“Thought that was my whole job,” he says, eyes suddenly dark as he tips up my chin. “Rubbing it in.”
Sweet Jesus on a motorbike.“Out. Of. Order!” I repeat.
But Petyr’s answer sinks into me. Slowly, like a drop of honey. It was such a normal, reasonable response that I’m not sure how to take it.
Again, I get that strange, dangerous feeling in my chest. Like this is a real marriage, and we’re a real couple who’s trying.
Which is ridiculous, because we have a deal. I’m lying to him in at least a dozen different ways and we both know this thing between us is temporary.
So why do I feel like it’s growing?
I try to shake it off with a half-smile. “You know, this might all be a curse.”
“Hm?”
“You saw me before the wedding. That’s bad luck. We’re cursed now, and that’s why I’m bleeding and you’re horny and we can’t do anything about it.”
That’s why we can’t have a baby.The words stick in my throat. It would be so hypocritical to throw in the towel after asingle month. So many couples go through actual fertility troubles, and here I am, being mopey because I didn’t get it right on the first try.
In my defense, my uterus is doing cartwheels inside me and that bitch Kira made me skip dinner, so I’m hungryandsad.
Petyr doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s a close thing. “I told you where that superstition came from.”
“Tell me again.”
“So the groom wouldn’t run away once he saw the bride for the first time.” His lip curls slightly, mischievous. “Too many witnesses at the altar.”
I find myself laughing. “You’re telling me. I didn’t even have a dress.”
He leans in. His gaze is warm now, warmer than a thousand setting suns. “I would have married you no matter what.” Our lips are so close, they nearly brush with every word. “Dress or no dress. Bad luck be damned.”
Something charged fills the air. A crackling heat. For a second—only a second—I forget all about our deal. How we came to be here in the first place, all the ugliness that started it.
For a second, I let myself pretend this is real.
Then the fog lifts.
“Have you thought about—” I clear my throat and pull away. “—about what you’ll do if we have a girl?”
Petyr’s brow lifts, like it’s a silly question. “Unlikely. I was one of two boys. My father was one of three. My grandfatherwas one of five. There hasn’t been a girl born in my family in three generations.”
“Well, maybe it’s time for a trend change,” I say, keeping my tone light. Definitely not thinking about that spark between us moments ago, or how close our lips were. “I could be your Anne Boleyn. Birth the next great Gubarev queen. Provided you keep my head attached.”
“I like your head just fine where it is.” He strokes my bottom lip, the subtext clear. I momentarily forget how to breathe. “What about you?”
“DoIlike my head where it is? I mean, yeah. Pretty fond of the whole setup, more or less.”
He shoots me a pointed look. “I meant, what about your family?”
Shit.Right. “One brother, one sister,” I recite automatically, trying to disguise how badly my pulse just jumped.
The lie slides out too easily. In reality, there are three brothers and one sister, but that’s not information he needs to know. I’m not going to hand him the pieces to the puzzle myself. That would be crazy. Self-destructive.
Petyr’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but we’re too close for me not to notice. The warmth in his eyes cools a degree, his jaw working where it had once been relaxed.
“I should get a workout in,” he says abruptly, sitting up.
The change is so fast it leaves me blinking. “Right now?”
