Page 46 of The Sculptor

“I know I’ve placed such a burden on your shoulders this year. You were supposed to enjoy senior year like all the other girls in your class—not snowed in a cabin, concealing a pregnancy.”

I want to stop him right there—to take away his guilt, but it would be useless. This is not an argument I’ve ever been able to win. Duke feels responsible that I got pregnant—but it took both of us to get here, and I don’t regret a thing.

I stroke the side of his smooth face. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be with you. Don’t let guilt cheapen what we have.” I rub my belly, feeling our child squirm under my touch. “Because what we have is real.”

Swallowing, his hands come up and lay over mine, caressing the child we created together.

“Okay, Ray. We’ll do it your way.”

He kisses my bare belly where I recently finished painting a heart. “Ramsey Ford, I promise you my life and future. Marry me, and let’s build a life worth fighting for.”

Because that’s what we’ve done.

We’ve fought for our lives.

We’ve fought for our baby.

And we’ve fought for our family.

I hold out my hand and nod. “I promise you my life, Duke Potter—and a future we deserve.”

Boys like Duke don’t deserve a simple yes. They deserve a promise.

When he grins and slides the ring on my finger, I know I will spend the rest of my life with the honor of carrying his most prized possessions—his heart and his child.

I choke on my tears, remembering the day that felt like magic was in the air. We made declarations and voiced our dreams, and then he sealed them inside me with his sweet love, willing them to come true.

It was a night I wouldn’t forget.

And apparently, neither did Duke. “Who knew you could be so convincing, Ray?” he continues, unaware of my trip down memory lane. “Here I thought you wanted to marry the congressman.” He looks smug and not nearly as hungover as I am. “But instead, you marry me on the eve of your wedding night. What’s a man to think?”

“A man is supposed to—” I stop, sudden realization setting in. Duke seems mighty cool about all of this for someone who should be hungover and in shock. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t react. The steady tic of his jaw is the only indication he’s even breathing.

“Yeah, you did.” I press my finger into his chest, standing. “Tell me, Duke. Was I the only one drunk enough not to realize what I agreed to?”

“You agreed years ago,” he snaps, snatching my finger and clutching it to his chest instead. “You promised me a life, and I collected.”

“You collected?” I scream—full-on scream—in outrage. “I’m not some trophy you collect at the end of a game, Duke!”

“You’re right,” his voice rises. “Youaremy fucking life, and I want it back! I will not have you jeopardizing your safety on some hair-brained revenge pact—or whatever it is you’re doing with Langston.”

“It’s not a stupid revenge pact!” Tears fall down my face in waves. “I’m doing this for us!”

“Doingwhatfor us, Ray?”

I snap my lips together. This cannot happen—all this work, all the time, only for it to end like this. “I’m so close,” I cry out. “We can fix this with Langston,” I chant erratically. “We’ll apologize. He’ll keep it out of the media, annul the marriage, and the wedding can move forward as planned.”

Duke goes tense under my hand, and I’m not prepared for his threat. “I’m notfixinganything, Ray. You owe me a life. You can file the annulment paperwork if you decide that’s not enough for you anymore.”

Dropping my hand, Duke steps back, disappointment drowning the sharp features of his face.

“But know, if that’s the route you choose, I’ll make sure my attorney buries you in motions for months. By then, your congressman will have moved on to a new punching bag. But guess what, Ray?” He smiles, but it’s wicked. “It won’t be you.”

I can already feel Duke’s absence before he leaves the bathroom.

Cold.

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