“No, I didn’t,” I say softly. And it’s the truth. If there’s one thing I’ve always been sure of, it’s that Julian wants me. I’m not sure if he loves me—if he’s capable of loving anyone—but I’ve never doubted the strength of his desire for me. He risked his life for me back at that warehouse, and I know he would do so again. It’s a certainty that goes bone-deep and fills me with a peculiar sense of comfort.

Closing my eyes, I lean back against the seat with another sigh. The dichotomy of my emotions makes my head hurt. How can I be upset with Julian for forcing me to marry him and at the same time be glad that he couldn’t wait to abduct me again? What sane person feels that way?

“We’ve arrived,” Julian says, interrupting my musings, and I open my eyes, realizing that the car had stopped.

In front of us is a sprawling two-story mansion surrounded by several smaller structures. Bright outdoor lights illuminate everything in the vicinity, and I can see wide green lawns and lush, meticulously maintained landscaping. Julian wasn’t exaggerating when he called this place an estate.

I can also see some of the security measures, and I gaze around curiously as Julian helps me out of the car and leads me toward the main building. On the far edges of the property, there are towers spaced a few dozen yards apart, with armed men visible at the top of each one.

It’s almost as if we’re in prison, except that these guards are meant to keep the bad people out, not in.

“You grew up here?” I ask Julian as we approach the house. It’s a beautiful white building with stately columns at the front. It reminds me a bit of Scarlett O’Hara’s plantation from Gone with the Wind.

“I did.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “I spent most of my time here until I was about seven or eight. After that, I was usually in the cities with my father, helping him with business.”

After we walk up the porch steps, Julian stops at the doorway and bends down to lift me into his arms. Before I can say anything, he carries me over the threshold, setting me back on my feet once we’re inside. “No reason why we can’t observe this little tradition,” he murmurs with a mischievous grin, maintaining his hold on my sides as he looks down at me.

My lips twitch in an answering smile. I can never resist Julian when he’s being playful like this. “Ah, yes, I forgot that you’re Mr. Traditional today,” I tease, purposefully trying not to think about the forced nature of our marriage. It’s important for my sanity to keep the good times separate from the bad, to live in the moment as much as possible. “And here I thought you just felt like picking me up.”

“I did,” he admits, his grin widening. “It’s the first time my inclinations and tradition have coincided, though, so why don’t we go with ‘observing tradition’?”