She tilted her head, considering. "At the coffee shop? When you pretended to be a stranger?"
"Before that. The very first time, through the restaurant window." I swirled the wine in my glass, remembering. "You were walking down the street, talking on your phone. You almost collided with a man walking his dog."
"I remember that day. I was arguing with Lisa about something stupid."
"You laughed at yourself. This bright, surprised laugh, like you couldn't believe your own clumsiness." I met her eyes. "I'd never seen anyone so alive. So unguarded. I couldn't look away."
"And then you stalked me for weeks."
"And then I stalked you for weeks," I agreed. "Not my finest moment."
"No. But it led to this." She gestured at the table, the terrace, the Mediterranean glittering below us. "To Dasha. To us."
"Do you regret it? Any of it?"
The question had been building for months—maybe longer. The fear that someday she'd wake up and realize what she'd lost, what I'd taken from her. That she'd look at me and see only the monster who'd stolen her life.
But she shook her head, her expression soft.
"I regret the fear," she said. "The violence. The people who got hurt because of us. But I don't regret you, Vasily. I don't regret this life. I don't regret Dasha."
"Even knowing what I am? What I'm capable of?"
"I've seen what you're capable of." She rose from her chair and crossed to mine, settling onto my lap with the easy intimacy of a woman who knew she belonged there. "I watched you beat a man to death with your bare hands. I've seen the monster."
"And?"
"And I've also seen the man who held me through nightmares. Who cried when his daughter was born. Who loves me in a way I never knew I could be loved." She cupped my facein her hands. "You're both, Vasily. The monster and the man. I love both."
"Gabrielle—"
She kissed me before I could finish. Deep and slow, her body pressing against mine, her fingers sliding into my hair. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer, losing myself in the taste of her, the warmth of her, the miracle of her.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"The baby—" I started.
"Is asleep in the nursery. Yelena is watching her." Gaby's eyes were dark with want. "We have hours, Vasily. Hours with nothing to do but this."
She kissed me again, and this time I stopped thinking about anything else.
The terrace was warm with the last heat of the day.
I laid her down on the cushioned lounge, the Mediterranean spreading endless and golden behind her. She looked up at me with those dark eyes that had haunted me from the first moment I'd seen her—full of trust now, full of desire, full of the love I still couldn't quite believe I deserved.
"You're so beautiful," I murmured, my hands finding the hem of her sundress. "Every time I look at you, I can't believe you're mine."
"Show me." Her voice was husky, her hips lifting to help me slide the dress up her thighs. "Show me I'm yours."
I pulled the dress over her head in one smooth motion. She wasn't wearing a bra—rarely did anymore, between the nursing and the island heat. Her breasts were fuller than before,her nipples darker, her body changed by the miracle of carrying our child. I traced the faint silver lines on her stomach—stretch marks she was self-conscious about—and pressed a kiss to each one.
"These are beautiful too," I told her. "Evidence of what you gave me. What you gave us."
"Vasily—"
"Every mark on your body is precious to me. Every curve, every line, every inch." I kissed my way up her stomach to her breasts, taking one nipple into my mouth. She gasped, her back arching off the lounge. "You carried my daughter. You brought her into the world. You're more beautiful now than you've ever been."
She moaned as I lavished attention on her breasts, my tongue circling each nipple in turn. Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me on. I could feel the heat between her thighs, could smell her arousal in the salt-tinged air.
