He let out a breath, eyes still lingering on the destroyed letters with lingering regret. “I can write new ones,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I’m sorry if I overreacted. I just thought we’d read them again at our wedding.”
Wedding. The word struck me like a slap. It tasted bitter, like a lie I had once convinced myself was sweet.
I remained silent, and he noticed. He reached up and cradled my face with a tender hand, his touch warm against my skin. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice threaded with concern. “I know I haven’t been around much. Carla needed my protection. She almost got taken by rogues from a rival pack. I won’t let her be in danger again. But you’re the only one I love, Debbie. You’re the one I want to marry. Surely, you know that?”
I nodded. What else could I do? It was what he wanted to hear.
He leaned in, kissing me gently—just a brush of lips against mine before pulling away. “Tell me, Debbie,” he murmured softly, “how can I make this right?”
I looked away from him and slipped out of his grasp. “I want a celebration,” I said, my voice light and almost playful.