Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I should look away. I should give her space, but for a second, I’m frozen—caught between the instinct to protect her and the sudden awareness of how intimate this situation really is. I finally force myself to turn around, breaking the moment before it becomes something more.
“No need,” I say, my voice gruffer than I intended. “I shouldn’t have been standing here… gawking.” Heat snakes up my neck as I rub the back of it awkwardly, feeling like a total creep.
She lets out a small, nervous laugh. “It’s okay. We’re still figuring this whole living-together thing out.”
“Yeah,” I agree, though I can’t shake the image of her standing there, fresh from the shower, the scent of lavender soap hanging in the air. “I’ll, uh, give you some privacy.”
Before she can say anything else, I make a hasty retreat down the hallway, feeling a mix of frustration and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. I’ve got to get a grip. This was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Nothing more. But with every passing second, Violet becomes harder to ignore.
And that’s dangerous.
Chapter 11
Violet
Sunday dinner with Callum’s family. My nerves have been firing since I rolled out of bed this morning. The only thing keeping me from unraveling completely is knowing that Millie will be there, offering a small slice of comfort in an otherwise overwhelming situation.
I wish I could say I’m comfortable with my husband by now, but we're not quite there yet. We're trying—it's just more difficult than I imagined. There’s an unspoken tension between us, a kind of quiet awkwardness that neither of us seems to know how to navigate.
Callum is a night owl, while I’m an early bird. By the time he rolls out of bed and grabs his first cup of coffee, I’ve already mucked the stalls, fed the horses and chickens, collected the eggs, and cleaned the coop. Our lives run on different schedules, and it’s painfully obvious. He’s not much of a talker in the morning, but I’m buzzing with energy. I've been making him fresh eggs for breakfast, and I still get a tiny thrill every time he compliments them. “These are amazing,” he says, and I swear I see a spark of something genuine in his eyes. It’s the little things, I suppose.
But the rest of our time together? It’s strange. Like we’re playing house, going through the motions without really connecting. He works long hours at the brewery, and by the time he comes home, I’m already half-asleep, my day of hard labor at the ranch catching up to me. I try to be a good wife—I keep his dinner warm for him when he gets home, making sure there’s always a plate ready. But even that feels distant. We hardly see each other, living in the same house but inhabiting different worlds.
We text more than we talk, small updates or reminders about things around the house. It’s efficient but impersonal. This wasn’t how I imagined marriage at all. Growing up, I thought I’d marry someone I loved, someone I could share my life with.
I tell myself it’ll get easier. That we’ll find a rhythm eventually.
Callum has somehow managed to avoid seeing me come out of the shower again. But there’s a part of me—one I barely want to admit to—that secretly wishes he would. I should have been embarrassed the other night when he accidentally caught a glimpse of me, but I wasn’t. Instead, it felt good. Good to have his eyes on me in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time. It made me feel...wanted, and I liked it more than I care to admit.
I’ve caught glimpses of him shirtless, and holy cow, am I a lucky wife. His broad shoulders, defined arms, and those tattoos that snake down them are enough to leave anyone breathless. There's something undeniably magnetic about him—those muscular arms could easily lift hay bales or sweep someone off their feet, and I imagine they'd be just as strong doing either. And those abs… he's got the kind of chiseled body that would make anyone stop and stare. I have no idea what his workout routine involves, but it’s clearly working.
I find my mind wandering, wondering what it would be like to run my hands over those abs. If the upper half is this incredible, I’m sure everything from the waist down is equally... impressive. I’m not usually one to let my thoughts get away from me like this, but when it comes to Callum, it’s hard not to.
With a shake of my head, I try to clear these thoughts. I shouldn’t be thinking about my husband like this. Our marriage is just a contract—a way to save the ranch, nothing more. But despite everything, I can’t seem to stop myself from imagining what it would be like if it were something more.