Why do I always overreact?

I shove the trowel deeper, turning the rich soil one more time before I drop in the seeds.

Drake would never throw me out. I don't think. But he caught me off guard talking about building me a house. Most women would be thrilled. And, of course, all I do is panic.

Which is so undeserved. He's never given me any reason to doubt him. Or his commitment. Always treating me with gentleness despite the savagery lurking underneath. Tender. Attentive. Generous. Just like with this garden. I asked if he cared if I buy a small potting bench and a few containers to plant some herbs and a few vegetables. Now I have twenty raised beds surrounded by decorative pots, trellises, and shepherd's hooks.

I only hope I can give him something in return that's just as thoughtful. He's a difficult man to surprise. His suspicions even bigger than his enormous heart. Which worries about me so much. 

Too much. Because I talk too little and hide too much. Took longer than he liked sharing the story of my past. To the point of him interrogating Trish and accessing all of my supposedly confidential files from my vagabond life.

But, I’m not as damaged as he thinks.

At least I don’t want to be. Not anymore.

But retreating into my head means - meant - survival. Shrinking into my quiet world. Easy to fall back into old habits. Because I've been told too many times before that it was permanent. Lied to that it was forever. I was wanted. I was loved. Until I wasn't. Then I was gone.

I suck in my trembling lip. I refuse to cry. Not because of what I’ve lost, but because of what I’ve found. Unwilling to succumb to the fear threatening to swallow me. That our forever is only temporary. That his love is only an infatuation. Until he’s over me. Then I'll be gone again.

With just a copy of our marriage certificate to prove our relationship ever even existed. I rub across the square bulging through my thick gloves. And his ring. The biggest diamond I've ever seen. Even bigger than Trish's, which made us both cry when she showed me her engagement ring for the first time. A motley blend of shock, happiness, and hope engulfing us as we celebrated.

In spite of my aching stomach, a smile sneaks out. Except her courtship followed the traditional route of dating, proposal, wedding, marriage. Whereas with me, Drake didn't propose. He demanded. And, regardless of how strong I believe myself to be, desire beat out reason in every battle I waged with myself. On the dance floor. In his bed. At the altar. I could never tell him no.

So now I guess in our jumbled timeline, we're in the dating stage, and he's discovering my nerdy hobbies. Developed from years spent by myself. For some reason, gardening and cooking don't feel lonely, even when you’re alone.

Until you cut flowers no one else enjoys. Bake cookies no one ever eats.

Except for Drake.

Because he never tells me no either. Puts the peonies in a vase on his desk. Stuffs himself with snickerdoodles until his belly hurts. Then makes love to me like I’m beautiful instead of broken. Wanted instead of in the way. And for that whisper of breath between lust and love, I belong somewhere. To someone. Who seems to want to belong to me too.

Sudden darkness engulfs me, and I fall back on my heels and slide off my sunglasses. My eyes straining to adjust in the vast shadow cast across me as I kneel amidst the gray flecked granite.

Butcher.

Embarrassment heats me hotter than the sun blazing on my back. So caught up in my digging, I didn’t know he was there until he stepped forward. Another flat of tomato plants in his huge hands.

Fumbling around him once again, I jump up and attempt to take the tray from him. But he shakes his head.

"Where do you want them?"

He never complains, but I still don’t like irritating him. Try not to burden him any more than I already do. “On the table please.” I gesture toward the glass top covered by an oversized teal umbrella. “Thank you.”

I can’t overcome the urge to traipse after him. Because then I don’t feel like I’m treating him like a servant. We’re working together. Almost friends. I pat the black plastic encasing the burgeoning sprouts. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

Beads of sweat bubble on his forehead, his normally pale face flushed as his head bobs. His spiky blond hair drooping in the mid-day heat. But I don’t suggest he take off his jacket to cool down. I won’t make that mistake again.

“It’s almost lunch time.”

Now it’s my turn to nod, at his gruff voice and reminder, and I hurry back to collect my tools. I need to take a quick shower. As goofy as it sounds, and I know it’s probably just the honeymoon stage, to be so anxious to see Drake after being apart for only a few hours. But, I really do miss him.

The ride down as silent as always. I busy myself pulling out my pony tail and finger combing my unruly hair. Not a lot of witty conversation I can muster with three stoic men who carry guns bigger than my arm. Which, despite the danger inherent in Drake’s world, seems excessive. But after the incident with the helicopter, Joey and Nalin accompany me everywhere I go now too. Thankful that at least I can still come up here. Drake gives me so much and asks only this one request. I can’t say no.

Just like the curtains he had draped over our bedroom windows after I moved in. Ruining his expansive view of the city from that part of the loft. Yet he was insistent when I told him they were unnecessary.

“No one ever gets to watch me fuck my gorgeous wife.”

His growl in my ear as he slid down the zipper of my skirt and trailed his finger over the string on my thong. Pushing aside the silky fabric and plunging inside me. Another deep rumble of approval to find me already wet for him.

My body lights from the memory and I dip my head, focusing on the rhinestones sprinkled across the straps of my pink flip flops. Embarrassed to be thinking about making love to my husband surrounded by virtual strangers.

As soon as we glide to a stop, I bolt to the door and look back, giving them a small wave. “Thank you!”

Of course, none of them respond. Grateful to be back inside and alone again, I strip while I race to the bathroom. Anxious to be free of their menacing demeanors and the thick coconut scent of my sunscreen floating on my skin. I lather instead with Drake’s favorite orange blossom body wash and pick his favorite yellow sheath. Rolling my eyes at myself. Still unable to believe I’ve turned into one of those girls. Especially since I never thought I’d ever have anyone to dress up for.

My heels click on the hardwood, echoing in the empty air, as I run to the kitchen. Glad I packed everything before I went upstairs. In the foyer, the door swings open before I touch the handle. Almost like Butcher has a sixth sense that I’m there or something. “Hi!”

“Are you ready, Mrs. Deveraux?”

“Yes, please.”

He pulls the bags out of my grip. Carrying both large totes with one hand while pushing the button to take us down to Drake’s office with the other. He does everything, and I do nothing. I’ll never get used to that. “I made a barbeque wrap for you too, if you want it.”

Drake wouldn’t approve of me offering. Always reminding me the bodyguards are his - our - staff not our friends. But I don’t know why they can’t be both.

“I’m good, but thanks.”

I swear he smothers a laugh before his face falls passive again. Pretty sure he’s making fun of me. Probably thinking how I’m still doing this whole boss/employee relationship wrong. Which is truer than I like to admit. “Thanks again for your help earlier. I know all those pots were really heavy.”

“No problem.”

He seems to relax a bit once we’re in the elevator, without the other men watching. Shame washes through me. I don’t mean to get anyone in trouble. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to when Drake’s gone and my own work is finished.

“Your flowers look nice.”

“Thanks!” I’m an imbecile to be so pleased by his lukewarm compliment. But I was pretty excited too how they turned out. My first time building an open-air lanai on a roof before. I hope Drake likes it too. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure…”

His expression contradicts with his answer. I know I’m pushing too far, but I really need his help. “I want to get Drake a grill to make it seem like we’re in a backyard. I’ve got it all picked out already, I just need a way to get it. Would you take me? Please?”

I really am asking too much. Because going shopping without telling Drake means Butcher has to lie. Risking getting in trouble for me. But he’s been so helpful, it’s hard not to ask for just more favor.

“You know you can have it delivered.”

No, I didn’t know. I’ve never really bought anything new before. I’ve taken what I’ve been given. “Oh.”

His head tilts as his lips purse together. Pity. I know that look well. Abundantly clear I don’t belong in this world. Don’t understand the ways of the wealthy.

He sighs, shifting on his feet, and runs his hand across the tips of his still damp hair. At war with himself based on the argument playing out on his face.

“Hey, listen, don’t feel bad. Once it’s here, I’ll help you get it upstairs while he’s at work and then you can surprise him. Okay?”

The most he’s ever spoken to me. Well, since the last time Drake chewed him out anyway. He’s trying hard to make this work too. Or at least a little less awkward. Even if it’s only because he feels sorry for me, I’ll still take it. “Okay, thank you!”

A sharp ding signals we’ve arrived, and eagerness partners with my elation from Butcher's agreement, as I step into the elegant lobby. Sleek and sophisticated, with clean lines of glass and stone. Utterly masculine like the loft. Like Drake.

I trace over the thick metallic placard Deveraux Design+Build while Butcher taps in the code on the key pad. Proud my husband created this company himself from the ground up despite his father’s wealth and influence. Inspired too for him to have the confidence to be this successful without anyone else’s help.

Butcher holds the door, gesturing for me to go first. Maybe his small smile signifies the fading of his normal impatience with me.

Leanna, the receptionist, gives me an apprehensive glance before returning her attention back to the burly man pounding his index finger on the desk top.

“I want to see Drake, and I want to see him now!”

“He’ll be with you in just a moment, sir. May I offer you a coffee or bottled water while you wait?”

Ignoring her, he follows her line of sight over his shoulder and turns on his heel to face me. “Who’s this?”

She gives me a tight smile. There’s a message imbedded in her agonized expression although I can’t figure out what.

“Senator McAdams, this is Mrs. Deveraux.”

A smirk and extended hand greets me. Goosebumps cover my suddenly freezing skin, and I can’t hold back a shiver. It feels like the devil himself touches me. Yet, I must remain polite. Be the wife Drake deserves. “Please call me Trinity.”

“Trinity?” His gaze scrapes over me like sandpaper. Sharp and abrasive. “Father, son, and the holy ghost?”

He tugs me closer. Too close. I’m fearful of Butcher, but even more frightened of this intimidating man who doesn’t seem to like me. I swallow hard and try to slide my fingers out of his painful grasp, which makes him chuckle.

“I bet Drake calls for God himself with a woman like you in his bed.”

I’ve heard crude comments all my life. Dirty men are often the most vocal. But his whisper steals my breath and the remaining courage I thought I had. I glance over at Butcher. Always waiting and watching. Ready to act. But this time the bodyguard does nothing. Which, in the past, is what I wanted. But now I desperately need Butcher to do everything to save me from him.

Only a blur flashes out of the corner of my eye before McAdams is yanked away from me by the force ramming into him. The congressman slams against the reception desk, toppling the decorative blocks stacked on the corner. His eyes blazing from fear with Drake’s hands around his neck.

“You ever touch my wife again I will fucking kill you.”

Drake’s voice rasps with fury, unrecognizable in his rage. The crinkle of cellophane from the falling bags dampens McAdams’ whimpers, thrashing against Drake’s death grip. I should pick up the sandwiches Butcher dropped. The strawberry slices scattered across the black tile. Ice tea gurgling into a flood pooling at my feet.

But I can’t speak or move. Paralyzed with terror as Butcher wrenches the senator from my husband’s fists, separating the men while his secretary and I watch. Her panic as stifling as mine.

Drake jerks away from Butcher. His broad chest heaving. Hard breaths of anger and indignation while he points at his victim. Who smooths over his gray hair with a sudden strange indifference after a few muffled coughs.

“Now get the fuck out of here.”

Even more chilling is McAdams’ laugh. Loud and mocking. Some sinister joke only he understands. Or, maybe Drake does too from the disgust squeezing his blood red face. I’m the only one in the dark about the rage boiling between them.

“An absolute pleasure I’m sure, Trinity.”

Disgust rolls through me to hear my name on his curling lips again. The filthy implication from his double entendre of what he thinks of me.

He winks at Drake. “I’ll be in touch.”

Drake flinches as if he’s been struck but refrains from saying or doing anything else. Except for with me.

A stiff hand tucks me against him, guiding me away from Butcher shoving the Senator out the door. We slosh through the puddles on the floor. I don’t say a word. Too hesitant to protest against us worsening the mess we’ve made from the tension radiating out of his rigid body. Leaving watery brown footprints down the hall to his office.

After slamming the door behind him, he sinks back against the thick walnut but doesn’t let me go. His fist tight around my wrist. Not painful yet unsettling. “What was that?”

His head shakes furiously. “Nothing you should’ve ever been exposed to.”

“I don’t understand. Why did you‒?”

Unable to finish from him pulling me between his legs, enveloping me against his chest. I’m immobile. Trapped in his embrace. Adrenaline kicks in, and I tremble in his arms.

"Damn him. You're fucking shaking."

Anger thunders in his rich voice. Although I'm not afraid. I know I never have to fear him. I clutch him as tight as he clutches me. Comforting him the way he always comforts me. “It’s okay. I just‒”

“No. It’s not. None of this is fucking okay.”

Not sure what else to say. Or do. Seeing him so vulnerable, his anxiety so exposed, hurts me more than I ever imagined. My fearless husband, who seems to effortlessly rule the whole world he holds in his hands, now reels under the weight of the universe on his hunched shoulders.

I try one more time. Just a whisper. Hopeful my conviction is what he needs to hear. “Infinity.”

My heart lifts from his tightening grip. The rumble in his throat. I’ve reached him.

“Infinity.”

My hair ruffles from his fierce whisper back to me. For the first time I can ever remember, a sense of possessiveness stirs within me. Fury on behalf of this man who loves me so passionately and ferociously. Who protects me without hesitation. Loyal to me against those who disappoint us.

I want to give him what he gives me. To do the same in return for him. Yet, he brings so much to this marriage, and I have so little to offer. No money or power or security.

Nothing.

Except me.

My love. My trust. My commitment.

The only things he says he wants from me are the only things I can actually give. All that I have. All that I am. All that I risk. A gamble that he’ll turn out like all the others. But this time feels different.

He’s different.

And, as terrified as I am that he’ll break my heart, I’m even more frightened of breaking his. “I don’t know what happened or what’s going on, but I’ll help you in any way I can…if you want me to.”

* * *

Fucking amazing.

My wife is god damn fucking amazing.

She just got the hell scared out of her from my fight with that stupid bastard, and she’s offering to help me. Determination filling her expression as her shoulders roll back. Ready to fucking throw down right now. God I fucking love her. “Nothing you need to help with. It was just a stupid disagreement.”

I should fucking kill his arrogant ass for touching her. But for as much as I despise this fucker, I need him as much as he needs me. Too deep in bed together to escape without both of our asses landing in prison. Probably a short stint in a white collar resort, but any time away from Trinity would be too damn long. “It’s over.”

Doubt purses her lips together. She knows I’m fucking lying. All I hope is that she understands I’m shielding her from the truth to protect her. Not because I don’t appreciate her offer. No woman I’ve fucked has ever thought beyond what I could give her. More proof how incredible Trinity really is.

Resilient too. Most women would be in hysterics to witness an altercation like that, rather than the steady calm my girl possesses. Sad fact that she’s been exposed too much damn violence. Around her and to her. My fists instinctively ball against her back. Luckily I've taken care of those motherfuckers already, and I will make damn sure to shelter her from any more assholes who try to hurt her.

“I’m worried about you.”

I fucking hate the uncertainty lining her sweet face. Detest the trembling in her small hands squeezing my upper arms. “No need, sunshine. I’m good. But, I’m sorry I ruined our lunch and your shoes.”

We both look down. Pure white sandals marred by splashes of tan, splattering across her pink tipped toes and delicate ankles too. “But you can buy new ones when you’re with Trish.”

“I think I should cancel after what just happened.”

The hell she is. I refuse to let that asshole ruin her plans. “Fuck no you’re not.”

She flinches from my harsh tone. Meant for him not her. Damn it. I’ve got to stop fucking up what I say to her. I caress her scarlet cheek, warm and flushed under my hand. “I’m sorry. I just meant that there’s no reason for you to stay home.”

Worry twitches her lips, with protests she’s too fearful to voice out loud. Fuck me for scaring her more. I need to quit acting like a bastard and force my voice to be calm. “I mean it. I really want you to go and have a good time.”

“Okay.”

Absolutely zero conviction in her tone. Her slender body still coiled with stress. Ready to spring with the slightest provocation. Which I need to prevent. And relieve. “If you don’t, I’ll drag you to the stores myself and you know what will happen if I get you alone and naked in the dressing room.”

I swear to fucking god I feel her nipples harden through the thin material of her dress. If I didn’t have this shit to take care of, I’d lay her across my desk and fuck the anxiety right out of her.

A bit of sparkle returns to her eyes. “We’d get arrested for sure.”

“You’d be so fucking worth it.”

My sweet talk earns me a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Sometimes I can be charming. To her anyway. Once she’s gone, I’m going to figure how to crush this bastard before he can destroy me first.

I cup her delicate face. Too dangerous to touch her any place else, or I won’t be able to control myself. Or my cock. “I love you Trinity. I want you to have fun.”

Her cheeks fill my hands. The huge grin I’d kill for returns to her brighter face, back where it belongs and should always remain. “I love you too.”

The tension in my muscles softens a bit despite myself. We’re good again, which is all I want. Realizing more and more that her being happy and with me is all I need. Now I just need to fix everything else to ensure I don't jeopardize either one.

I guide her back to the lobby, leading her around housekeeping already cleaning up our spoiled meal. Leanna flicks an uneasy gaze toward me. The first time I've ever seen my secretary show any uncertainty around me. A normal response I guess since it's the first time I've ever acted like a fucking lunatic in my own damn office. I've fucked up and deserve her disappointment. "I'm sorry, Leanna."

Trinity's small hand squeezes mine. A reassuring validation, that while my moral compass may be fucked up, I'm doing the right thing. At least from her perspective.

Although Leanna seems to respond with relief too. Her shoulders smoothing down from hunching around her neck. "It's okay. He deserved it."

Her hand flies over her mouth as she laughs. First time I've ever seen her act even the slightest bit unprofessional. I fucking like it. Trinity must feel the same way and giggles along with her. I'm just glad they both seem to have withstood the trauma of my outburst. Only one more person I need to make things right with. But he's not going to receive any apology from me. Fucking far from it. The only remorse is going to be his, for fucking up so fucking bad.

Trinity leans into my kiss on her temple. "Give me just a minute, sunshine."

"Oh…okay."

Hesitation threads through her voice. Luckily, Leanna recognizes my cue and steps closer. "You must be so excited! Do you have your dress picked out for tonight?"

I leave them to chat and beeline to her bodyguard waiting by the elevator. Should be fucking three of them. Pensive eyes meet mine when I slam open the lobby doors. "What the fuck, Butcher? You let that bastard fucking assault my wife."

His head twists furiously. Already on the defense. Well aware he fucked up.

"But he's a senator and I‒"

I fucking hate excuses. "I don't give a fuck. Anyone - no matter who the fuck it is - touches her, you kill them. Or I kill you. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

No real reaction. His face impassive. I don't give a fuck if he's fuming inside. He just better follow fucking orders like I pay him to. "And don't ever fucking dismiss Joey and Nalin again. She has three guards. Always."

A curt nod. Either from his own good sense to be fucking afraid or Trinity pushing the door open stifles his words. Good. Because I don't want to hear any more of his bullshit. Now, only one last asshole to deal with before I enjoy an evening with my wife.