I want to marry her

I want to marry her
Michael’s pov

Sometimes I worried Richard might push things further than he should, but Violet had a way of grounding him. Watching her ease him back into balance was remarkable. It amazed me how easily Richard let her take charge at times.
Still, her choice to leave both of us without satisfaction as punishment felt rather severe. Richard’s response could have been worse, but Violet faced it with remarkable strength. She never once asked us to stop completely, and only on one occasion did she ask me to slow down. She truly was extraordinary in every sense.
Richard excused himself to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean up. I suspected he finished himself off there too, since he came back calmer and in a much better mood. He carried a warm cloth and carefully cleaned Violet, his hand moving gently over her skin. I left him to it and hurried to prepare myself for bed.
When I opened the bathroom door, Violet was already standing there, looking up at me with sleepy eyes.
“Are you alright, love? Do you need help with anything?” I asked eagerly, ready to do anything that might ease her or make her smile.
She squinted slightly. “No, I can handle it. I can go by myself.” She slipped past me and closed the door before I could insist. I smiled and went back to wait for her in Richard’s room.
I loved these moments. I loved having her small, warm body nestled between us at night. I loved waking up beside her every morning. Even sharing ordinary tasks like cooking and cleaning with her felt special. Richard kept reminding me not to rush things, but I already knew with complete certainty that I wanted her in my life every single day from now on.
“What is the update on the old mill?” I asked quietly.
Richard glanced toward the door, making sure Violet was not back yet. “It is moving forward. The asbestos removal is finished, and the plumber is scheduled to come by the end of the week to check the old pipes. We will let Violet choose the final design, but I want the structure and utilities modernised before we move in.”
“We need at least one working bathroom,” he continued in a low tone, “so that we can stay there while the rest of the work is being done.”
We had agreed not to leave our father’s house until the mill was at least livable. Our father and Evelyn seemed to have stopped bothering Violet about our relationship, distracted now by all the intense security measures Nash Turner had introduced. If we could delay just two or three more weeks, we could move directly into the renovated place.
Richard argued against moving into a hotel temporarily, then moving again a month later. He was right—Violet had already dealt with instability because of her mother’s restless lifestyle, so we wanted this move to feel steady and permanent.
Of course, we were making the huge assumption that Violet would agree to leave her mother and move in with us. I had already collected a box full of design magazines, waiting to hand them to her once we showed her the house. The mill would be hers, and we wanted to make every detail reflect her taste. I knew how creative she was, and I could not wait to see the ideas she would bring to life for our home.
Meanwhile, Nash was preparing to fit the property with advanced security, a fence, gate, full perimeter surveillance, remote cameras, and every modern precaution imaginable.
He had mentioned something I had not considered. Violet was a writer, and while I did not know how large her following was online, she definitely had readers who admired her. That meant she could one day attract the wrong kind of attention, a stalker. I did not believe the recent troubles were connected to her work, but it was a possibility we needed to be prepared for.
Richard and I were used to being in the spotlight. We had always kept security tight at our businesses, but this was the first time we truly had to worry about our personal lives. Not for ourselves, but for Violet. Someone might realise they could reach us through her, and we could never risk that.
Those thoughts vanished the moment she walked back into the room. She was completely bare, moving without hesitation, as if the world outside did not exist. Thankfully, our father and her mother rarely came to this part of the house. Her hair was brushed smooth and braided over one shoulder. Her fair skin still carried the marks of our passion, and her lips were plump and tender. She climbed into bed between us, burying her face into the pillow, her slim but toned back and the curve of her hips fully exposed. Her thighs parted just slightly, leaving us with a view that made my breath catch.
Her little feet, bare and delicate, reminded me of the times I had massaged them, treasuring every moment of her trust.
Richard ran a hand along her back. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”
No response. Not even a sound.
I brushed her braid to the side to see her face, but she was pressed so deeply into the pillow that all I got was a faint snore.
“Princess?” I asked softly.
Another snore answered me.
I gave Richard a look. “You wore her out completely.”
“You say that like it is a problem,” Richard muttered, though I could hear the defensive note in his voice. “At least she will sleep soundly tonight.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I want to marry her.”
Richard’s eyes flicked toward me in surprise. I had not even realised the thought had been sitting inside me until it burst free.
With Paige, it had been different. Richard had been the one eager to settle down, while I held back. I had doubts about her, but more than that, I had not been ready for a lifetime promise to just one person.
Now, with Violet, I could not imagine life without her. In only a few weeks, she had changed everything. She was the one. There was no one else for me. But there was the problem, we could not both legally marry her.
Back then, with Paige, I had been willing to let Richard take that step. He would have been the one on the paperwork, while we both made vows in our own ceremony. That would have been enough for me then.
But with Violet, I was not so sure I could accept being left out. And judging by the tension in Richard’s jaw, he was not prepared to step aside either. He kept trailing his fingers across her back, as though he could not stop touching her.
“What are we supposed to do?” he asked quietly.
I sighed and shifted closer, laying my leg over her thighs and combing my fingers through her hair while resting my head in my hand. “It is simple,” I said, though the words felt heavy. “If she wants to marry us, then we let her choose which one of us she would rather be legally tied to.”
Even as I said it, I felt the ache of certainty. I knew she would choose Richard.