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Well, most of it. I’m pretty sure he’s still not sorry for any of the sexual misconduct, or even about selling me… shit… I’m positive that the only thing he is actually sorry for are the words he uttered in the car. He’d said he didn’t care about me. That he didn’t love me. Because he does.
Said so himself a few times.
I recorded it, too.
I spent a week in the hospital before I’d finally been allowed to come home and that’s when he spilled how he found the letters while he was looking for me. He apologized for being so blinded by Ada that he didn’t see the truth.
There is nothing for him to apologize for on that front. I’m sad that my friend took the years we could have had together away from us. Maybe if she hadn’t, he would be a different man and I would be a different woman. Ada undoubtedly shaped him into who he is today. Unforgiving, relentless, and sometimes, distant.
The boy I wrote to for so many years is gone, but so is the girl who wrote those letters. We have both been shaped by people who manipulated us. And that’s alright. It’s who we are. Outside these walls, he’s every bit the head of the Bratva and one of the feared Sovereign Brothers. But in here, our home, he’s just Adrik to me. The man I love with all my heart.
Adrian clears his throat and looks down at me.
“I—uh—I got you something.” He’s nervous and it’s cute. I try not to giggle because I don't want him to feel uncomfortable.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” I smile at him. He gives me a sheepish smile in return before leaning over to the nightstand and removing a black velvet box.
O.M.G.
“Is that what I think it is?” I squeak with excitement, shoving myself up the bed to lean against the headboard.
“I realize that I never got you one when I asked you to marry me.”
I stare at him, a dubious expression on my face.
“You asked me to marry you?” I raise a brow at him. He chuckles.
“Miss Vanya Castellanos.” He opens the lid of the box to reveal a large emerald-cut, pink diamond that looks oddly familiar. “Will you marry me?”
“Of… wait—” No. It can’t be. He wouldn’t be that crazy, would he? “Adrian Volkov, is that the Graff Pink diamond?”
The bastard gives me a smug smile. “Why, yes, it is.”
“Are you kidding me?” I balk. “How the hell did you even get this? It’s worth millions of dollars.”
The Graff Pink diamond was once owned by celebrity jeweler, Harry Winston. The carat weight is rumored to be at least 24 carats and worth millions of dollars on the market, without being mounted on a ring.
Adrian has that sucker mounted on a wide black band. It’s mounted in a way that it looks like there is ivy growing around the diamond. My favorite plant.
“Fifty-two million to be exact. Making it even more expensive than Grace Kelly’s ring.”
Whoever the fuck that is.
“Christós,” I murmur.
A hand tugs at my hair and I moan.
“You never answered my question.”
I smile up at him.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Of course, I will marry you.”
“Good girl,” he whispers and leans down to kiss me, his hand sliding the ring onto my finger.
“You’re going to have to get me some more bodyguards, though,” I tell him seriously as I admire the look of it against my skin. “Someone sees this thing on my finger and they’re going to try to cut it off.”
Adrian chuckles, turning toward me slightly. “I’d like to see someone try.” I laugh as puts his hands on my hips and pulls me to straddle him.
