He goes back to his paper. "Okay. I finished it."
"Go ahead."
He starts reading. "Miroslav, I'm marrying your daughter, and I'm here because she asked me to come, not because I need your permission."
I stop chewing.
"I've already proposed and she said yes, so we're getting married whether you approve or not, but apparently it matters to her that you don't have a heart attack about it, so here I am."
My stomach twists.
"I know you don't like me and the feeling is mutual, but Iris loves you and I love Iris, so we're going to pretend to get along for her sake."
I set the bowl on the desk.
"I'm not going to make promises I can't keep. I'm not perfect. I have a temper, I work too much, and I'm in a dangerous business, but I will give her everything she wants and she will live like a queen."
"She's the only person in the world I listen to, the only one who can tell me what to do. If she's happy, I'm happy."
He pauses, looks up at me with pride written across his face. "So you can give your blessing or not, but either way she's mine and I'm hers. Ilay."
Silence fills the room.
"Well?" he asks.
I walk over, take the paper from his hands, and throw it in the trash.
"What are you doing?"
"Saving your life." I grab a pen and a fresh sheet of paper from his desk drawer. "Sit down."
"Iris."
"Please." I look at him. "Let's just make this work. Okay?"
His expression shifts. Softens. He sits in the chair across from me and watches as I start writing.
It takes me fifteen minutes to finish. When I'm done, I slide the paper across the desk to him. "Here. Memorize this."
He picks it up, reads it silently, then looks at me. "This doesn't sound like me."
"It's not supposed to."
"He'll know I didn't write it."
"He'll know you're trying." I lean back. "That's what matters."
He reads it again, slower this time, committing it to memory the way he does with everything he cares about. After a few minutes, he sets it down and crosses to where I'm sitting. His hand cups my face and he kisses me, slow and deep.
When he pulls back, his expression is thoughtful.
"What?" I ask.
"Potatoes and vanilla." He runs his thumb across my bottom lip. "That's what you taste like right now."
"Is it bad?"
"No." He kisses me again, softer this time. "It's you. So it's perfect."
