Min’s cheeks go nuclear, but I just grin. “No promises.”
“Tristan!” Minerva swats at me.
She flushes, but there’s no shrinking in it anymore—just this quiet, wild pride, like she’s finally started believing she’s someone a man like me would brag about.
“If the kid doesn’t treat you right, you know where to find me.” Dante takes Minerva’s face between his hands and leans in to press a kiss to each cheek. “And don’t worry about Luca. I handled it.”
“What does that mean?” she asks.
Dante tuts. “Please, cupcake, you should know better than to ask questions with incriminating answers. All you need to know is that there’s no need to lose sleep over that waste of human flesh ever again.”
Minerva visibly relaxes. Part of me wishes that I’d been the one to provide that last layer of safety, but I’m pretty sure that I lack the intestinal fortitude for whatever Dante does in his free time. I’ll have to settle for finding other ways to make sure that Min feels safe and loved.
* * *
“Oh my God.” Minerva presses her hands to her face as she takes in the room. “Is this real? This seems fake. Is this Photoshop?”
“Nope, it’s definitely real.” I lead her deeper into the suite. It’s two stories tall, with an open balcony on the second floor that looks down onto this one. A kitchenette, sitting area, and wet bar all overlook the two-story indoor waterfall and riot of live plants that dominate the space. To our right, windows overlook the Strip.
“This is amazing.” Minerva wanders over to the spread laid out in the kitchen area. The main plate is a charcuterie board, but comparing it to the prepackaged trays of cubed yellow cheese and cheap pepperoni that I could grab at any store would be like comparing a Hennessey Venom F5 Roadster to a rusted-out Ford Pinto. Fresh figs, beautifully marbled slides of prosciutto, mixed olives, pickled vegetables, pots of house-made jam, and slabs of bread still warm from the Mona Lisa’s room service ovens overflow from the arrangement. An unopened bottle of champagne sits slantwise in a bucket of ice.
I’m always starving after a game, so I pop the champagne, pour us each a glass, and dig into the spread. Minerva takes her time assembling an open-faced sandwich with all the choicest morsels, then wanders around the room, taking it all in.
“Too bad we only have one night here,” she says.
“You think you’d want a space like this?” I ask between mouthfuls.
“An indoor waterfall?” She laughs. “Who wouldn’t?”
“I was thinking, you know, a yard. An outdoor space.”
The suggestion startles her. “You want to leave the condo?”
“Oh, maybe not yet, but I doubt we’ll want to stay there forever. I’m curious what you’d want in a home, if you got to choose.”
Min brushes her fingers over the leaves of one of the plants. She went so many years believing that she wasn’t allowed to want things. I want to build her a world where wanting isn’t dangerous. Where desire doesn’t cost her anything. I don’t pushher for an answer yet. Knowing her, she’ll think about it, make a spreadsheet, hell, maybe even design the house herself before sharing her thoughts with me.
After a while she says, “I’ll think about it.”
“We could get a houseplant in the meantime, if you want. Something ferret-safe.”
“Could we?” The hope in her expression is so bright and pure that I can’t help but smile.
“Absolutely. Heck, we can get a bunch. Whatever you want.”
“Anything?” She polishes off the last bite of her open-faced sandwich.
“Anything.”
“What if I want you?”
The way she says it hits deeper than anything tonight. God, I’m done for.
“Not so fast.” I polish off the last of my champagne and reach for my bag. “I got you something.”
“Oh?” Minerva wiggles her fingers so that the silver-and-gold engagement ring catches the light. “Another present?”
I pull out a sleek black box. “Another ring, as a matter of fact. This one’s for me, though. Well, I’ll be the one wearing it, but it’s for us to share.”
