“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t.” His hand lands on my ass. I’m not proud to say how loud I squeal. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
I stare at him. I was expecting a polite brush-off or maybe a promise to think about it. Not… this. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re not joking?”
“I never joke.”
“Okay, fair. But you have stuff to do, don’t you? At fake workandreal work.”
Petyr doesn’t let it faze him. “You said you were at high risk of boredom complications if you didn’t go out. I wouldn’t be much of a husband if I didn’t look after my wife’s health.”
The word “husband” sends a swarm of butterflies fluttering into my lower half.
Just like that, we’re heading out together.
When the car pulls to a stop half an hour later, I’m expecting… I don’t know what I’m expecting. A restaurant, maybe. Someplace snazzy and exclusive with a ten-month long waitlist.
I am not expecting…
“The American Museum of Natural History?”
“If you don’t like it, we can go somewhere else.”
I hook my arm through Petyr’s. “Nope,” I say, flashing him a grin. “You picked this, so I like it.”
It’ll let me know more of you,I think but don’t say.And let me see what you like. And buy me front-row seats to your nerdy side.
Before long, we’re in, skipping the queue entirely.
“There’s a temporary exhibit,” Petyr murmurs conspiratorially in my ear as we weave through the sparse crowd. It’s a Tuesday morning, so there aren’t many people there to begin with. “Right through those doors.”
I squint at the poster. “Vikings?”
“Yes.” He flicks me an amused gaze. “Sorry it’s not Pompeii.”
I give an exaggerated shrug. “I’m sure you’ll show me all the sights on our honeymoon, darling.”
The whole museum is nothing like what I pictured. When Petyr said he’d take me out this morning, I braced myself for something ridiculous. A jet, maybe, and a day trip to Hokkaido for authentic ramen. Or a Michelin star, whitetablecloth type affair, with servers who bow low enough to kiss the floor.
Instead, I’m standing in front of scrap metal from across the North Atlantic, while Petyr lectures me like he’s gunning for Ivy League tenure.
“They attacked fast,” he says, pointing to a rusted axe. “Villages couldn’t mount a defense. Fear traveled ahead of them. Made people break before they even saw a ship.”
“Fear, huh?”
“The most underestimated weapon.”
Memories of my home life flash before my eyes. “Yeah,” I choke out. “That it is.”
When we get to the next case, featuring banged-up helmets of various sizes, Petyr leans closer, eyes sharp, posture all coiled energy. He’s serious, like he’s channeling Ragnar Lothbrok himself or something.
For the first time, I realize maybe he’s been wanting to go out just as much as I have. To get one free day away from it all.
“Tell me more about these Vikings,” I prod.
“They expanded into Southern Italy,” he says. “Even reached North America, according to archaeological findings. Everywhere they went, they dominated.”
“Right.” I pretend to know what he’s talking about, like a person who definitely didn’t drop out of school in the middle of seventh grade. But it’s also enchanting to listen to him, so I don’t have to try really hard. His passion is contagious. “So… basically, they were the OG Bratva?”
He shoots me an amused look. “That’s an interesting perspective.”
