Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
She’s in a simple cream-colored dress that hugs her curves and makes my chest fucking ache. Her hair is down, loose, and defiant, like her. Arlo’s leaning against the back wall, smirking like he planned the whole thing. Cora’s wiping away tears she swears aren’t falling, and Oliver is standing beside me, beaming like the sun.
When the clerk asks, “Do you take this woman to be your wife?” the word “Yes” comes out steady and easily.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just truth.
Cressida’s eyes glisten when it’s her turn. Her voice wavers only once, but I feel the strength behind every word.
When the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, I don’t wait. I pull her in, hand on her jaw, mouth on hers, claiming her in front of everyone because subtlety was never my thing.
She laughs against my lips, that sound I never get tired of, and whispers, “You didn’t even let me finish breathing.”
“Get used to it,” I murmur against her mouth. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Later, when the papers are signed and the small crowd thins, she looks at me over her shoulder with that teasing glint in her eyes. “Still want to boss me around, Mr. Husband?”
I grin, sliding my hand to her lower back. “No, Mrs. Husband. Tonight, I’m all yours.”
And as we step out into the sunlight, her fingers tangled with mine, I realize something I never thought I’d admit…
I didn’t just find peace.
I found home.
The hotel room smells faintly of champagne and Cressida’s perfume—sweet, heady, and goddamn dangerous.
Cressida stands by the window, the city lights spilling across her skin. She’s out of her courthouse dress now, wearing one of my shirts instead. It hangs loose on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands. She looks over her shoulder at me, and that smile hits me harder than anything else today.
“Married,” she says, testing the word like it’s foreign on her tongue.
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice rougher than I intend. “Didn’t think I’d ever be that guy.”
“And yet…” She turns entirely, walking toward me, barefoot and unhurried. “Here you are.”
When she stops in front of me, I reach for her waist and pull her in. My ring catches against the hem of the shirt, a small metallic reminder that this isn’t temporary.
Her fingers brush along my jaw, and the look in her eyes undoes me—equal parts love and challenge.
“You’re quiet,” she murmurs.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“How I went from wanting to keep you out of my life to wanting to keep you in it forever.”
Her laugh is soft. “Forever’s a long time.”
“Not long enough,” I reply and mean it.
She leans in and, presses her lips to mine, slow and unhurried. The kind of kiss that doesn’t demand, it promises a lifetime together.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine. “You know,” she whispers. “For someone who claims not to need anyone, you sure can’t stop holding me.”
I tighten my grip on her hips. “That’s because you’re mine now.”
We end up on the bed, limbs tangled, laughter soft and real. There’s no rush, no edge of uncertainty, just two people who have finally stopped running from what’s been there all along.
Later, when she drifts off against my chest, I stare at the ceiling, my hand tracing lazy circles along her back. The world outside keeps moving, but in this small, quiet space, everything feels still.
She’s home.
My chaos.
My calm.
My wife.
My perfect Venomous Deceit