And I knew I adored this man. That he was mine. That it didn’t matter how any of this had started or where it was going because it was real and true, and he belonged to me. He’d always belonged to me. “I love you,” I said, the cracking out of me like an accusation. “I’ve always loved you but I love you and I had to-to—” “I know, Emme. I love you too.” “Like I’m your wife?” I asked. “Is that how you love me?” “You are my wife,” he said, his voice like sandpaper. “And that’s the only way I ever want to love you.”
