The door to the suite appears. I shift her weight, fish the key card from my pocket, and swipe it in one smooth motion. The lock clicks green. I push through.
The room is exactly as we left it this morning. Heart-shaped bed. Ridiculous rose petals scattered across the duvet. Champagne chilling in a bucket by the window. I set Colletta down, steadying her when she wobbles slightly on her heels.
She looks up at me. Cheeks flushed. Eyes bright. Hair completely destroyed in the best possible way.
"So," she says. "Where's this surprise?"
I cross to the mini-fridge. Pull out the container I stashed there earlier while she was getting ready for the ceremony. Set it on the table next to a pair of handcuffs I acquired from the security office with a carefully worded request about "emergency restraint protocols."
Colletta stares. At the strawberries, glistening red and fresh against the white porcelain. At the handcuffs, their metal catches the dim lamplight, throwing small reflections across the table's polished surface. Then back to me, her expression cycling through surprise, confusion, and something darker that makes her pupils dilate.
"You're serious." Her voice comes out quieter than usual, almost breathless.
"I am always serious." I state it as fact, because it is. I don't understand jokes about intentions. When I plan something, I execute it.
Her throat works, the movement visible as she swallows hard. She takes a step closer, then another, until she's within arm's reach of the table. Her fingers extend, trembling slightly, whether from the alcohol or anticipation, I cannot determine,and trace the cuff mechanism. The curved steel. The release lever. The double-lock system that requires deliberate action to disengage.
"These are real," she whispers, and it's not quite a question, but I answer anyway.
"Reinforced steel. Rated for two hundred kilograms of resistance. Standard issue for high-risk detainment scenarios." I watch her face carefully, cataloging every microexpression. The way her breathing has become shallow. The flush creeped down from her cheeks. The slight parting of her lips. "They will hold."
Color floods her cheeks, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress. Her breathing changes, going shallow and quick. She picks up a strawberry instead of handcuffs, flipping it into her fingers.
"And the strawberries?"
"You taste like them," I say. Simple fact. "After the champagne at the welcome party. When I kissed you. I wanted more."
The strawberry drops. She closes the distance between us in two steps, hands fisting in my jacket, pulling me down. "Kruk?—"
"Wait." I catch her wrists. Gently, but firm enough that she goes still. "There is something else first."
I release her. Move to my bag in the corner and retrieve the contract. The one she signed four days ago in a moment of tequila-fueled desperation. The paper is creased from being folded in my pocket, edges soft from handling.
I carry it back to her. Hold it out.
She takes it, confusion flickering across her expression. "What are we?—"
I produce a lighter. Flick it open. Touch the flame to the bottom corner of the contract.
"Kruk!" She jerks back, eyes going wide as the fire catches and starts eating through the paper. "What are you doing?"
"Terminating the existing agreement." I watch the contract curl and blacken, burning fast and hot. She drops it into the ice bucket when the flames get too close to her fingers. It hisses. Smoke swirls between us, smelling like burnt paper and melted ink.
She stares at the remains. At me. "Why?"
"Because the terms are no longer accurate." I step closer. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin, to see the way her pulse hammers in the hollow of her throat. "You hired me to protect you from your ex-boyfriend. To play a role. To complete a mission with defined parameters and a fixed endpoint."
"Yes." Her voice comes out rough.
"The mission has changed." I lift my hand, trace my thumb along her jaw, feel the way she leans into the touch like she's starving for it. "I do not want to be your fake anything. I do not want a contract with an expiration date."
Her breath catches. "What do you want?"
"Indefinite exclusivity." Words are easier than I expected. Precise and clear, the way I like things. "You. Permanently. No more pretending. No more temporary arrangements."
She stares at me like I just spoke a language she doesn't understand, eyes huge and wet and shining in the low light. "Are you... is this a proposal?"
"This is a tactical alliance with romantic and sexual exclusivity clauses." I pause. "Also yes."
