Page 79 of Unrequited
I wrap my arms around her gently. I don’t force her to meet my gaze.
“And you’re afraid,” I say softly, “of what happens between a husband and wife?”
I run a hand down her small, fragile, perfect little back. She’s so damn tiny, it undoes me.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to do anything. What if I disappoint you? What if I… What if it hurts?”
My chest swells at her honesty. Christ, I’ve never wanted to protect someone so fiercely.
“Those are all fair fears, love,” I tell her. “But I’ll teach you. I will. One step at a time. There’s no rush.”
I shake my head and sigh, but inside, I feel a rare, quiet peace.
Chapter 16
ZOYA
I feellike I’m betraying my family just for enjoying even a second of this. But I am. God, I am.
The way Seamus holds me, it makes me feel protected in a way I never felt, even at home. Yes, my brothers would’ve killed anyone who dared touch me, but this… this is different.
This is my husband.
I’ve taken his name. Have I taken a new identity too?
I look up into his deep blue eyes. If I didn’t know who he was, if I hadn’t heard the whispers and the warnings, I might’ve said he looks almost boyish, just now anyway. Almost. But the rugged scruff along his jaw, the way his lips press in that tight, serious line, remind me who he really is.
“It’s been a long day,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you to bed, lass.”
I like it when he calls me that. Lass. Love. All those little endearments, dipped in that Irish accent. I’ll give myself a moment to grieve everything I’ve left behind, but maybe, just maybe, I can still make something out of this.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says again.
The rest blurs after that because all I can think is—what if he touches me? What if things go further?
I remember his apartment. The way he held me. The way he kissed me like I was already his. It felt… right. And now? After everything?
He doesn’t push. He just lifts me as if I weigh nothing. Carries me like I’m precious.
“To bed with you,” he says once more.
Gentle. Quiet. Protective.
And for the first time, I start to wonder… maybe this is who he really is. Maybe the Seamus McCarthy the world fears isn’t all there is.
Maybe… this is the man I’ve married.
This man, this man is the one who says he loves me.
Does he though? He says he does. Swears it, even. Says he’ll prove it.
And here I am, standing in the middle of it all, dressed in his huge T-shirt. Not a stitch of makeup on. Hair a complete disaster.
And still, he looks right at me and says I’m beautiful. Says I’m his.
I wasn’t prepared for the house. For the bedroom. For how it would all feel.
It’s nothing like I imagined. Nothing like the man who’s brought me here. The outside is all old stone and ivy, with coastal views that hit you like something out of a dream. This place feels like it’s been carved into the edge of the world, tucked between sea and forest. Ancient. Safe. Hidden.
