“I have legs.”
“Yes,” he says dryly. “Very sexy ones. And they’re moving far too slowly.”
My mouth forms a small “o”, but I don’t fight him. My feet were killing me anyway.
“This is nice,” I whisper.
“Being carried?”
“Being looked after,” I correct softly. “Not having to rely on myself constantly. Letting my brain switch off for a moment. Trusting someone else.”
God. I’m rambling.
“You trust me, lastochka?”
I nod, my eyes fluttering shut. “Well… yeah. I’m pretty sure I could fall in love with you.”
He stops dead.
Shit.
“Hypothetically,” I rush out. “I mean?—”
“Could,” he asks quietly, “or are?”
I swallow.
“I think maybe… potentially… I am,” I admit. “But it’s way too soon, isn’t it?”
He starts walking again, holding me tighter in his arms.
“I’ve never done this before, Lily,” he says. “I don’t know the socially acceptable timeline for falling in love.”
“Six months?” My voice pitches higher.
He chuckles. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“Well, when I do tell you I love you,” I say, “I’d rather not be half-drunk while you’re carrying me home.”
He presses a kiss to my temple.
“I’ll take it however you want to give it to me,” he murmurs. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I sigh, closing my eyes and listening to his heart beat.
Maybe the idea of loving someone doesn’t feel like a weakness. It feels like coming home. And maybe, that home could be right here.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Drago
I swear she’s snoring against my chest. When the elevator pings, she startles in my arms.
“Shh,” I murmur. “We’re home, baby.”
I take her straight to her bedroom and lay her gently on the bed. She stretches out with the softest smile, arms reaching above her head like she’s completely at ease.
“Drago,” she murmurs, voice low and drowsy. “Are you coming to bed?”
