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“You mean once they get over the urge to call the FBI? Yeah, you’re probably right. This is coming out pretty tasty.”
I burst out laughing, my anxiety over the upcoming dinner transforming into pure giddiness. This is happening, really, truly happening.
Peter and I are becoming a normal couple.
“How was your day?” I ask. “What did you do today?”
What does a former assassin do with his time?
“I ran a few errands, picked up some more groceries and such,” Peter says, and I can hear the warm smile in his voice. “I also scoped out a couple of houses in the area for us to take a look at later. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about it yesterday, but this apartment is probably too small for us—especially this kitchen. And if I’m not mistaken, they don’t allow pets, right?”
“Right. It’s one of the biggest downsides of this building,” I say, my heart tap-dancing in my chest. It’s happening, really happening. A life together—house, dog, and all. Tamping down on a spike of giddiness, I say, “I chose it because it was close to both my parents and my work, but I wouldn’t mind moving a bit farther now that Mom has recovered.”
“That’s what I figured,” Peter says. “Two of the houses I looked at are close by, and one is about a mile farther from your office. Of course, there’s still your old house…”
“They gave it back to you?” I ask and immediately realize it’s a silly question. Peter is no longer a fugitive, so the government has no legal right to keep the property they seized when they learned it belongs to him.
“Yes, of course,” Peter says. “Think about it and let me know what you want to do with it. Even if we don’t move back there, we can keep it just in case, or we can sell it. Your call.”
“Oh, really? And here I thought you’re making all the decisions,” I tease, then realize I’m only partially joking. Once again, Peter has swept into my life like a whirlwind, turning it upside down and wreaking havoc on my peace of mind. His force of will, coupled with his ruthlessness, makes it impossible to pretend that I’m in any way in control of my fate, that I have any real say in where our relationship is going.
And yet… maybe I do. We’re here instead of hiding out in some remote part of the world, and I’m about to be his wife, not his captive. Even if his methods are heavy-handed, Peter has demonstrated in the clearest way possible that he cares about what I want.
That my happiness matters to him.
“You mean about the wedding?” Peter asks, taking my teasing at face value. “Because we can still change a few things if there’s something you don’t like.”
“Such as the date?” I ask wryly. At the silence on the phone, I say, “Never mind. I already invited everyone. It’s all good.”
“Good, I’m glad.” There’s more clanging in the background as Peter says, “I’ll see you home in a couple of minutes, ptichka. Love you.”
Love you too. The words are on the tip of my tongue, yet I find myself saying, “See you soon,” as I hang up the phone. I’m sure Peter knows how I feel—he’s been convinced we belong together from the beginning—but because I’ve never said the words before, it feels wrong to casually blurt them out.
I do love him, though. I can finally admit it to myself, even though nothing’s really changed. He’s still a killer, still a monster any sane woman would fear and loathe. But I’m no longer sane, because I love him and I’m about to marry him.
Of my own free will, I’m about to join my life with a man who once tortured and stalked me. Who, technically, still stalks me—if always having me followed fits that definition.
“We’re here,” Danny says in a gravelly voice, and I look out the window, startled to realize that we’re already parked by my building—and that the stone-faced driver actually spoke to me.
“Thank you,” I tell him, grabbing my bag, and Danny gives me the slightest of nods as I climb out of the car.
Wow. Progress.
I was just acknowledged by my driver/bodyguard.
The giddiness I’d all but banished returns—at least until I see my parents’ car pulling into the parking lot on the other side.
They’re early.
A full twenty minutes early.
Frantically, I redial Peter.
“They’re here,” I say breathlessly as he picks up. “My parents—they’re already here.”
“That’s good,” he says, unruffled. “The food is almost ready. See you in a minute.”
“Okay, yeah.” I hang up and stuff my phone back into the bag. I start to slide the ring off my finger to leave it in the bag as well, but change my mind.
There’s no point in hiding anything when they’ll meet Peter in a minute.
