Page 114 of Debt of My Soul

Knowing Fleur has been hurt in the past, that she was so involved with someone they spent nine years together; I’ve never had a long-term relationship before. I don’t know what I’m doing. I do know I don’t want to hurt her. Therefore, I have to find the time to tell her.

Fleur admires a bunch of daisies. Eyes closed and beaming, her nose flares as she inhales, and I shake my head. Each step toward her eases my fixation. When I finally reach her and wrapmy arm around her waist, the sharp, consuming need to be by her side dulls.

“We’ll take them all,” I say to Mrs. Hinz, whose eyes light up, having sold more in a single transaction than she could’ve hoped for all day.

Fleur leans into my chest and tilts her head up to study me. “Didn’t know you to be such a flower fan.”

“I’m a Fleur fan. Same thing.” I wink at her, and she sighs. Her body melts into mine despite being in public. People glance our way, but Fleur pays them no mind. In fact, she seems perfectly content with me in public, and I’m in awe of her ability to block out the few disgusted stares. They’re all for me, though.

I slide my hand into her back pocket possessively while Fleur takes the bunch of daisies wrapped in brown paper and tied with white twine in her hands.

“Thank you,” she says, looking at me through those long, heavy lashes.

We move down a few booths as Fleur looks over the crafts and produce. The smell of barbeque makes my stomach growl, and I have half the mind to grab my wife by the hand and yank her to the nearest food tent.

“I kept them, you know.”

Fleur’s voice is low and it breaks the peaceful silence between us.

“Kept what?” I ask, confused.

“The daisies you got me the night of your parents’ dinner. I stuck them in one of the books River gave me.” She fiddles with a few homemade spoon rings on the table in front of her.

I smile, unsure why she’s telling me this. To be honest, I hadn’t thought much about what she did with the flowers. I assumed they withered away from being in the truck.

“Did you now?”

She gives me a pointed look, but it softens into a serious vulnerable expression. “I don’t want to forget this.”

“Do you plan on it?”

“No, but what if this is all because we were forced together? What if we’re just reacting to something that?—”

“Stop.” I can’t hear this because it couldn’t be further from the truth. I had my eyes on Fleur long before she came to the compound. “Do you feel like this”—I pull her hand to my chest—“is forced?”

“No, but how can this feel so right when it was born out of something so wrong?”

“Don’t over think it.”Please,I say to myself.

Pulling her into my arms, I wrap myself around her in the middle of the sea of people milling down the grass aisles and weaving through tents. I press my lips to her forehead. “Trust me, Fleur.”

We finish at the farmer’s market and load up the back of the truck to head back to the compound. I need to hear from Wilson, but part of me hopes I don’t. Instead, I focus on Fleur, and when dinner is over, I strip her down in the kitchen and chase her to the shower.

Her laughter rings throughout the cabin.

Chapter 42

Liam

Itrace circles around a patch of freckles on Fleur’s naked back. The sun is just peeking in the cabin, revealing the floating dust around the room.

Sleep evaded me most of the night. Even after Fleur fell asleep, all I could think about was how I was going to tell her about my mission and keep her safe while doing it.

Restless, I sneak out the door and down the hall to the bathroom. A quick splash of water on my face relaxes me, and I stare at the mirror, smiling at the memory of last night. Fleur’s hands on me, her body beneath mine, trusting and pliant.

Smile fading, I rip the door open to the medicine cabinet and dig in my hiding spot for my phone. After powering it on, I check for any incoming intel and type out the new gate code I got from Darrin last night. Leaving Fleur in bed frustrated me, but I was able to make quick work of checking in with D and retrieving the newest codes.

My messages are empty, and I slam the phone on the counter, a crack splintering over the glass in front.

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