Everly

The ceremony at the courthouse is fast and seamless.

I knew from Monique that I would be signing a pre-nup, which I completely understand. Silas has a fortune, though I don’t know the specifics on how large.

Before the ceremony we sign the paperwork, and that’s that. I could have read it over more closely, but the fact is, I brought nothing into this marriage except some student loan debt and two suitcases filled with books.

Then we see the judge and make the marriage official. One moment I’m Miss Everly Matters and the next I’m Mrs. Everly Sutton. We don’t even kiss. It’s all very stilted and formal, with Silas’s lawyer there as a witness.

After the courthouse, we stop at a grocery store and Silas gets several bags of groceries he previously ordered for pick-up. I raise my eyebrows at this, because I’ve never heard of someone doing that—but then again, I’ve never lived with a man before.

We don’t run any more errands after that, and I’m grateful. My stomach is in knots imagining where I’ll be living. It’s hard to know what kind of place Silas owns.

He’s rough and tumble, but also effortless, and has no trouble navigating any of the encounters we’ve had with the valet, room service, the checkout desk, or the courthouse. I picture his house as a gorgeous cabin nestled in a small town—but not too small—where everyone knows one another.

My ring sparkles as the sunlight hits it. We drive toward the plane, and I feel more content than I have in years. The wedding wasn’t some magical affair, but that is the crux of this deal. Choosing to be a mail order bride means I’m giving up the idea of a traditional marriage, a swept-off-my-feet romance … but as I turn my head, looking at Silas, I wonder if true love could grow between us.

I mean, after last night with Silas I can imagine that possibility. He treated me well, more than well. And even though our wedding ceremony wasn’t romantic, our argument in the parking lot allowed us to air a lot of pent-up emotions. The sexual energy between us is real; even now, as he drives, I see his eyes run over my legs, and catch him looking at my chest.

And when we get to his house, I know that we’ll consummate this marriage, no doubt about it. I unroll the window, feeling all hot and bothered, imagining the night to come.

We park the Land Cruiser at a lake where a handful of seaplanes are docked.

“Does the pilot meet us here?” I ask.

“What kind of man do you think I am?” he scoffs, shaking his head as he opens his door, then walks over to my side, unexpectedly opening mine for me. Apparently, now that I’m his wife, he’s going to treat me different. “Most Alaskans who live in the backwoods can fly their own planes.”

“You’re the pilot?” I ask, looking at him and then at the tiny planes behind him. “Like, you’re going to fly us to your house?”

“My cabin? Yeah. Now grab some of the groceries and I’ll get the luggage.”

Holding the handles on the paper bags, I follow him to a small yellow plane docked at the edge of the lake. I didn’t expect the plane to be this small … which, okay, I can wrap my mind around that. But to entrust Silas with my life? I mean, I know he’s my husband, but I don’t know how I feel about him piloting me.

“So how long have you been flying?”

“All my life.”

I walk down the dock in a pair of sandals, and I’ve been so distracted with the events of the last twenty-four hours that I’m just now realizing Silas is in some serious outdoor clothing—Carhartt jeans and heavy leather work boots, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And this was what he chose to wear to his wedding day.

Looking down at myself, I feel overdressed and underprepared. My little sundress feels silly, my shoes impractical. This whole thing feels ridiculous, climbing into a stranger’s plane and living as his wife.

Looking at my ring, I’m reminded that I’m way too far in to back out now. We are legally husband and wife. We already made the commitment. And sure, I can always leave, get a divorce or an annulment—but not today.

As scared as I am, watching Silas pick up my heavy suitcases with ease, his biceps flexing as he loads the cargo and checks the fuel, calms me. He raises his arms to finish packing the plane and his chiseled stomach comes into view. That bare strip of skin makes my heart go pitter-patter and my core belly-flop.

There could be worse things than spending a wedding night with a man like him.

Namely: being homeless, jobless, and friendless in Portland.

“Ready to say good-bye to the city?” he asks, holding the plane door open for me, reaching for my hand to help me in.

“What do you mean?” I climb into the passenger seat and see a slight frown on his face.

“Anchorage. We won’t be back here for awhile.”

“That’s okay. I’m excited to get to your place. To start the whole thing.”

He nods, slamming the door shut and triple-checking that it’s secure.

He jumps into the cockpit, as if he’s done this a thousand times. He starts the engine, moves around some dials and adjusts gears, and then we’re off.

Silas is in command in the pilot seat. His powerful body fills up so much of the plane that I’m no longer questioning his ability to fly this thing. Everything about him exudes confidence and skill. I trust him with this.

It’s just the other stuff that’s starting to overwhelm me. Namely, that I am actually his wife.

I try to breathe, but it’s hard. If my heart was pitter-pattering before, it’s completely pounding now. My stomach rolls and my hands grip the door handle so tightly my knuckles turn white.

“You okay?” he asks loudly, over the sound of the engine. I don’t trust myself to formulate coherent words, so I just nod, and focus on not getting sick.

Not because I’m nauseated, but because as I look out the window at the majestic lake of water, the massive green trees, the mountains with their bright snow caps, and the glittering sun, I can’t help but think that this is all so far from home.

Home. It’s not like I’ve had one since my parents died, since my grandparents died a few years later. I chose to come here and make a new home for myself. A new life. But as we fly farther away from Anchorage, the truth of what I’ve done settles into my chest, and it aches, this realization.

I’m flying far from everything I’ve ever known, saying good-bye to a life I never really gave myself a chance to have.

I hope Delta and Amelia are okay. Neither of them answered their phones this morning, and I left them messages, letting them know I loved them and hoped everything was okay, but maybe they don’t have reception where their husbands live.

Last night, when Silas spread my legs, I could see the possibility of opening my heart to him, but now I feel parts of myself closing up again. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I turn towards my window as I wipe the tears away, not wanting Silas to see. I need to be brave, be strong.

But as we fly, it becomes clear that we’re going somewhere remote, somewhere isolated. There’s no city, no town. We fly over dense forests, over enormous lakes.

And then we’re landing.

Silas maneuvers the plane over the crystal water, and it’s similar to the dock in Anchorage, except there are no other planes here.

“I didn’t kill you.” He smirks.

I raise my eyes. “I didn’t think you were going to.”

“You seemed terrified, Everly. That entire flight, you were pale as a ghost.”

“It’s been a big twenty-four hours. I just want to unpack and settle in.”

“Good.” His eyes linger on mine, hesitating on something.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He helps me out of the plane and we unload on the dock. He has a large cart at the end of the dock, and we fill it with our things.

Before he shuts the door to the plane, he grabs a rifle from the back of the plane.

“You carry a gun?” I ask, shaking my head. Apparently I was so overwhelmed by the views as we flew that I didn’t notice the rifle.

Silas gives me a sidelong glance, shaking his head like I’m a fool. “’course I do, Everly. You never know what sort of emergency you might encounter out here. Which is why, until I teach you to shoot, you don’t need to be walking around by yourself. There are a lot of bears up here.”

I bristle at his words, not liking to be told what I can or cannot do. Still, a shiver runs down my spine at the thought of coming across a bear in the wild.

I follow him off the dock, noting how absolutely quiet it is here. How completely still. I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere so silent.

The lake is empty. No one is boating or waterskiing or fishing, and I wonder where his closest neighbor lives.

We make our way down a well-trod path through the forest, and when he stops, I look up.

“Welcome home, Everly.”

My eyes go wide as I take in the … I don’t even know what to call it. A shack? A hunting cabin? A … hovel?

I don’t know what to call this place … but it certainly is not a home.