The sound of movement from the bedroom told her Viktor was waking up. Perfect. Now she had to face him looking like something the cat dragged in, after spending the night curled up against him like they were still lovers instead of reluctant spouses.
She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, only to find Viktor standing right outside, fully dressed and looking like he had stepped out of a magazine spread. His hair was perfectly styled, his clothes were pressed and immaculate, and he smelled like expensive cologne and danger.
How was that fair?
“Good morning,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Morning.” She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware that she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled and probably smelling like rain and fear.
They stared at each other for a moment, the memory of last night hanging between them like a live wire. His kindness, her vulnerability, the way she had begged him to stay with her like a frightened child. The way they had ended up tangled together in sleep, seeking comfort from each other despite everything that had happened between them.
“How’s your ankle?” he asked.
“Better. Still sore, but I can walk on it.”
“Good.” He seemed to be studying her face, looking for something she couldn’t identify. “About last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said quickly. “I was shaken up; you were being decent. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone too fast for her to read. “Right. Of course.”
The awkwardness was suffocating. This was the man she had once been completely comfortable with, the only person who had ever seen her without any masks or pretenses. Now they could barely have a conversation without tripping over the wreckage of their past.
“Viktor,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I think we need to call a truce.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A truce?”
“This thing between us, this constant war... It’s exhausting. And after yesterday, I think we both realize thatthere are bigger threats out there than whatever anger we’re carrying around.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to forgive me for what happened four years ago. I’m not asking you to pretend this marriage is something it’s not. I’m just asking for us to coexist without trying to destroy each other.”
He was quiet for a long moment, considering. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Civility. Basic human decency. Maybe even friendship, if we’re lucky.” She held out her hand. “Partners instead of enemies. What do you say?”
Viktor looked down at her outstretched hand, then back up at her face. For a second, she thought he was going to reject the offer, tell her that some wounds were too deep to heal with handshakes and good intentions.
Then he reached out and took her hand in his.
The moment their skin made contact, electricity shot up her arm like she had been struck by lightning. His palm was warm and calloused, familiar in a way that made her chest ache with longing. She could feel his pulse beneath her fingertips, could see the way his pupils dilated slightly at the contact.
“Partners,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before.
“Partners,” she agreed, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing.
They held the handshake longer than necessary, both of them seemingly reluctant to break the connection. When they finally let go, her hand felt cold and empty without his warmth.
“I should let you get ready,” he said, taking a step back. “We have a family dinner tonight.”
“A what?”
“Nikolai family dinner. My brother’s birthday. It’s... mandatory attendance.” He looked almost apologetic. “I know it’s short notice, but I figured it was time to officially introduce you to everyone.”
Her stomach dropped. Meeting his family, being scrutinized and judged by people who probably already had opinions about the Volkov daughter who had married their golden boy. “Viktor, I don’t know if—”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “I’ll send someone up to help you get ready. The dinner starts at seven.”
Before she could protest further, he was gone, leaving her alone with her panic and the lingering scent of his cologne.
Three hours later, she was standing in front of her full-length mirror, trying not to have a complete breakdown while a team of stylists fussed around her like she was a doll they were dressing for display.
