Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Was getting married so suddenly spontaneous?
Probably.
Do I regret it?
Not even for a second.
Some things don’t need to be dissected or justified. Sometimes, you just know it’s the right course of action. And with Kia, that certainty has been there from the very beginning. It’s not loud or demanding of attention, it simply exists, a steady and unshakable truth. I can’t explain it in rational terms or map it out in a way that would satisfy anyone looking in from the outside.
But that doesn’t make it any less real.
We ride the elevator up with our hands clasped as the car hums around us. The city drops away floor by floor, the quiet stretching, charged with expectation. When the doors slide open on the penthouse level, I allow her to step out first, the way I always do. But tonight, the simple motion feels weighted with meaning. She walks into the entryway, pale-pink dress swishing around her knees, wedding ring catching the light as she tucks a loose curl behind her ear.
This woman is now my wife.
My wife.
The words settle deep, burrowing themselves inside me. They don’t feel fragile or surreal the way I expected them to.
I help Kia out of her coat, taking my time as I hang it up, then do the same with mine. My gaze keeps drifting to her left hand and the band around her finger that wasn’t there this morning. It’s proof today actually happened.
We’re married.
And this is our wedding night.
It isn’t the version they sell in movies. There aren’t flower petals scattered across a hotel bed or champagne chilling on ice. Grand gestures weren’t designed for an audience.
Instead, there’s the comfort of coming home together and the understanding that this space means something different now.
That we mean something different.
As I watch her move throughout the penthouse like she already belongs in it, I know with absolute clarity that this is exactly where I want to be.
I’ve spent my life building systems that have to do with rules and discipline. It’s how I keep things from spinning out of control and protect what matters most.
Then Kia walked into my life and rewrote everything I thought I knew.
Somehow, instead of disorder, everything feels strangely settled. Like puzzle pieces that have finally slid into place after years of frustration.
With a sigh, she kicks off her shoes. The sound is easy and familiar as she reaches up and loosens her hair. The simple gesture is like a punch to the gut.
“You have no idea,” I say, my voice rough with emotion, “what you do to me.”
Her gaze meets mine, and something soft flickers there. “Oh, I think I might. Because you do the same to me.”
Her quiet certainty hits me harder than anything else she could have said.
“Yeah?” I murmur, searching her face.
She nods once.
“Come here, wife.”
She closes the distance between us until she’s standing in front of me. My hands settle at her waist, the contact grounding me in a way that can’t be fully explained. My thumbs brush over the fabric of her dress, memorizing the feel of it. I want to remember everything about this moment exactly as it is.
A fierce protectiveness surges through me that takes me by surprise. Not because it’s unfamiliar, but because it’s been dormant for so long. There were times I wondered if I’d ever feel it again.
This woman belongs to me.
And I belong to her.
I tip my forehead to hers, letting the moment stretch. “Breathe, Kitten,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
Her shoulders relax, tension draining from her muscles, as if she’s been holding it there for far too long.
The quiet trust in that simple response strips me bare.
In the past, these were the kinds of moments where everything unraveled. When intensity became something to apologize for. When caring too deeply pushed people away instead of drawing them closer.
This doesn’t feel anything like that.
There’s no need to rein myself in or hide parts of myself. I don’t have to fear being too much. With her, it doesn’t feel like a risk. It feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
“I want to make you mine. But only if you’re ready. You’re the one who sets the pace.”
When she reaches up, her palm sliding gently over my cheek, I can’t help but lean into her touch.
“I want that too.”
As soon as I sweep her up against my chest, her arms loop around my neck and I carry her toward our room, slowing only when we reach the bed. Her breathing stutters as she looks up at me, lashes lowering, then lifting again. I never want her to feel swept along by momentum instead of intention. What we’re doing isn’t something to be endured or survived. It’s something to be celebrated.
“Are you absolutely sure?” I ask, setting her on her feet. What we’re building matters, and I want every step forward to be one she takes with me, not for me. “We can go as slow as you need.”