Page 120 of Resisting Isaac

He arches a brow. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll show you exactly how married we are.”

I make a point to eye fuck him some more.

He leaps at me, pins me down in the pillows, and says, “I warned you,” before he kisses me deeply.

The truth is, I do need a warning. Because I’m scared.

Scared I won’t ever want to give this up, won’t be able to walk away when it’s time to go.

“Don’t let me hurt you,” Isaac says gently while removing my clothes.

He’s worried about my injury.

I’m worried about my stupid heart breaking.

“You won’t,” I say softly, hoping like hell it’s true.

But then he makes love to me thoroughly, slowly while staring into my eyes and holding me like I’m precious to him. And like we are very much married.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

elena

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Iget an in-depth flying lesson from Isaac on the way to my family’s home. Once we land, we rush around town, locating a wedding band for him and last-minute items for the ceremony.

If there’s anything I can say about my family, it’s that they can throw together a wedding, a Quinceañera, or any other celebration on a tiny budget with zero notice.

By the time the ceremony starts, my cousin’s backyard looks like an image from a storybook. It’s not exactly my taste but beggars can’t be choosers. And I’m grateful beyond measure. As long as my alcoholic uncle, Miguel, doesn’t show up, we’ll be fine.

The desert wind carries the scent of sagebrush and dust across the yard. Soft guitar chords float from my cousin’s Bluetooth speaker, blending into the rustle of agave leaves and the murmured voices of family. Golden hour paints the adobe walls in honey and fire.

I grip the edge of the carved wooden bench beneath me,heart thundering like it’s trying to outrun everything—my fears, my doubts, the truth I can’t quite admit yet.

This isn’t real.

I have to keep reminding myself.

It’s for my dad. It’s for my job. It’s for the ranch and the production company.

It’s so we can get back to work, back to our lives.

But the way Isaac spent all day saying, “whatever you want, baby,” about setting up this sham of a wedding made it feel very real. As does the way he looks at me when I step outside, arm and arm with my dad in a simple white dress my aunt had in her closet. The heat in his eyes makes my breath catch in my throat.

He’s wearing dark jeans, a crisp white shirt and a navy blazer I’ve never seen before. No tie. I doubt the man owns a tie. Hair windswept. Sunburnt skin freckled across the bridge of his nose. That cowboy swagger of his noticeable enough to make my pulse skip.

As soon as we make it down the short aisle, my dad’s arm trembles slightly as he hands me over, but his smile doesn’t waver.

“You’re sure about this?” he whispers.

I squeeze his hand and pass him off to my aunt who has to help him back to his seat and reconnect him to his oxygen tank. “I’m sure.”

Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing at all. But at least I got to do it while my dad was still here to be a part of it.

“Thank you for this,” I mouth to Isaac, who shakes his head.

“I should be thanking you,” he says evenly, like he means it.