Jackson was so close to me now and all I could think about was the kiss and the pounding of my heart and the craving deep within me, the bubbling and roiling boil that was revolting within my belly and clawing its way out, making me want the last thing in the world that I should need.

If I gave in Jackson would break me, because that was the only thing he was ever good for.

But I cannot stop myself from asking, “What do you have in mind?”

My therapist thinks that I’m obsessed, but they don’t know the half of it. They think that I’m fixated on the past but how can that be the case when I focus on the present.

I’ve tracked him. For all these years I’ve tracked the trail that Jackson left through the world. I know the companies he’s bought and sold. I know the homes that he’s burned to the ground. I know the women whose hearts he’s broken.

All of them so broken.

All of them utterly shattered.

Because all that Jackson does is break the things that he brings closest to him.

And right now I’m in danger of being destroyed.

“I say something and you tell me whether I’m lying or telling the truth. What do you think?”

I nod, too quick to hide the fact that he could make me do anything and his wicked smile shows that he knows that to be true.

Jackson leans in even closer, tilting to the right so his lips come close to my ear and he can whisper so quiet, so quiet that only I can hear him say.

“I want you to be mine. I want you to be real. I want you to be my wife.”

My eyes are closed and it doesn’t matter whether he’s lying or telling the truth. It doesn’t matter to me at all, because I want it to be true and even if I just get to pretend for a moment then it will be time enough.

“I want it too,” I mewl, “I want it to be true. I want to be Lana. I want to be yours. I want… I want to please you.”

And I can. Right now I can. And if I’m good enough then maybe he’ll hold me close for a while longer before he breaks me and casts me aside.

I step forward into him and he moves back and I’m falling over myself, mumbling and senseless as I reach for him and telling him anything that I can to keep him close, “I want to be good for you. I want to show you what a good girl I can be.”

The white expanse of my skirt puddles around me as I fall to my knees and crawl towards him. My eyes looking up to him and pleading for him to give me a chance and he holds still and I reach him, breathing a sigh of relief as my hands move up his legs.

“You’ll see,” I moan breathily, “I’ll show you what I can do. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it, that I’m your dream just like you’re mine.”

I am nervous and my hands are shaking as I tug at his belt. I can barely get it undone and the zipper is even worse and when I finally get my hands hooked into the waistband of his pants and his boxers and am about to pull them down I feel his hands close over my wrists and I let out a pained cry, certain that I’ve taken too long and that he’s displeased enough to cast me aside already.

But he doesn’t push me off he holds me as my eyes move up to lock into his gaze.

“This isn’t your first wedding day, is it?” he asks and I shake my head and he asks the next, “Do you do this for all of them? For all your husbands?”

“No,” I say, breathless and hoping that he believes me and knowing that he should because it’s the truth, “I’ve never done anything like this before. Not with anyone. Not as anyone. Not as any of the brides I’ve been. Not as the… not as the person I was this morning. You are my first, my true, my only.”

He watches me for an instant and I stare deep into those cold eyes of his. I see something spark, a little light from deep down in it. A momentary glance at a need coming to the surface. And when it breaks forth there is fire in its wake.

“Mine,” he says, “My wife. My woman.”