Page 44 of Brutal Knight

“Be careful,” he says, his voice even. The warning doesn’t sound like an admonition, more like a suggestion. “You’re sticking your neck out for her, and she’s proven herself to be unreliable.”

He’s not wrong. But I don’t feel the way I used to about Willow. I don’t feel how I did a week ago, or even a day ago.

Lachlan is right, but the feelings I have for Willow are changing. I want to protect her.

Still, I tell him, “I know.”

And I do.

* * *

The reception is small and short, little more than a formality. There’s more conversation, more well-wishers, and I fly through it with little thought, more focused on Willow and finally going home.

She’s quiet the entire ride home. There’s still an air of performance surrounding her, like she’s stuck in the role of a just-married young woman. But every mile we put between us and the venue, she starts to loosen up.

I like knowing that I get to see this side of her that no one else will. I also can’t help hating just how tightly strung Willow is around others, and I know it’s a product of Dmitri. I know he made her feel like she couldn’t ever slip up.

I want her to come undone just a little. I can’t help it, as much as I know it probably won’t happen.

After we pull into the garage, I hold the door for her and usher her into the house. The second I shut it, she wheels around, her gauzy white skirt swirling against her body. Even in this moment, she looks beautiful.

“Why did you do that?” she demands, her brows furrowed. A stray curl escapes from her careful updo. I want to push it behind her ear, or maybe I just want an excuse to be that close to her. “Why did you insist on marrying me? Even when my father wanted me back?”

There’s confusion in her blue-gray eyes, stormy like clouds hanging in the sky. But there’s a glimmer of something else too.

Am I crazy to think that it’s hope? That it’s something more, like yearning?

Willow is so uncertain, so cautious. She was so reserved at the wedding and reception that I thought she’d fallen right back into the same place she was in when I first brought her over from Dmitri’s house. But maybe I’m wrong. There’s courage in the way she’s facing me.

“Are you sorry I did?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer.

She does tighten up, a subconscious thing that makes her body rigid. The change is small, almost imperceptible, but I don’t miss it, and the sight makes something boil low in my stomach.

“Did your father ever hurt you?”

“No.”

Her answer comes too fast, slipping past her lips easily. But I don’t believe her.

“Really?”

“I said no.”

There’s defiance in her face, but also a ragged thing that looks like a mask. Her answer sounds rehearsed. It sounds like she’s said it a million times until she almost believes it.

I shake my head. “He’s not here. No one is. No one but me and you.”

“I know that,” she murmurs, shifting uncomfortably as she swallows.

“Then tell me, one more time. Did he hurt you?”

Willow presses her lips into a thin line. She looks right at me, finally meeting my eyes. Her gaze is so gray and dark, it looks like a hurricane. I can only imagine the things going through her mind.

“Yes. He hurt me.” Her shoulders square as she adds, “In every way.”

She doesn’t go into detail, but I don’t need her to.

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