She’d looked forward to being his wife for the last several months, not only as something she wanted, but as the only way to save herself from her uncle, her chance to be something other than a piece of property to be handed from one man to another, to have a husband she could love, a home and family of her own. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d continued to think of Peter as the boy she knew, grown up in size but still shy, sweet, and mild-mannered. It wasn’t just Peter’s body that had grown and matured. He was no longer the same person inside or out. He seemed so much bigger than she’d imagined, so much more virile, so much more intimidating. The idea of going into a bedroom alone with him frightened her. The idea of its being Uncle Carl’s bedroom petrified her. “Don’t be shy,” Dolores prodded. “You’re a married woman now.” “I don’t feel married. It all happened so suddenly.” “It’s not half as sudden as being hauled off by Cyrus,” Dolores said.
