Page 11 of Bound in Matrimony

My mother nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. "You're not afraid of Knox. You're afraid of how much you need him."

The insight strikes with precision, piercing straight to the heart of my panic. She's right. I'm not afraid of what Knox will do to me—I'm afraid of what I've already become with him. Dependent. Yielding. Wanting. All the independence I've cultivated throughout my adult life, all the careful boundaries and self-reliance, swept away by a man who claimed me as his from our first meeting.

"I could still leave," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know I won't. Where would I go? Seven months pregnant, with a man who has the resources to find me anywhere on earth? A man who owns a floor of the hospital where I'll deliver his child?

But it's more than that. The truth—the terrifying, exhilarating truth—is that I don't want to leave. Not anymore. Somewhere between his high-handed commands and tender protective gestures, I've become addicted to Knox Vance's particular brand of devotion.

"You could," my mother agrees mildly. "But you won't."

"How do you know?"

She smiles, touching my cheek with a gentle hand. "Because I raised you to recognize value when you see it. And whatever else Knox Vance may be—controlling, intense, overwhelming at times—the way that man values you is undeniable."

She's right again. Knox doesn't love like normal people. He doesn't send flowers and write poems. He buys hospital wings and interviews pediatricians with the intensity of a FBIinterrogator. He rewires entire buildings to optimize safety for our unborn child. He remakes the world to protect what he loves.

"I'm scared of disappearing into him," I confess, voicing my deepest fear. "Of becoming just an extension of Knox Vance."

"Oh, sweetheart." My mother laughs softly. "That man wouldn't have chosen you if he wanted someone who would disappear. He wants your fire. Why do you think he works so hard to contain it? Not to extinguish it—to harness it."

I blink, considering this perspective. Is she right? Does Knox value my independence, my spirit, even as he seeks to direct it? Is that why he never breaks me, only bends me to his will?

"I don't know what kind of marriage this will be," I say, one hand resting on my belly where our daughter shifts restlessly, as if sensing her mother's turmoil.

"No one ever does," my mother replies with the wisdom of thirty years married to my father. "Every marriage is uncharted territory. Yours may be more…dramatic than most, given who Knox is. But I've watched him with you, Seraphina. That man would die before he hurt you."

The truth of her words settles something inside me. The panic recedes, not entirely gone but no longer threatening to drown me. I take a deep breath, then another.

"I have nowhere to run anyway," I say with a weak attempt at humor.

"You have nowhere to run because there's nowhere you need to go," my mother corrects gently. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be."

A knock at the door interrupts us. The wedding planner's voice calls through the wood. "Mrs. Vale? The hair and makeup team is here. We need to begin if we're going to stay on schedule."

On Knox's schedule, of course. The man probably has our wedding day planned down to the minute, with contingencies for every possible delay.

My mother stands, offering her hand to help me up. "Ready to become Mrs. Vance?"

The name echoes in my mind.Seraphina Vance.No longer the independent gallery director, but the wife of one of the most powerful men in the country. The mother of his child. The center of his universe—a terrifying and exhilarating position to occupy.

I place my hand in hers, feeling the weight of the enormous emerald on my finger. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice, Seraphina." My mother's eyes are kind but knowing. "The fact that you keep choosing him is what tells me this marriage will work."

As we open the door to admit the small army of beauty professionals Knox has assembled, I catch sight of my wedding dress again—the one he selected because it accentuates my collarbones. In three hours, I'll wear it down an aisle lined with flowers imported from three continents, toward a man who has rearranged his entire existence to claim me as his own.

The panic flutters again, faint but present. But beneath it is something stronger, something that feels remarkably like certainty. I can't run from Knox Vance—not because he won't let me, but because running from him would be running from myself. From what I want. From what I've become.

I'm trapped, yes. But the cage is gilded, the door is open, and I keep choosing to stay inside.

Chapter Six

Knox

I watchher walking toward me through a corridor of white orchids, each bloom handpicked and flown in this morning from Singapore, and I can barely breathe. Seraphina—mySeraphina—wrapped in silk the color of moonlight, her honey-blonde hair swept up to expose the elegant column of her neck. The guests fade to insignificance, the carefully orchestrated music becomes distant noise. All I see is her, moving toward me with our child nestled beneath her heart.Mine.Finally, irrevocably mine. A foreign sensation builds in my chest, pressing against my ribs—something dangerously close to fear. Not that she'll say no; we're beyond that now. But that somehow, someday, she might leave me again. And that is something I cannot—will not—allow to happen.

Her father walks beside her, but I barely acknowledge him. My focus narrows to Seraphina's face—the delicate flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her full bottom lip, the way her green eyes lock onto mine with a mixture of surrender and defiance that has captivated me from our first meeting. She's nervous. Ican read it in the stiffness of her shoulders, the tight grip she has on her bouquet. But she's here. Walking toward me. Choosing me.

When her father places her hand in mine, I grip it perhaps too tightly. A subtle reminder that I won't let go. Ever. She gives me a look—part exasperation, part understanding—and I force myself to loosen my hold, though every instinct screams at me to keep her anchored to my side.

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