Chapter 512
Chapter 511:
Carmen stopped at the threshold. She took in the king-sized bed with its pristine white linens, the single nightstand on each side, the quiet and absolute declaration of shared space.
“I thought we would have separate rooms p>
Justin closed the door behind them. The lock clicked with finality.
“We’re married, Carmen. Legally, publicly, permanently.” He moved toward her, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume, close enough to see the pulse fluttering at her throat. “I don’t want separate rooms. I don’t want separate lives. I want you here. With me. Every night p>
“That’s not p>
He kissed her. Not gently. Not asking permission. It was a statement of intent, a claiming, a declaration of everything that would come.
When he released her, they were both breathing unevenly. Her hands had found his shoulders and were gripping with a desperation that matched his own.
R𝗲𝘢𝗱 on an𝘆 𝖽e𝘃𝗶се 𝘰𝗇
“Tonight,” he said against her mouth, “you sleep here. With me. Whatever that means. Whatever you’re ready for. But you don’t run. You don’t hide. You face this — us — what we could become p>
Carmen closed her eyes. He felt her tremble, felt the war inside her between fear and something else — between the past she couldn’t reach and the future he was determined to build.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Tonight p>
The master bedroom was dark, lit only by the single sconce Justin had left burning above the dresser. The house was silent around them, the city muffled by triple-paned windows and the insulation of wealth.
Carmen lay on the edge of the mattress, her body rigid beneath the silk pajamas she had changed into in the bathroom. The fabric was expensive, soft, and utterly unfamiliar. Everything in this room was unfamiliar — the furniture, the art, the faint scent of cedar and citrus that clung to the pillows.
Justin had showered. She had heard the water running, heard it stop, heard the door open and close. Now he was beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight, the sheets shifting as he settled in.
His arm found her waist and drew her backward, gently but with quiet certainty, until her spine was pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, against her shoulder blades. Could feel the warmth of him through the thin barrier of silk and cotton.
“Relax,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not going to attack you p>
“I’m not afraid of that p>
“What are you afraid of p>
She didn’t answer. She was afraid of too many things. The memories that wouldn’t surface. The feelings she couldn’t trust. The growing certainty that she had made a terrible mistake — that she had traded one cage for another, that she would wake up in six months or six years to find herself imprisoned in a life she had never chosen.
Justin seemed to sense her withdrawal. His arm tightened fractionally, then loosened. “Sleep, Carmen. We have time. All the time in the world p>
His breathing slowed, deepened, became the rhythm of sleep. Carmen lay awake, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, counting his heartbeats against her back.
One hundred. Two hundred. Three.