"I have a question," he says.
"What?"
"Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
I pull back to look at him. "We have dinner together every night."
"Not like that. A real dinner. Just us. No business talk. No Viktor interrupting. No crisis to handle. Just you and me."
"Like a date?"
"Exactly like a date."
Something warm blooms in my chest. "You want to take me on a date?"
"I've realized I've done everything backward with you. Got you pregnant before I took you to dinner. Asked you to live with me before I asked you out properly. I'd like to fix that."
"Axel Santego, are you trying to court me?"
"I'm trying something. Not sure what to call it yet." He looks almost nervous. It's adorable. "So? Will you have dinner with me?"
I grin. "Yes. I'd love to."
"Good. Seven o'clock. The garden terrace. Margareta's making something special."
"What should I wear?"
"Whatever makes you comfortable. Though I have to admit, I'm partial to that blue dress you wore last week."
The fact that he noticed what I was wearing makes me ridiculously happy.
After I say goodbye to Chloe and Tiana, I spend the afternoon getting ready. Which is silly because it's just Axel. But it also isn't just Axel. It's our first real date. Our first attempt at something normal.
I choose the blue dress he mentioned. It's simple, elegant, and hits just above my knees. My stomach's still flat enough that you can't tell I'm pregnant. I leave my hair down, the way he likes it.
At exactly seven, I step out onto the garden terrace.
And stop in my tracks.
The space has been transformed. String lights hang overhead, casting warm golden light. A small table is set for two, with candles and flowers. Soft music plays from somewhere, instrumental and romantic.
Axel is standing by the table, wearing dark slacks and a white button-down shirt. No tie. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks devastating.
"Wow," I breathe.
"You like it?"
"It's beautiful. When did you do all this?"
"Margareta and I conspired while you were getting ready." He pulls out my chair. "Please, sit."
I do, feeling like I'm in a dream. This man who runs a criminal empire, who kills people without hesitation, who terrifies grown men, is pulling out my chair and looking nervous about a date.
"Wine?" he offers, holding up a bottle.
"I can't. Baby."
"I know. It's sparkling grape juice. Margareta assured me it's fancy."
