Wendy
By Sunday morning, my resolve had entirely crumbled.
I woke up in my empty bed in the west wing, staring at the cold, unused pillows beside me and made a decision. I was done.
The courting was incredibly sweet, and the absolute respect Reed was showing me was everything I could have ever asked for.
But I was not a nun and I could not survive another twenty-four hours of my husband casually rolling up his sleeves or breathing near my neck without actually doing something about it.
I wanted him. I wanted to share a bed with him. I wanted to wake up with his arm heavy across my waist, just like we had in William's room.
The only problem was my lack of courage.
How exactly did a woman approach her intimidating, devastatingly attractive billionaire husband whom she had banished to
