What do you think?
Rate this book
240 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 28, 2023
She loved this man.
Loved all of him, every inch, all of his multitudes. The sarcastic trickster and the dependable husband who was always there, who always came when she called for him.
He caught her hand and kissed her palm, then held it to his cheek. "I'm undeserving of your love, and if you haven't noticed that yet, then you're quite the easy mark indeed."
"I've felt that same worry myself, unworthiness." The emeralds in her eyes glittered in the starlight, a hypnotizing shimmer. "I felt I was undeserving because my soul is broken. But I've come to realize that it isn't about what we deserve, it's got nothing to do with how strong our mate instincts are. Love is about being there."
"Being there," he said contemplatively. He certainly liked it when Frances was wherever he was.
She ran her thumb over his jaw. He needed a shave, but she didn't seem to mind. "Being there for each other like you were here tonight, hoofing it on foot through a storm to get to me. Like you're always there when I need you. I can be there for you even if my soul is broken. And you can do that for me even if you're wicked sometimes."
He laid his brow against hers, a fae gesture of great affection. "Are you afraid?" he asked, because he certainly was.
"Terrified," she breathed, the comforting warmth of her exhale brushed his face, and Jonas sighed contentedly because this was yet another thing they were in together, another murky maze of emotions that didn't feel nearly so overwhelming with her beside him. "You make me want to be brave, Jonas."
Frances cleared her throat with a dainty cough. “I should probably apologize for calling you a barbarian before.”
Jonas shoved his hands into his pockets, amusement tugging up the corner of his mouth. “A barbarian with a pea-sized heart and a cock for brains.”
Her cheeks colored a darker shade of pink than her natural hue. “I’d forgotten that last part.”
“You also wished I’d go live on the moon.”
A short burst of laughter rolled out of her. It took her a moment to regather her composure. “Ahem… That part I remember.”
Mr. Moen,
I do not appreciate the colorful announcement of our engagement in the papers. You failed to discuss any of this with me first. We haven’t yet had an appropriately lengthy courtship, and the picture you selected to represent our upcoming union is ghastly. A caricature of us strangling each other - though an accurate depiction of our innermost feelings - is not a proper picture. This is not the way of things.
Uncivilly,
Your Furious Future Bride
Dear Hostile,
Kidnapping one’s mate was a selection process, not a wedding. Perhaps you don’t remember because you aren’t as old as I, but women were allowed to leave if they wanted to… eventually. Marriage was certainly always their choice first and foremost. Making the escape too easy was seen as an insult to one’s intended. The chase and the capture was part of the fun for both parties.
If you ever tire of being a good little human, I’d be happy to demonstrate the old ways so you can decide for yourself which is superior.
Respectfully,
Your Future Husband
“If you’d let me,” he whispered in her ear, “I’d spoil you rotten, too.”