The room was dim, softened by the cold glow of the full moon filtering through the curtains. The heater's quiet hum was the only sound beside the mingling breath of the two bodies on the bed. Micah lay stiffly under the blanket, his heartbeat thumping louder than it should. Clyde's arms draped around him, not tight, not demanding, just there, steady and warm. But instead of calming him down, they made him scared. Too scared of losing Clyde, too afraid of dragging him into his misfortune.
Clyde could feel the unease in Micah's body. His palm rested against his back, and he sensed every tiny tremble, every shallow breath. It made his jaw clench.
He regretted everything he said earlier. He regretted teasing Micah about being his wife. He regretted pushing Micah to agree to his demand, announcing him as Madam Du Pont.
Now, in the quiet of the darkened room, Clyde saw the consequences clearly.
