Page 25 of Brutal Knight

She shifts in her seat, as if she’s embarrassed.

I should change the subject. I know thinking about this too long will bring Dmitri back up, and that’s the last thing I want. Willow seems to be finally settling, finally deciding to try trusting me. I’m not about to bring Dmitri into the equation.

I fish around for something normal to say, something less risky to offer her.

“Well, I know you’ve had a rough week. Are you hungry?”

Willow hugs herself, hands on her arms. “Oh. I’m…no. No, I’m fine.”

I don’t think she is. “Please. I don’t mind making something.”

She doesn’t argue, so I start taking things out of the fridge. I guess that a sandwich is the easiest option, so I take out a plate and start making one.

Willow is quiet. She doesn’t ask anything, so I don’t ask, either. I have no idea how she lived with Dmitri or what her daily life was like. I can’t imagine he ever made her dinner. She’s still so small, part of me wonders if he even really let her eat.

Well, that’s going to change.

We eat quietly, but it doesn’t feel calm or relaxing. As much as I want things to be normal and easy, it seems like the more time passes, the less Willow feels safe. I don’t know if it’s in her head or something I’ve done.

All I know is that with each passing second, I can feel distrust in the air. It’s like smoke, thick and heavy. Willow curls into herself, her body tight and withdrawn, and I start to get the feeling that she’ll disappear if I don’t do something.

She slows down enough that eventually she stops eating her sandwich. Her eyes flick around the room when she thinks I’m not looking.

I hate that it comes to this. I hate that there are probably a dozen thoughts in her head, a dozen voices telling her not to trust me. Maybe she thinks that I gave her food because I want to take something in return. I hope not, but I know there’s a good chance.

I have to do something, and I know I can’t wait on her much longer. Real life isn’t going to let us be friends before we’re married. We don’t have time.

“Listen,” I start quietly. “I know it seems fast. But we should talk about the wedding.”

Now that she’s sober, it comes next, and it needs to happen. Soon.

But Willow isn’t paying attention. She’s on edge.

And then she bolts.

I’m not sure where she’s trying to go. I don’t think about that. I don’t think about much. I just act.

I grab her, pulling her by the waist away from the door. She doesn’t yell this time. It’s almost eerie how quiet she is as she struggles in my arms, pushing against me. It’s a silent desperation that makes me sick even as I hold her.

I want to let her go, but I know I can’t trust her not to run. I don’t want her to be hurt, but I can’t ease up my grip. I know she’ll hate me for this. It doesn’t matter. I pull her up the stairs and to the guest room.

Just the same as before, this close contact gets to me. I can feel my body responding to the way she feels in my arms. I can smell her shampoo, feel her body, slim and small as I hold her.

I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she was when she came downstairs. I can’t stop thinking about the wedding, about the hope I had that maybe we’d really find love. That maybe there would be mutual agreement, something that could turn into desire.

It doesn’t help that I’ve seen her at galas and parties before. Every time I look at her, I don’t just see the pain and trauma she’s carrying. I can picture what she was like in gowns, her makeup done, her blue-gray eyes roaming the crowd. I can imagine her like that beside me.

Fuck. I can’t focus.

I just keep thinking about how we’ll be married, and I think about what it would be like if she could trust me by then. If she would let me show her that I’m different.

When she twists in my arms, her breasts press against my chest, and I can’t stop the onslaught of images in my mind.

Fucking hell.

My cock hardens, desire flooding my veins in a hot rush.

I want to curse at myself. This isn’t the time, and I shouldn’t be responding like this. But I can’t stop it.

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