Page 169 of Outcast’s Vow

“Happy.”

“We’ve found each other,” I whisper. “Despite everything trying to tear us apart.”

“I once thought success was money and power and respect,” Baptiste says. “Christ, I spent my whole life not daring to utter the word love. I thought no one would ever convince me it was more than some stupid biological trick, and then you came along with your stubbornness and your kindness and your poise and your intelligence, and... and... you somehow changed everything. Now I believe love is real.”

He’s serious now. Deadly serious.

“You’re such a romantic, husband.”

Baptiste steps toward me.

Once.

Twice.

My eyes are no longer on the incredible painting, but on my incredible husband. He places a hand on my cheek and draws me close.

“I want to thank you,” he says quietly. “I want to thank you for being with me through everything. You are my wife, and you deserve the world. I’ve given you one surprise, but now I want to do one more thing for you.”

I’m shaking.

“What is it?”

He gently pushes me back onto the couch. With care, he unbuttons my blouse. With my gasp of permission, his hands open my legs. He takes his time. Tending to me. His thumb runs along my lips.

“I want to take care of you, wife.”

He knows exactly what I need.

Trembling with anticipation, I look up at the mirror opposite. Baptiste’s head is between my legs as if he were worshipping me. My hand is deep in his tousled hair. My mouth’s open, and I let out a little pleasurable moan.

I am his wife.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Who I see in the mirror isn’t the daughter of a Castaways Supreme Elder, or a girl trapped in a luxurious prison. I don’t see a wife forced into her husband’s control.

With my head hanging back and my blouse open, I see Sylvie Tremblay.

I see myself.

I see who I was always supposed to be. Free. With the man of my dreams adoring me.

I lean back, close my eyes, surrender myself to my husband’s desire, and remember what he once said to me.

I will always choose you.

* * *

He has one more surprise for me, something he only reveals once we’re sitting opposite each other on the couch.

It’s a board. A chessboard.

My mouth hangs open at the sight of it.

“What are you doing, Baptiste?”

He calmly sets up a game, putting the pieces in their positions, and then he looks up at me.