“Yes,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “It is.”

“Obviously, I don’t have experience in the whole marriage department, but be that as it may, you’re my wife. That means we don’t pretend anymore, correct? That, always and forever, we are real with one another.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Not about anything. Not even when you don’t want me to worry. I know you’re strong and so resilient it’s fucking unbelievable, but you don’t have to always be strong with me. It’s okay to not be okay when you’re with me,” he said, and my breath caught. “It’s my duty as your husband to make sure you feel safe enough to be real. You don’t have to pretend that you’re okay with everything that has happened, Poppy.”

Oh…

Oh, gods.

His words wrecked me. Tears scorched my throat and rushed to my eyes. I did the only mature thing possible. I smacked my hands over my face.

“Poppy,” Casteel whispered, folding his fingers around my wrists. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“It did.” My voice was muffled. “I don’t want to cry.”

“Does smacking yourself in the face help with that?”

“No.” I laughed, shoulders trembling as tears dampened my lashes.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He tugged a little on my arms.

My hands stayed over my face. “Then don’t say incredibly sweet and supportive things.”

“Would you rather I say something mean and unsupportive?”

“Yes.”

“Poppy.” He drew my name out, pulling my hands away from my face. He gave me a lopsided grin, one that made him seem so incredibly young. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be vulnerable. This was possibly the worst homecoming ever. This last week sucked, and not in a fun way.”

I laughed again, and it ended in a sob. I didn’t stop the onslaught of emotion this time. I broke, and just like Casteel had promised, he was there to catch those pieces, holding them together and keeping them safe until I could piece myself back together. Somehow, I ended up on the floor with him, in his lap, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him.

And I stopped pretending.

Because I wasn’t okay.

I wasn’t okay with what had happened, with what it could signal and what it meant when I didn’t even know what I was now. Nor was I okay with learning that my parents had been betrayed by someone they trusted—that they’d truly been attempting to escape Solis with Ian and me but never made it, risking their lives for me—for us. That betrayal hurt, and the pain throbbed intensely. All those things I tried not to think about crashed into me, and who…who would be okay?

Seconds turned into minutes, and those minutes stacked on top of one another. My tears dampened Casteel’s chest. I hadn’t even cried like this when I lost Vikter. That had been a harsher explosion of emotion, but Casteel…he had been there for that, too. And as he held me to him, his cheek pressed against the top of my head, his hands smoothing up and down my back, I didn’t worry about being seen as weak. I didn’t fear that I’d be reprimanded for showing emotion as he gently rocked us back and forth. I hadn’t even allowed myself to do this with Vikter, and I knew he wouldn’t have judged me. He would’ve let me cry it out and then told me to deal with it. And, sometimes, that was what I needed. This wasn’t one of those times, and not since my parents had died and Ian had left for Carsodonia had I felt safe enough to be this vulnerable.