Page 5 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

It didn’t.

I didn’t regret it. Maybe I should, but I didn’t.

Would it have been nice to have my family at my wedding, supporting me? Yes. But that had never been an option. I wasn’t about to mourn the impossible when this had been entirely my decision.

Standing, I grabbed a coffee off the room service tray and walked over to the window, not caring if it was bitter or sweet, as long as it settled my nerves.

The fight with Goran wasn’t over. He had to accept that this was the only way.

Steam drifted into the living area, carrying the clean scent of soap and announcing Goran before he stepped out of the bedroom. I caught his reflection in the tall windows, and my heart hammered. It always had. Even before it was appropriate.

Fifteen. That was how old I was when I first noticed him. Goran was nine years older, Nathaniel’s soldier, and his best friend. In a word…Untouchable.

When I came home from Wayward the summer I turned eighteen, something had shifted. I caught his subtle glances across the room. It was thrilling and dangerous. He never touched me, but I’d felt the tug, like two magnets inching closer despite themselves.

By Christmas break of senior year, I’d stopped pretending not to see it. No one had questioned when I asked him to escort me to the stables so I could check on Atlas. Everyone had been too busy with one thing or another. I remembered his skeptical look, but he hadn’t argued.

Right there in the middle of the aisle, his arms full as he held my horse’s water bucket and saddle, I’d taken full advantage and kissed him for the first time. He’d stood frozen, but his eyes had flared with heat.

I’d always been a bit too wild, too forward, and too reckless. But with him, I felt…calm and almost shy.

I’d been raised by men who took what they wanted, and somewhere along the way, I’d decided that if they were allowed to claim power without apology, then so was I. And I would find a way to claim Goran for my own.

I turned slowly, my eyes tracing his hard body from head-to-toe and back again. A towel sat low on his hips, and his dark hair was damp. His jaw was freshly shaved, and the tattoos that covered his skin stood out in the morning light.

He looked like himself now. Grounded. Dangerous. Soft, only where he allowed himself to be, which was only with me.

“I feel you staring at me,” he groaned, rubbing his hair dry.

“Haven’t you heard?” I said lightly. “It’s perfectly appropriate for a wife to stare at her husband.”

He crossed his arms, biceps flexing, and my mouth watered despite everything sitting heavy between us.

“No snappy comeback?” I taunted as I walked to the table loaded with silver domes of food. I sat down and refilled my coffee. “Nothing about how we shouldn’t be married?”

“We shouldn’t be. You know it. I know it. But my head hurts too much to fight with you about it again right now.”

I rolled my eyes. “What I know is that we’re two consenting adults who love each other and got married.”

His hands gripped the back of the dining chair so hard I heard the wood groan.

“Being drugged does not count as consensual.”

I glanced sideways at him, then leaned back, folding my arms.

“Answer me this, Goran. If I were a stripper from one of Nathaniel’s clubs, or a girl you found on a dating app, or even the barista back home who clearly has a thing for you…would you be fighting this marriage right now? Or would you be happy, pick me up, and make love to me?”

He sat down slowly, tension radiating off him.

“You know that’s not a fair question.”

“Why not?” I snapped, gesturing toward the window. “Why don’t I get to have what I want? What we want? Why does my father decide who I love just because my last name is Mikhailov?”

“Because this life isn’t built on fairness,” he growled back. “We are not normal people.”

Tears burned my eyes. “Then, isn’t it about time a woman evened the playing field?”

Silence followed, and the two of us were left staring at one another.