Page 75 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
“I loveyou,” I say. “I always will.”
By then, it’s just us—no mask, no clothes to shield us, no triquetras and no more doubts. Just me and my husband and the happiest night of my life.
When his lashes finally lower, fanning across his cheeks as his muscles cord, I lift my head and murmur in his ear.
“There may not be any Charms here, but I’ve been charmed twice in my life. Once when I was born, and again when I met you.”
He clutches me close as he goes over the edge.
He doesn’t let go.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When we return to the cabin the next day, my father and Brendan are waiting, sitting astride their horses in the clearing. My father surveys Weston and me, his mouth tight.
I swing off my mare and give him a sorry-not-sorry smile. “You’re too late. It’s already done.”
He nods, like he expected nothing less. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into an annulment?”
I laugh. “Nope. It’s too late for that, too.”
He grimaces. That was probably crossing a line, but I don’t regret it. Maybe I’ll even make this a habit. Because it’s better to cross lines once in a while than to live safely within someone else’s borders.
Weston swings down and makes his way over to me, slinging an arm around my shoulders. The gesture is clearly a warning. A staking of claims. It’s a declaration about how this is going to go, an expectation that my choice will be honored.
And I love him for it. A little more than I did this morning, a little deeper. He might still doubt himself, and I doubtmyself, too, and we’ll have to navigate our ways past that somehow, but when we’re united like this, we add up into something greater than the sum of its parts. He believes in me and I believe in him and that makes us unbreakable.
“Any other questions?” my husband says.
My father sighs. Brendan winks at me, and I get the sense that they’ve already had a protracted conversation about this.
So I smile at my brother. It’s the most genuine smile I’ve given him in years.
“No questions,” my father finally says. “I don’t know that I can argue with the law. Besides, Brendan had some valid points. I think maybe…we’ve been a little short-sighted with you, Bria. A little bit…”
“Selfish?” I supply.
He clears his throat. “Yes. But you should know your mother and I only wanted the best for you. Maybe we disagreed on what that would look like, but it doesn’t mean we didn’t care. So…I hope you’re happy. I do.”
“I am happy,” I say, touched. “Deeply.”
“Good. But you.” My father fixes Weston with a glare. “You owe us a favor. An offering.”
My husband straightens, his features settling into their habitual glower. “I don’t owe you a thing. Not after what?—”
“Not money.” My father waves a hand. “Something else.”
Weston tenses. “What else?”
Brendan’s expression goes carefully blank. Quiet descends, filling the clearing.
“Go inside, Bria,” my father says.
Weston’s fingers tighten around my shoulders. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of my wife.”
My father matches Weston glower for glower, glare for glare. “Not this.”
I pause, but there’s something in the way he says it. A certainty that has me disentangling myself from Weston’s grip. “It’s fine,” I say, and kiss his cheek. “Just hear him out. I’ll be inside.”
