“Promise me,” I said, “that you’ll never watch the video.”
When he didn’t answer me, I turned to look at him directly. When I saw the closed-off look on his face, I started freaking out. “Gideon. Did you watch it already?”
His jaw tightened. “A minute or two. Nothing explicit. Just enough to prove validity.”
“Oh my God. Promise me you won’t watch it.” My voice rose and grew sharp as panic spread through me. “Promise me!”
His hands encircled my wrists and squeezed hard enough to make my breath catch. I stared at him, wide-eyed, confused by the sudden aggression.
“Calm down,” he said quietly.
The oddest rush of warmth spread outward from where he touched me. My heart beat faster, but also steadier. I stared at our hands, my attention catching on his ruby ring. Red. Like the cuffs he’d bought for me. I felt similarly captured and bound now. And it soothed me in a way I didn’t understand.
But Gideon obviously did.
That was why I’d been afraid to marry him so quickly, I realized. He was taking me on a journey that had an unknown destination and I had agreed to follow him blindfolded. It wasn’t about where we’d end up as a couple, because that was never in question. We were obsessed, dependent on each other in the unrelenting way of addicts. Where I would end up, who I’d be at the end, was what I didn’t know.
Gideon’s transformation had been almost violent, happening in a moment of sharp clarity when he’d comprehended that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—live without me. My change was more gradual, so painstakingly measured that I’d believed I wouldn’t have to change at all.