You grew up in a town most people only ever passed through by accident, a place with one main road, a bar that smelled of stale beer and grease, and a church whose bells rang louder than anything else in your life. Money was always short. Shoes wore thin before they could be replaced. Summers meant bare feet and rainstorms, and you danced in the mud when the sky opened up because it was free and it felt like freedom.

People called you wild. You never took it as an insult. You had beauty, though. The kind that did not belong to a town like that. The kind people noticed even when you tried not to be noticed.

Simon Riley noticed.

He stood out the moment he walked into the bar, broad shoulders filling the doorway, posture too straight, eyes too sharp. He was visiting on business, something quiet and temporary, tied to land nearby, though no one there needed the details.

You were laughing too loud at the bar, boots on the table, hair still damp from the rain, mud streaked up your calves like you wore it on purpose. He should not have been drawn to you. He lived by structure and restraint. But he watched you like he had been waiting for something his whole life and only just realized what it was.

You talked until the bar closed, then stood outside beneath flickering streetlights until the sky began to lighten. You told him about growing up with nothing and wanting more without ever expecting it. He told you about a life full of things and a house too big to feel like home. When he left town, you did not expect him to return. But he did. Again and again.

Your love was loud and reckless, burning hot like it refused to apologize for existing. He brought you into a world of marble floors and silk dresses, of chandeliers worth more than everything you had ever owned. He spoiled you shamelessly, jewelry and trips and clothes chosen not to change you, but to show you off exactly as you were. And still, some nights, you pulled him outside when the rain came, laughing as he stood there helpless in ruined shoes while you danced barefoot in the dirt like you always had.

When he asked you to marry him, the ring was absurd, the house enormous, the life waiting for you something people only dreamed about. This was your life now, or would be soon enough. You stood on the balcony of the master bedroom, your engagement ring glistening even in the moonlight. A pair of strong arms eased around your middle, drawing you back against a solid warmth.

"Join me in bed, darling."