“Open it.”

She lifted the lid and let out a gasp. A circle of platinum lay against the velvet. Glittering sapphires went fully around the choker.

“Do you understand its significance?”

Faith shook her head. Besides it replacing her something blue, she had no idea.

“I’ll give you a wedding band today at the ceremony to wear with the diamond, but this is what’s real between us. It’s a collar. It’s my commitment and promise to you that you’ll always be mine. I’ll always protect you, and you’ll always obey me.” There was an edge in his voice at the end that sent a thrill down her spine. There was no question, no doubt, only a command.

“Do you understand these terms?” He didn’t ask if she accepted them, just if she understood them. As far as he was concerned, gifting her with this symbol was a formality. She’d given herself body and soul to him long ago, and true to his word, the door had closed behind her after that choice.

She nodded, unable to force a reply from her mouth. She watched, mesmerized, as he lifted the jewelry from the box and put it around her neck.

“I never want to see your throat bare again. You will always wear this. You may take it off to shower or swim, but then it goes right back on.”

The weight of the collar around the base of her throat felt like his hand on her always. He didn’t need to worry she’d take it off.

He went to the door. “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. I’ll see you down there.”

“Leo, wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

“Will we ever… I mean… don’t you want to…” She was flustered and couldn’t get the words out, but their lack of consummation of the relationship since that one ugly night, had nearly burned her soul into oblivion. Didn’t he want her? Was she crazy for wanting him to go there again? Was it better to let it go and be content with the moments they had? But… didn’t he want her?

Leo turned, his expression intense. “Don’t I want to… what?”

He was going to make her say it. Her gaze went back to the empty box sitting on the veil. “We’ve never… made love.” She cringed as she said it. It sounded like the thing a high school girl would say. What adult woman called it “making love” anymore? Was she trapped in 1952?

Wasn’t it more sophisticated to call it sex or fucking? Don’t make it too romantic. Don’t make it mean too much. Just let it be a physical act that sits alongside any other feelings but doesn’t define them, because that nonsense is for movies and books. Not the life of the three dimensional. Even if those weren’t her feelings and thoughts, she was sure they must be Leo’s. With their age difference, his world had always struck her as much more adult than the world she’d inhabited, as if she’d been surrounded by children wearing adult costumes.