Page 31 of The Beast's Captive Bride
The words hit something tender in me, something still raw despite months of her gentle assurances. "I hope so." I cover her hand with mine, turning to press a kiss to her palm. "I don't exactly have the best example to follow."
"Neither do I," she reminds me with a wry smile. "But we'll figure it out together."
Together. Such a simple word for such a profound change in my life. Before Amber, I lived in isolation, building walls around my pain, nurturing my vengeance like a poison flower. Now I'm building a garden, a home, a family—creating space for life instead of dwelling on what was taken from me.
"Come see what I've done so far," I say, guiding her carefully along the new stone path. Her balance has shifted with pregnancy, making her more cautious on uneven ground. "I've put in drip irrigation, so the roses will thrive even when we're busy with the baby."
"Always thinking ahead." She squeezes my hand, letting me lead her through the garden. "Planning for our future."
Our future. Another concept that would have been foreign to me a year ago, when the only future I imagined was the moment I would finally destroy Richard Lockhart.
I show her the different varieties of roses I've chosen—deep crimson, pale pink, creamy white, even a rare lavender hybrid I had imported from France. Their scents mingle in the warm air, sweet and heady.
"They'll bloom at different times throughout the season," I explain, watching her face light up as she examines each plant. "So there will always be flowers for you to see."
"It's perfect," she says, turning to me with such naked love in her eyes that it still staggers me. "You're perfect."
I shake my head at that. "Far from it."
"Perfect for me," she insists, taking my dirt-streaked hands in hers. "The perfect father for our child. The perfect husband I didn't know I needed."
Husband. Father. Roles I never thought I'd claim, identities that still feel new and fragile compared to the hardened shell of hatred I wore for so long.
"Do you ever regret it?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. "How we started? What I did?"
Her head tilts, considering the question with the seriousness it deserves. "I regret the pain you suffered," she says finally. "I regret that my father hurt you badly enough that you felt you had to hurt him back through me." Her hands tighten on mine. "But I don't regret where we've ended up. I don't regret us."
"Even knowing what I was capable of? What I almost did to your father?"
"But didn't do," she reminds me gently. "That's what matters, Cullen. Not what we're capable of in our darkest moments, but what we choose in the end."
I pull her carefully against me, mindful of her belly between us. "How did you get so wise?" I murmur into her hair.
"I married a complicated man," she says, smile evident in her voice. "Had to learn fast."
We stand like that for a long moment, surrounded by the garden I'm building for her, the scent of earth and roses mingling with the sweet smell of her skin. Inside her, our child shifts, a nudge against my stomach where we're pressed together.
"Oh," Amber gasps, placing a hand on her belly. "Feel that? Someone's doing somersaults."
I drop to my knees before her, placing both hands on the swell of her stomach, feeling the movements within. Each kick, each roll is a miracle I still can't quite believe I had any part in creating.
"Hello, little one," I say, voice dropping to a gentleness I never knew I possessed before Amber. "Are you dancing in there? Showing off for your parents?"
Another kick, right against my palm, as if in answer. Amber laughs, running her fingers through my hair as I commune with our unborn child.
"I think they know your voice," she says. "They always get more active when you talk."
Pride swells in my chest, fierce and protective. This child, this innocent life we've created, will never know the pain I knew. Will never feel abandoned or betrayed or consumed by hatred. I'll make sure of it.
"I love you," I tell the bump, then look up at Amber, the words coming easier each time I say them. "Both of you. More than I knew was possible."
She smiles down at me, radiant in the afternoon light. "We love you too. So much."
I stand, drawing her into my arms again, overwhelmed by the simple perfection of this moment. Six months ago, I was a man defined by vengeance, by pain so old it had become part of my identity. Now I'm a husband. A soon-to-be father. A man with soil under his nails instead of blood.
"Are you happy?" Amber asks, searching my face with those perceptive eyes that see too much, too clearly.
"Yes," I answer without hesitation, surprising myself with the truth of it. "Happier than I deserve to be."
