Page 34 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)
Amy
I’ve cried more in the past week than in my entire life combined.
At this point, it’s a miracle my body still retains the ability to form tears.
Or that Lucifer, Wyatt , isn’t fed up with me constantly slobbering all over him.
Craig hated it when I cried. All of my previous boyfriends did, not that I’d been with most of them long enough to show such vulnerability, but I’m certain that their brains weren’t equipped to deal with female tears.
I wonder if I’ve simply been choosing the wrong men or if Wyatt is some sort of miracle of nature. Probably a bit of both.
He doesn’t turn on the car’s navigation this time, so I don’t know how far we’re going, but I find that I don’t care that much. The car is comfortable and warm and I feel safe. Safe with my husband. Damn, that’s going to take some major getting used to.
“Does he know about you?” I ask, curious to find out more about my— Nope.
Not gonna say it again. About Wyatt. “Lockley,” I specify, responding to his raised brow.
“Does he know what you do? Is that why he was so terrified of you?” To me, it doesn’t seem smart to walk around flaunting your criminal career, but what do I know? Perhaps that’s how it’s done.
“Oh.” Wyatt laughs. He has a great laugh.
Deep and sort of rumbling, reverberating through his chest. I regret not being curled up against him when he laughs like this, because the vibrations are extremely soothing.
“No, he doesn’t know,” Wyatt explains. “He is on the local mafia’s payroll, though.
I’m on friendly terms with the boss, so I namedropped a little to get the marriage ceremony arranged this fast.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “There’s ‘local mafia’ in rural Minnesota?”
“Cupcake, organized crime is everywhere. Turf wars are just more visible in big cities because they usually involve dozens of deaths. Here, a house burns down, one or two people mysteriously go missing, and things are settled.”
“Right.” My head spins. This is not an area I ever expected to get educated in. Mafia. Jesus Christ. “So he thinks you’re mafia?” That doesn’t sound so good either.
“Affiliate, yes.” Wyatt shrugs, glancing at me before returning his eyes to the road.
“I kept my legal name mostly clean until now, though, so most townsfolk won’t believe it and Lockley won’t babble.
He wouldn’t stay alive this long if he didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.
At least now he won’t bother me when I’m late with my garbage collection fees. ”
I don’t know if I should laugh or gawk at him with my mouth wide open, so I do both at once, which results in an undignified snort. “You don’t pay garbage collection fees?”
“I do!” Wyatt sounds affronted by my suggestion, but then he cracks a smile. “I just forget about the deadline sometimes. You can be in charge of it if it irks your law-abiding soul, wife .”
Wife. Oh, god. My heart flip-flops, warmth spreading through me.
How’s him calling me his wife even hotter than calling me a good girl?
It’s wrong, so wrong, but I don’t have the decency to feel bad about it.
“I don’t have much money saved, but I’ll pay whatever I can.
” I look at the many restaurants, shops and bars we pass.
“I’m sure I could get a job here too, if you—” If you let me.
I let the ending of the sentence hang between us, not sure where we stand at this matter.
Am I still his captive? Remembering the chain he used on me just this morning, it’s doubtful he’d just let me walk around freely.
We stop at a stop sign just by the town’s border. There’s no traffic in either direction, but the car’s not moving. Wyatt is watching me with an intense expression that’s difficult to decipher in the near darkness of the car. “Just what are you talking about, cupcake?”
He doesn’t sound angry, more like genuinely confused, but my body still reacts with panic, expecting him to yell at me and insult me.
Not because he’s a killer and my captor, but because that’s what I’m used to from partners.
That thought is something to dissect for later.
Right now, I cower, afraid of his reaction.
Not of violence, but of sharp words. Of being called stupid and useless like I’ve been so many times before.
“I’m sorry.” The apology leaves my mouth before I even know I’m opening it. An instinctive reaction. “I didn’t—”
“Amy.” Wyatt’s hand comes to rest on my cheek, his thumb brushing against my lips, silencing me. “Breathe.” I do. “Good. Now, tell me. Please.”
The words spill out in a rush. “The money. I don’t have any so I thought I’d work but of course that’s stupid since we are, well, what we are and I’m sorry, I just didn’t think and I’m sorry, I’ll—”
He silences me again, gently but firmly. “Amy. I was just joking. I didn’t say it to make you feel bad about money or to force you to pay my bills or anything. Besides, what you said is not true.” He grins. “You’re a millionaire, Amy.”
“Eh?” My brain stalls. The first thing coming to my mind are my childhood fantasies about being adopted. Were they real? Am I a long-lost child of some super rich people? A crushing weight lands on my chest. Is that the real reason why Wyatt married me ?
“We’re married, Amy,” Wyatt continues, unaware of my inner turmoil. Or perhaps he knows exactly what’s going through my head, because he continues to explain, “I told you, everything I own is yours now. Which includes all of my money. That officially makes you a millionaire.”
“Um. Eh?” is my eloquent response, my brain slow to make the connection.
When it does, though, it’s like a light going off in my head.
I’m not a lost child of rich parents. Duh.
How did I ever believe that was real, even for a few seconds?
Deciding to chalk it off to exhaustion and emotional overwhelm, I move on to what Wyatt actually said.
His money. I’m his wife, legally, so half of his money is mine?
“Oh.” Why would he do that? “Isn’t this why rich people sign prenups before getting married? ” I know all about that from TV shows.
“Only if they don’t want their partner to share their wealth, which is ridiculous if you ask me. Why marry the person when you’re not ready to go all in?”
All in. He went “all in” after knowing me for 24 hours. He’s definitely crazy. “But millionaire?” The word is foreign on my tongue. “Does killing people really pay that well?”
Laughing, he caresses my cheek once more before starting the car again and finally leaving the intersection. “It’s lucrative, but not that much. I invest the money and have a healthy investment portfolio.”
“Uh-huh.” I have no clue what that even means, but I’m not going to ask. He must already think I’m stupid. What if he grows tired of explaining simple things to me? I doubt he’d simply divorce me. It’s more likely I’d end up dead in a ditch somewhere.
My not-answer is apparently enough to show my ignorance, but Wyatt doesn’t mock me. “It just means using money to make more money. It’s why rich people stay rich and poor people stay poor, bar extreme circumstances. When you have money, it’s easy to make more. When you have none, you’re stuck.”
Tell me about it. “I didn’t marry you for money,” I say, because that’s a thing everyone is supposed to say, right ?
Wyatt booms a laugh. “Cupcake, I literally kidnapped you and forced you to marry me. You being a gold-digger is not a thing I worry about.”
I almost ask him what he is worried about but hold it back.
It feels too intimate, too real, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t like the answer.
Comfortable silence stretches between us.
Wyatt puts on soft music I don’t recognize in a language I don’t understand, but the melodies are soothing.
Resting my head against the window, I smile, remembering doing the very same thing less than twenty-four hours ago.
Then, I reminisced about my life being over, about how my captor will use me and then get rid of me.
Today, I’m anything but despondent. The changes my life’s gone through are still hard to grasp and, frankly, absolutely insane, but at least I no longer worry for my life.
My worries are different now, more subtle.
Now I worry about disappointing Wyatt, about him discovering I’m really not that interesting. About his obsession wearing out.
After Craig died, my greatest fear was being alone. Maybe it has always been my greatest fear, which is why I clung to unhealthy relationships and toxic people. Better them than no one.
Wyatt dispelled that fear with his imposing presence. With his promise that I will never be alone again. But never is a long time. What happens when our never ends?