Her eyes shimmer and spill over as I pull the ring from my pinky, lifting the diamond into her line of sight. Her breath catches briefly, her eyes drifting from the ring and back to me as I gaze up at her and blink, clearing my vision.
I’m so fucking gone.
“I didn’t steal this,” I manage to say, with a slight lift of my lips.
Her lip quivers with her reply. “Non?”
“Non. I earned it.”
She slowly dips her chin.
“And I’ve earned your trust?”
“Yes.”
“Your loyalty?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve earned your faith?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve earned your heart?”
“Wholly.”
“Your body is mine?’
“Yours. Only yours,” she swears.
I push the ring onto her finger.
“Make me king?”
One month later
I hang my favorite photo of our wedding day and polish the matte solid white frame with my dust rag. It hangs just next to a floor-to-ceiling window, giving ample view of the sea. It’s a black and white candid of Tobias kissing my ring finger as I gazed on at him, a woman utterly in love.
We were standing just outside the arched doorway of the little church where we recited our vows. It was just the two of us, the priest and his designated witnesses, and it was perfect. We honeymooned at home and then informed our family and friends after, most of whom are due here tomorrow for a delayed reception. Tackling the last of the boxes that finally arrived from overseas, I set out to finish my task. For the last month or so I’ve been nesting in a dream-like state, pinching myself mentally, not only because of the palace we now reside in permanently but also because of the shimmer of the three-carat teardrop diamond on my finger and what it means—a cure for the sickness I’ve harbored for so long, a lasting end.
In the last few weeks, we’ve settled into a routine, taking long walks on the beach, visiting our new town, eating seaside, introducing ourselves to our new life. What I thought would be the hardest part of all of the adjustment was truly unplugging from the life we’ve lived since we left Virginia. A life where we’d been fully immersed in the brotherhood, making calculated moves and setting into motion dozens of Tobias’s schemes. I’ll never fully understand the way he’d constructed it all, but that’s some of the mystery of his genius.
And after doing years of grunt work and stepping back, I can clearly see the bigger picture, each note he chose to compose the most mind-boggling symphony. I married a king and a legend and all he sees in his reflection is a flawed man.
He slept for days when he got home. It was as if he finally felt relief enough to grant his body and mind the reprieve. There’s a peace inside him now, in his fiery eyes, and honestly, I never thought it would come, not so soon anyway. I feel the same contentment, knowing that for the most part, he’s winning his battle with the guilt that’s plagued him for years. This morning was another turning point. I woke to the sight of him naked, tangled in white cotton, his eyes roaming my face, my body with urgent need as I roused, facing him on my pillow.
“Puis-je demander une faveur de plus?” Can I ask for one more favor?
“What is it you want now, my needy Frenchman?”
“Un autre trésor.” Another treasure.
Taken completely aback, I burst out an incredulous laugh. “We got married five minutes ago, and you already want a baby? Want to try a little marriage first?”