She lifts her head to look at me, and I see something fragile in her expression.
"How do I trust anyone again? How do I know what's real?"
I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes as I swipe tears from her cheeks.
"You trust me."
"You locked me in this compound. You forced this marriage?—"
"To protect you from exactly what happened today. I gave you guards because your enemies were already moving against you. I limited your freedom because there are people who want to harm you and use you as a weapon against me."
My thumbs brush away the last of her tears.
"Everything I've done has been to keep you alive."
She studies my face, searching for deception.
But I let her see the truth—the possessive need that drives every decision regarding her safety, the way her wellbeing has become more important than my own convenience.
Perhaps in the beginning, it was all about self-preservation, but somewhere along the line, I claimed her as my own, and no one will ever touch her or harm her again.
"I'm not asking you to forgive what I've taken from you," I continue.
"I'm asking you to recognize what I've given you in return. Safety. Protection. A husband who will never lie to you or abandon you."
Her breath catches.
"And what do you want from me?"
"Your trust. Your loyalty. Your acceptance that this marriage is real and permanent."
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers still twisted in my shirt.
Then she rises on her toes and kisses me, desperate and hungry, seeking connection in the wreckage of her world.
I respond immediately, letting my control fracture at the first touch of her lips.
Raw need consumes us both as her hands tangle in my hair.
I lift her onto the desk, scattering the remaining evidence of her mother's betrayal.
"Make me forget," she whispers against my mouth.
"Make me feel something other than this."
I push the papers from beneath her legs and grip her waist.
Her thighs part for me without hesitation, and she clutches at my shoulders as if I am the only thing anchoring her to this earth.
Her mouth drags across mine with desperation, teeth scraping, tongue seeking.
The kiss tastes of salt from her tears, but hunger soon overpowers grief.
My hand slips beneath her blouse.
Buttons snap under the pressure of my fingers until fabric gapes and exposes her pale skin.
Her bra offers little resistance.
