand there any longer, I’m going to embarrass us both by falling asleep standing up.”
The corner of his mouth shifts in a faint smile. Instantly, the atmosphere feels easier.
His nods toward the bed. “Get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
He turns toward the door.
Then stops.
He half turns back, like a man remembering something he nearly forgot.
My heart somersaults in my rib cage. Is he going to?—
"Henrik messaged. His daughter is much better. He’ll be at The Edge tomorrow morning to kick off the prep. We only need to go in around noon."
My heart sinks to my feet.
He hesitates again.
I open my mouth to ask him what’s on his mind, but he leaves and shuts the door behind him.
36
James
Walking away from her might be the hardest thing I've done in years.
She’s my wife. This is our wedding night. And I'm protected by the agreement we both signed. It clearly states, neither of us will let emotions enter this marriage.
Yet, I couldn’t cross the threshold of her bedroom.
I didn’t trust myself.
No matter that just being near her sets something off in me. Something physical. Immediate. Difficult to ignore.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her during the ceremony.
Standing there in that blush dress, she was a vision. I watched the way the light caught the fascinator in her hair. The way her fingers tightened around the bouquet. The way she looked at me as though this moment meant something more than the contract we both signed.
Then there was the kitchen.
Even during service, when every instinct in me should have been fixed on the brigade, the orders, the pass, I was aware of her.
I noticed the way she moved between stations with that quick,economical grace of hers. Like a dancer who knows exactly how much space she occupies and how to move through it without colliding with anyone.
