The scent is aggressive—fat, spice, and grilled smoke curling around her like a crown.
“You realize this is a tactical liability,” I murmur as I lead her to the small table we’ve claimed as a throne room.
“So is breathing,” she says, already tearing into the first taco. “But here we are.”
The juice drips down her wrist. She moans.
A man could lose empires to that sound.
“This is better than sex,” she says into her napkin.
I raise a brow. “You mean better than our sex?”
She freezes mid-chew. Swallows like she forgot how. Her face flushes—pink blooming fast across her cheeks, up to her ears.
She fumbles the taco slightly. “I—okay, wow. You’re really going to bring that up while I’m holding food?”
“I’m just clarifying,” I say. “For the record. You seemed pretty vocal about enjoying yourself.”
She glares down at the taco like it betrayed her. “I moaned once.”
I lean in slightly. “Once?”
She chokes on air. “Shut up.”
Now she’s full-on red. Even the tops of her shoulders are pink.
And for some godforsaken reason, I find it… cute.
Dangerously cute.
I clear my throat and shift the topic before she combusts.
“So why tacos?” I ask, like I haven’t already memorized the exact way her mouth moves when she sayscarnitas.“Heritage? Or just that deep, spiritual bond you clearly formed when you climbed out the church window before our wedding to get one?”
She snorts into her napkin. “I washungry.You try marrying a Russian crime lord on an empty stomach.”
I look at her—at the napkin half-tucked under her chin, at the smear of salsa near her mouth she doesn’t notice. At the way she jokes like the world didn’t break her first.
She’s the biggest lie I’ve ever seen.
But damn, if she isn’t the kind I’d believe in anyway.
She exhales, grateful. “My dad used to bring me to places like this. After competitions. Singing. Debate. Karate… you name it. One time I had a full-on panic attack before a recital, and he just handed me a taco like it was a damn defibrillator.”
“You sang?”
She groans and covers her face with her hand. “God, don’t make me say it out loud.”
I lean back, watching her squirm. “You brought it up. I’m just here for the fallout.”
She peeks at me through her fingers. “Fine. I sang ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ In glitter flats. With finger choreography.”
I blink.
She nods solemnly. “Yes. There were hand motions. Very serious ones.”
“And?”
