The man has the strangest timing. I’m two seconds away from having a nervous breakdown, and he’s proposing?
“I’m serious,” he says fiercely. “I want to marry you. I want to be your husband. I want to be the father of our baby. I want to protect you for the rest of my life. Marry me.”
My heart stutters.
“Nick,” I rage whisper, “you can’t propose because I got attacked.”
“I’m not.” He draws me closer. “I want to marry you because I love you. And because watching someone try to take you from me made me realize I can’t spend another day pretending I’m not yours.”
He’s right. He could’ve lost me.
And then what?
I would’ve held on to months of anger and fear for what?
It’s time to let go, Enya. Let go of the past. This man has proven—again and again—that he loves you. So, love him back. Trust him. Let go.
“Okay.”
He scowls. “Okay to what, exactly?”
I let out a shaky, half-hysterical laugh. “Okay. Let’s get married.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
24
ALMOST HOME
DOMINIC
It’s been a few days since Laskov was sent away to some secret detention facility; and since we got engaged. Not officially…yet.
“What are you doing?” she asks when I cup her breasts from behind her while she’s elbow deep in roses.
She’s so sensitive these days, and it’s a delight to make her come just by suckling her nipples.
“Making love to my fiancée.”
“Nick,” she murmurs. “I’m a balloon.”
“You are perfect.”
She snorts. “You are biased.”
I kiss her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered—because that is, in fact, the truth.
She stands, and her body curves into mine, soft and warm and trusting.
Her belly’s fucking massive, swollen tight with my kid.
The shop smells like roses and dirt, but all I can smell is her—sweet, musky, dripping with want. Her tits are heavy, spillingout of her bra, and her skin’s glowing like she’s been soaked in honey.
Pregnancy suits her.
She’s a goddess, a fertility idol.
