Page 47 of Striking
He leans his face into my hands and kisses my palm. “At a hospital—no. As the chair of my mother’s foundation—yes. You could patronize as many worthy charitable foundations as you want to. You’d never be lacking for ways to make a difference in people’s lives. You’d matter. What you’d do could affect millions.”
Millions... I’m not sure I can truly comprehend that kind of scope.
Not yet.
“Would your country even accept me? I’m an American.” The fear of rejection has always been something I’ve battled, and that was on a one-on-one level. The idea that an entire country could hate me is terrifying.
“I don’t think it would be easy at first. You’re new and different. They’d have to get to know you so they could fall in love with you. But I have no doubt they will love you.”
That’s a word I’m nowhere near ready to toss around.
Even if my heart melts the tiniest bit as the walls I’ve built around it crack just a little more.
Wait— Another thought hits me like an arrow to the heart. “Are you even allowed to marry a commoner?”
“I’m more of an ask for forgiveness not permission man, love. It’s already done. You are my wife. My queen. And if you’re ready, I’ll speak to the high council tomorrow.”
My heart races in my chest.
Am I ready for this? Is he?
There’s only one way to find out.
“Are you ready for that?’ I ask softly. “To tell them we’re married? For everyone to know? Be sure, Rhys. Because if I do this... If I give up everything I know and do this, and then you change your mind... It would destroy me.” I’m not sure I’ve ever bared my soul in quite this way before, but whatever protective instincts I have left kick in.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the wedding band I haven’t seen on him since the morning after our wedding. “I made my choice, Bellamy. It’s you. Once this ring is back on my finger, it will never come off. It’s up to you.”
Some people are born leaders.
They inspire others to follow.
To trust in them.
To believe.
I suck in a deep breath and slide the band over his finger.
“Your Royal Highness . . .”
Rhys
Bellamy’s words are shaky but so fucking sexy as she kneels in front of me. A white cable-knit sweater hits her mid-thigh, falling off both delicate shoulders. Long white matching socks stop right above her knee, and I want to fuck her all night with just those on.
She runs her hands down the front of my shirt, shoving it off my shoulders, her eyes shining with mischief.
Oh fuck.
I gather her face in my hands. “You are a fucking vision like this.”
She simply purses her lips and smiles as she pulls my belt loose, then pops the button on my pants. “Call your council, Rhys. Tell them whatever you want. But I have a few more rules.”
“Bellamy, love, you have me at a disadvantage. You’re on your knees, inches from my cock. I can’t really think straight,” I half laugh, half wheeze as all the blood from my head rushes to my cock.
And my little bee just licks her damn lips.
“Rule number one—you tell me everything. No keeping me in the dark. If I’m doing this, I need to be informed. I refuse to be blindsided and look like a fool on the world’s stage. Can you promise me that?”
“Everything I’m able to tell you... yes. But there will be some things?—”
