The anger drains out of me all at once, leaving something softer in its place. Something that feels too much like relief.
“You make me crazy,” he says quietly.
“Good,” I whisper. “Because you make me crazy too.”
His mouth curves just slightly, and then he leans down and kisses me. It isn’t desperate like our other kisses have been. It’s slow and careful, almost reverent. I don’t feel like he’s trying to convince me, I feel like he’s trying to worship me. That undoes me.
My hands slide into his shirt, gripping the fabric just to feel something solid beneath my fingers. Warmth spreads through me, gentle this time instead of consuming, and for the first time in weeks my mind goes completely quiet. I’m no longer thinking of danger or this baby, or any of the insanity between us.
There’s only him and his ridiculous proposal. And there’s the thought that I might actually enjoy being married to him. Itmight be fun getting to sleep with him whenever I want because he’s my husband, and not because I’m scared or lonely.
The kiss deepens gradually, natural as breathing, until the world narrows to warmth and closeness and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my palm. I melt into it without thinking, without fighting, too tired to pretend I don’t want this.
I want him. I always do. At any given moment, my lust for him is just inches away. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing a little harder now.
“Say you’ll marry me,” he murmurs. “Say that you’ll let me protect you. Say that you’ll let me kiss you whenever I want, and that you’ll sleep in my bed every night.”
This is crazy, right? It’s not a declaration of love, or even a declaration of care. Can marriage exist without any of that?
Maybe.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll marry you. But you have to promise me that you’ll never act like a jealous prick again. I choose you, okay?”
He kisses me again, softer this time, and the lights of the city glow quietly beyond the windows as the rest of the world fades away.
24
ANDREI
Iwake up slowly, trying to remember exactly where I am. I know immediately that this isn’t my bed, but it takes several seconds to remember whose bed it is. Alina’s, of course. The memory comes to me in pieces as my brain and body slowly start to wake up, taking their sweet time. My eyes open slowly and I take a deep breath.
For a few quiet seconds, I lie completely still beside her, staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing, trying to convince myself that my reluctance to get out of bed is nothing more than exhaustion. That would be a much less complicated answer, wouldn’t it?
Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. I want to be here, deep in my bones. I want to live in this space with her, always just a breath away. Alina is still asleep, turned slightly toward me. One hand is tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting loosely against the sheet between us.
The early light filtering through the glass paints her skin in pale gray, making her look ethereal. She’s an angel or a mermaid or some other such mythical creature that could easily steal mysoul and my heart. She already has in a lot of ways, but I can’t let her know any of that.
I asked her to marry me last night. This morning, I should be overflowing with joy. She did say yes, after all. It’s all a façade, though. A way to keep her safe without keeping her caged forever. Even if it will have all the benefits of marriage, it can never truly be a traditional marriage. How would that even work in my world?
I’ve spent most of my life learning how to leave beds without hesitation. Women were never lingered over. Lingering creates attachment and attachment creates weakness. Weakness gets men killed.
Marriage has never been part of my life plan. Realistically, it’s still not. This is a strategy and nothing more. I can enjoy the benefits of marriage, with the added bonus of offering Alina protection, and still live my life, more or less, the same.
Carefully, I reach out and brush a strand of hair away from her face. The contact is light, nothing more than the ghost of a touch, but it still sends a slow heat through me that has nothing to do with desire. It’s something else, entirely.
“Myalinochka,” I murmur quietly, the word slipping free before I can stop it.
She doesn’t wake. She only breathes out softly and turns a fraction closer, as if even her subconscious recognizes my voice. The small movement makes my chest ache with a feeling that I don’t remotely understand. I shouldn’t be here, watching her like this. I shouldn’t be allowing this moment to exist at all.
And yet I lean down anyway, pressing a quiet kiss to her forehead before I can talk myself out of it. The gesture is so gentle it feels unfamiliar.
I am so incredibly fucked.
Reluctantly, I sit up. The absence of her warmth is immediate. By the time my feet touch the floor, the softness of the moment is already beginning to harden into something colder. I can’t let myself be carried away by sentimentality. I have a job to do.
I leave her there to sleep peacefully and step into the living room with my phone in hand. The first person I call is Nicolai, because he’ll be the one who has to help me handle the logistics of it all.
“I need something handled immediately,” I tell him.
