I Was Never His Real Wife

Everyone said Cecil Henson and Leah Sullivan were made for each other.

Thirteen times they sought the omens, and every reading came back perfect.

Even if he'd been a poor nobody, the Sullivan family would have accepted him.

But he happened to be her uncle in name, the fourth heir of the Sullivans.

The night Leah was sent abroad, they put him through hell.

And through all of it, all he ever said was the same line. "I'll love her until I die."

The next day he came to steal a bride, still covered in his wounds, and I was the bride he stole.

Everyone said he'd loved and lost, and finally gone mad.

But after we married, we were happy. I pulled him out of his dark place.

He gave me a love that knew no limits.

For so long, I believed we were meant to be.

I believed we'd stay happy forever.

Until the eldest Sullivan daughter came home.

Only then did I finally understand what it meant for two people to be made for each other.

……

Leah's welcome-home banquet was a grand affair.

It was the first time I'd ever seen her.

Sweet, reserved, with something sharp hidden underneath.

Everyone admired her, fawning as they greeted her.

Only Cecil sat quietly in the corner. He didn't rise, and he made no move to go to her.

"Uncle."

"Mm."

Leah glanced at me, her expression complicated.

I could tell she'd meant to just walk past, but all those years of breeding told her she ought to be polite.

So she swallowed her disgust and said, "Aunt."

The banquet began, and somewhere someone said, "It's the fourth's third wedding anniversary today, isn't it?"

Everyone's eyes turned to us.

That was right. The third year since Leah went abroad.

The third year since Cecil and I had been together.

Leah propped her chin on her hand and asked, lightly, "I heard Uncle stole his wife by force back then. What is it you like about her?"

Cecil never touched a drop of alcohol.

Today he'd had a few too many, head braced on his hand, his face slack with the weariness of being drunk.

Vincent Henson and Theo saw which way this was going and tried to laugh it off.

"Come on, let's all drink to Leah being home!"

Leah's voice dropped a shade heavier. "Uncle still hasn't answered me."

The air went tight. Everyone who'd raised a glass now sat watching, and no one dared drink.

Cecil suddenly gripped my hand, his eyes burning into mine. "All of it. There's nothing I don't like."

"Daisy, come to the restroom with me."

I nodded and held him up, careful with every step.

Outside the restroom, I stood looking down at the dirt on the tips of my shoes.

A voice came from behind me. "What are you looking at?"

Cecil wrapped his arms around me from behind, nuzzling at my ear, the smell of liquor rolling off him in waves.

"Before she came back, you didn't drink."

A soft laugh against my ear, and he gave me a light, idle bite.

"Jealous? Daisy, did you forget. I drink every anniversary."

Cecil tipped my chin up and kissed me, slow and deliberate.

The hand at my waist pressed harder and harder, until it hurt and my eyes flew open. In the mirror was the lovely profile of Leah's face.

She bent over the sink, washing her hands.

Seeing me freeze, Cecil narrowed his eyes and lifted his head, impatient.

In the mirror, their gazes found each other.

"Uncle's in fine spirits."

Cecil's brow creased. "You're everywhere."

He took my hand and led me back.

The wind outside was strong, and he tucked his coat around me.

When we got home, his phone lit up.

The notifications came fast, one after another.

When I leaned in to look, he turned the screen off.

He only ruffled my hair. "My eldest brother wants me. I'll be back soon, be good."