Page 8 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“And yet utterly beautiful all the same,” he says, moving closer.

I stiffen as he comes within arm’s reach, but I don’t pull away. I keep telling myself it’s going to get easier to stomach him touching me, but that hasn’t quite happened yet. Soon, though, I’m sure. “Thank you.”

His fingers run along my jaw before he pulls my chin up so that I’m looking at him. “Are you ready, my dear?”

There’s an iota of concern in his tone. Concern for who, though? For me—or himself?

“I… I think so,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.

“You’re understandably nervous,” he says. “That’s okay.”

He sits down beside me. The intimacy of sitting next to each other feels so wrong. I want to move away from him, but I’m worried it’ll be too obvious. It also hasn’t escaped my notice that this scene is eerily close to the last time we were days from our first wedding.

Standing in a room together. Me in a wedding dress. Him expecting things I can’t possibly give him.

But this time is different. I’m prepared. I know what I’ve signed up for. And I have my son to think of.

So whatever happens next, I’m ready.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, mostly just because I feel like he’s waiting for me to reciprocate.

“Not at all,” he smiles. “I knew you’d come back.”

I stare at him. “You did?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“I told you before, Elyssa: this is where you’re meant to be. And I’m the man you’re meant to be with.”

Of course, the second he says that, the only face I see is Phoenix’s.

I can almost feel him in the room with me, glowering at the man next to me, judging me for being here at all. A bubble of anger erupts past the sadness. What’s the point of thinking of him? He cast me out. Abandoned me. He doesn’t deserve the fantasies and daydreams I waste on him.

I just wish I knew how to stop.

“I can’t wait to call you my wife,” Josiah is murmuring. “To walk with you through the desert and kiss you freely and often.”

I have to suppress the shudder running up and down my spine. Josiah reaches out and takes my hand. He brings it to his lips and my stomach twists.

“We will be happy, Elyssa. Incredibly so. But you must remember…”

I know what he wants from me. I know what I’m expected to say. The words no longer hold the same comfort they used to, but I say them anyway. Hoping that one day, if I repeat them often enough, they’ll start to mean more to me than they do right now.

“To serve is to find peace,”I recite.“To obey is to find happiness. To listen is to find truth.”

He nods with approval. “Exactly. You are a beautiful desert rose, my Elyssa.”

His words are gentle. His tone is caring. But I sense the threat underneath those honeyed words.

Serve.

Obey.

Listen.

“You understand me, don’t you, my dove?”

---