"Seven," I correct.
Her mouth opens. Closes. "That's not—you can't just—"
"Sit down, Matilda."
"No." There's heat in her voice now, the shock giving way to something sharper. "You don't get to order me to sit while you tell me you want to marry me like it's a business transaction."
"It is a business transaction."
Wrong thing to say. I know it the moment the words leave my mouth.
Her eyes flash. "Then find someone else to transact with."
She moves toward the door and I'm on my feet before I consciously decide to move. My hand closes around her wrist just tight enough to stop her momentum.
"Let go," she says, but her voice wavers.
"No."
"Pakhan—"
I flinch at the formality of my title.
"I said it wrong." The admission costs me, but I force it out anyway. "I'm saying this wrong."
She stares at me, breathing hard, and I realize how close we're standing. Close enough that I can smell the soap from her shower, see the water still beaded at her hairline. Close enough that if I leaned in another inch our mouths would touch.
I don't let myself lean in.
"I don't do this," I say quietly. "I don't want things. I don't need people. I built my life to be self-contained because attachment is weakness and weakness gets you killed."
"Then why—"
"Because I can't stop thinking about you." The words tear out of me against every instinct I have. "From the moment you knelt on that floor and held your sister while your family fell apart around you. From the moment you looked at me and chose yourself over everything you'd ever known."
Her breath hitches.
"I don't know what this is," I continue, my grip on her wrist loosening but not releasing. "I don't know why you, why now. But I know that the thought of you walking around this house as staff, as an employee I have to keep at arm's length—" My jaw clenches. "I can't do it."
"So you want to marry me instead?" There's disbelief in her voice, but something else too. Something that sounds dangerously like hope.
"I want you beside me. Not serving me." I release her wrist and step back, giving her space even though it costs me. "I want your loyalty because you choose to give it. I want to know that when I come home, you're here because you want to be here. Not because you owe me something."
She's staring at me like I've grown a second head.
"You barely know me," she whispers.
"I know everything I need to know to be confident in my choice."
"You don't." She shakes her head, and I watch that damp hair shift around her shoulders. "You don't know that I'm clumsy. That I say the wrong thing at the wrong time. That I don't know how to be a Pakhan's wife, how to stand in rooms full of dangerous men and smile like I'm not terrified—"
"I don't need you to smile at other men." The thought has an anger I don’t recognize flaring in my chest. I take a step toward her. "I don't need you to be polished or perfect or political. I need you to be exactly what you were last night when you told your father you were ashamed of his name."
Her eyebrows flicker and her eyes shine, bright and wet.
"What if you're wrong about me?" Her voice cracks. "What if I'm not enough?"
"You are already more than enough." I close in on her now, leaning into the tiny gap between us. "And I'm not wrong, Matilda. I know exactly what you are."
