pressing his fists to the small of his back and rolling out his broad shoulders. “Rachel, Rachel,” he murmured. “Will you ever be done?”
He wasn’t talking about the suit.
In the week that I had been working with Max, he had never pried into the particulars of my marriage or brought up the strange and heartbreaking edict that Cyrus had passed almost immediately after I said, “I do.” It was the elephant in the room, the boulder between us that kept everything sweet and surfacey instead of deep and meaningful like it had been with the Wevers when I was a kid.I didn’t like pretending that nothing was wrong, but in all the years that I had been with Cyrus I had never spoken to anyone about what it was like to be his wife. My secrets were buried deep, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to resurrect them.
And yet, Max’s one question was teeming with memories. It unleashed a barrage of dangerous emotions that threw me off guard. Will you ever be done? The first time that Max said a version of those words to me was on my wedding day.
I was eighteen years old when I fell in love with Cyrus, and nineteen when we were married. It was a hasty affair, and people were right when they assumed that it was a shotgun wedding. But there was never any evidence of our indiscretion—I lost our first baby to miscarriage only a few weeks after Cyrus and I said our vows. Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if that baby we never knew had never been. Would I have married Cyrus? Or would I have listened to Max and run as fast and as far as I could?
Max and Elena tried to talk me out of marrying Cyrus up until the last possible moment. At first my surrogate father had even refused to walk me down the aisle, saying that my real dad deserved the honor. But my dad hated Cyrus, and the feeling was more than mutual. I knew that I could have one or the other—my dad or the love ofmy life—not both. I had already made my decision, and I would have given myself away to Cyrus if that’s what it came down to. In the end, Max relented, but standing in the back of the church as we watched the bridesmaids disappear one by one, he made one last-ditch effort to convince me that I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
“He’s controlling,” Max whispered. His voice was tense and urgent.
“Cyrus’s not controlling,” I said, patting Max on the arm. We were linked at the elbows, our heads bent together as if we were having a final, tender moment on the most momentous day of my life. Anyone who saw us would think we were sharing a dream for my future. “He’s protective.”
“He’s manipulative.” Max all but growled.
“He wants what’s best for me.”
“He’s dangerous.”
I laughed a little at that. Cyrus wasn’t dangerous. He was exciting and passionate and the perfect amount of wild. There was something brooding and untamed just below the surface, but I loved that side of him. He made me feel intoxicated. Alive.
It seemed that Max could read my mind. He squeezed my hand. “Rachel, honey, I don’t trust him.”
“I trust him with my life.” The words rolled off my tongue, but even as I said them I wondered if they weretrue. I was certainly attracted to Cyrus, and we loved each other enough to make a baby, but there was only one man I trusted with my life and he was standing beside me. But I couldn’t say any of that. Not when the string quartet began to play the Wedding March and the congregation rose to their feet for my entrance.
I took a deep breath and snuck a peek at Max. He was devouring me with his eyes, his expression pained and desperate. I saw the storm that raged inside him, but just when I feared he was going to whisk me out of the church and away from the man I was about to marry, he pulled me into a rough embrace. “You let me know when you’re done,” he whispered into my hair.
It was a bewildering statement, but I didn’t have time to ponder it. The
He wasn’t talking about the suit.
In the week that I had been working with Max, he had never pried into the particulars of my marriage or brought up the strange and heartbreaking edict that Cyrus had passed almost immediately after I said, “I do.” It was the elephant in the room, the boulder between us that kept everything sweet and surfacey instead of deep and meaningful like it had been with the Wevers when I was a kid.I didn’t like pretending that nothing was wrong, but in all the years that I had been with Cyrus I had never spoken to anyone about what it was like to be his wife. My secrets were buried deep, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to resurrect them.
And yet, Max’s one question was teeming with memories. It unleashed a barrage of dangerous emotions that threw me off guard. Will you ever be done? The first time that Max said a version of those words to me was on my wedding day.
I was eighteen years old when I fell in love with Cyrus, and nineteen when we were married. It was a hasty affair, and people were right when they assumed that it was a shotgun wedding. But there was never any evidence of our indiscretion—I lost our first baby to miscarriage only a few weeks after Cyrus and I said our vows. Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if that baby we never knew had never been. Would I have married Cyrus? Or would I have listened to Max and run as fast and as far as I could?
Max and Elena tried to talk me out of marrying Cyrus up until the last possible moment. At first my surrogate father had even refused to walk me down the aisle, saying that my real dad deserved the honor. But my dad hated Cyrus, and the feeling was more than mutual. I knew that I could have one or the other—my dad or the love ofmy life—not both. I had already made my decision, and I would have given myself away to Cyrus if that’s what it came down to. In the end, Max relented, but standing in the back of the church as we watched the bridesmaids disappear one by one, he made one last-ditch effort to convince me that I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
“He’s controlling,” Max whispered. His voice was tense and urgent.
“Cyrus’s not controlling,” I said, patting Max on the arm. We were linked at the elbows, our heads bent together as if we were having a final, tender moment on the most momentous day of my life. Anyone who saw us would think we were sharing a dream for my future. “He’s protective.”
“He’s manipulative.” Max all but growled.
“He wants what’s best for me.”
“He’s dangerous.”
I laughed a little at that. Cyrus wasn’t dangerous. He was exciting and passionate and the perfect amount of wild. There was something brooding and untamed just below the surface, but I loved that side of him. He made me feel intoxicated. Alive.
It seemed that Max could read my mind. He squeezed my hand. “Rachel, honey, I don’t trust him.”
“I trust him with my life.” The words rolled off my tongue, but even as I said them I wondered if they weretrue. I was certainly attracted to Cyrus, and we loved each other enough to make a baby, but there was only one man I trusted with my life and he was standing beside me. But I couldn’t say any of that. Not when the string quartet began to play the Wedding March and the congregation rose to their feet for my entrance.
I took a deep breath and snuck a peek at Max. He was devouring me with his eyes, his expression pained and desperate. I saw the storm that raged inside him, but just when I feared he was going to whisk me out of the church and away from the man I was about to marry, he pulled me into a rough embrace. “You let me know when you’re done,” he whispered into my hair.
It was a bewildering statement, but I didn’t have time to ponder it. The
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