I nod slowly, possibilities spinning through my mind. With the O'Donnells' full support plus a few key allies, we could hitthe Keans from multiple angles, force them to defend too many fronts at once.
"You did good," I tell her softly, meaning it. "This helps."
The smile that lights up her face makes my chest fill with an emotion I’m desperately trying not to feel. For the first time, I'm truly glad I married her, not just for the alliance, but for her sharp mind and willingness to help our cause.
I’m forced to note again how she’s given way more in this relationship than I have. “I'm sorry I haven’t been able to get you a new art teacher yet. It’s not a matter of not trying, it’s just that?—”
“They’re scared.” She shrugs. "Don't worry about it. There are more important things right now."
"No." I catch her hand as she starts to turn away. "Your happiness matters. I promised you could continue your art studies."
"Happiness is a luxury in my world." Her voice carries a quiet resignation that cuts deep. She’s not wrong, but I really want to be better.
She adjusts her sheets. "My mother explained that when they first told me about the marriage. Our families come first. Personal desires come second."
She sounds like she's reciting a lesson, one drummed into her head since childhood. The same lessons my mother learned. The same ones Meghan would have faced if she’d said yes to my marriage proposal. For a moment, I stop to consider that. In my head, Meghan and I were a done deal. A forever sort of love. I know she loved me, but she too wanted to go to college. And she wasn’t from my world, even though she was aware of who my family was. Sometimes, she’d balk at how my father spoke to my mother. He loved my mother, that I’m sure of. But he was the head of the family and wasn’t afraid to remind her of that. Would Meghan have said yes to me? To living in my world?
I swallow, realizing Hannah isn’t living her best life, and yet, she’s playing the hand she’s been dealt with optimism, finding wins where she can. She’s not bitter. She doesn’t complain. She takes what she’s got and makes the best of it.
"You shouldn't have to sacrifice everything. Not for this life. Not for me."
"I'm not sacrificing everything." Hannah gives me a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I have a beautiful home, security, a purpose—helping you achieve justice."
Her acceptance of such a limited life makes my guilt surge higher. She deserves college classes, art exhibitions, the chance to pursue her dreams. Instead, she's settling for whatever scraps of happiness she can find in this violent world I've dragged her into.
"I'll do better," I promise, meaning it, even though I know she has no reason to believe it. After all, I’ve said it before and I’ve failed. "You should have your art, your studies, whatever makes you happy."
Since our wedding, I've given her nothing but pain and rejection. The only times I've seen genuine joy on her face were when I bought her this house and… that night I touched her. I can't buy her another house, but I can give her pleasure again. The thought comes into my head unbidden. Immediately, I know the danger. Strangely, the need to make things right for Hannah feels stronger than my guilt at betraying Meghan.
My hand slides up Hannah's arm, and her breath catches. Those green eyes widen with surprise and uncertainty. She starts to speak, probably to ask what I'm doing, but I silence her with a kiss.
Unlike our previous encounters, I keep this kiss measured, deliberate. When she parts her lips for me, I explore her mouth slowly, savoring her sweet taste.
"Have you touched yourself since that night?" I ask, my voice rough with desire as I pull back from our kiss.
Hannah's cheeks flush pink. "No."
"Why not?" My thumb traces her bottom lip.
"It's not…" She looks away. "It's not the same. When you touched me, it was…" Her blush deepens. "But I understand you don't want to do that again. I'm not expecting anything."
"I can give you pleasure," I tell her, my voice dropping lower. "But it has to be on my terms. No demands, no begging. You take what I give you and nothing more."
Hannah's pupils dilate with desire. But there's wariness in her expression too. She shakes her head. “That’s okay.”
I’m about to push her, which is ridiculous. She’s pushing me away, saving me from myself.
"I don't want your guilt afterward," she whispers. "I can't take you looking at me like I'm your greatest sin. Like touching me is wrong."
Her words are a sucker punch to the gut, although I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not so self-centered that I don’t know how my behavior would impact her. But to hear her voice the pain, how it makes her feel dirty or wrong, crushes me.
"You're right." I brush my thumb across her cheek. "You deserve better than that. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way. Did you like it until the point I fucked it up?”
She bites her lip, looking down. “Yes. But not enough to endure your regret. It hurts too much."
The vulnerability in her voice kills me. “Hannah.” I wait until she looks up at me. “I can give you pleasure. I can touch you, make you feel good. But it has to be just sex. Nothing more. No expectations of love or deeper feelings. Can you accept that?"
Hannah's quiet for a long moment, those green eyes studying my face. "You mean purely physical? No strings attached?"
