*Killian*
I haven’t been able to whisk my bride up to my bedchamber following the ceremony because Mrs. Dorset has prepared a feast that will spoil if not served immediately. At the table in the small dining room, I sit across from my father, with my wife..: my wife! to my left near my cold heart, and the vicar to my right.
As I sip my wine, I consider the possibility that my mercenary mate apparently possesses a conscience. It surprises me beyond all measure when she questions accepting the ring. I had expected her to take one look at the sparkling jewels and salivate. But she did not. She isn’t comfortable with it. Even now, in between courses, she fiddles with it, rotating it as though she wishes she could remove it.
I don’t think it’s because it symbolizes she is married. It’s becau
