"Say something," I prompt.
Then she whispers, “Yes.”
The word hits me like a punch to the sternum.
“Yes?” I repeat, my voice rough and a little raspy.
She nods. "Yes. I'll marry you."
It happens too fast. The answer comes too easily.
And that's when it hits me—the breakfast problem all over again.
Is this want? Or is this a woman who's been trained her entire life to say yes to whatever is required of her?
I step closer, close enough that I have to tilt her chin up to meet my eyes.
"Polina. Look at me."
She does. Her wide eyes lock onto mine, and I see hope there. Hope and gratitude.
But do I see choice? Of course not. Yet another thing affecting her life that she has no say over.
"We'll do this right," I tell her quietly. "On paper, you'll be my wife. Protected. Untouchable. But everything else? That's up to you."
Her lips tremble.
I release her chin and step back, raking a hand through my hair.
This should be simple. She said yes. Problem solved. Luca’s already arranging the paperwork. We’ll be legally bound by the end of the day.
But it's not simple.
I pour another scotch and down it in one swallow, then turn back to her.
"Here's what's going to happen," I say, my voice steadier now. "We're getting married today. That part isn't negotiable."
She nods, still watching me with those enormous eyes.
"But," I continue, "you're going to have time. Space. Whatever you need. I won't fuck you. Won’t touch you. Won't push you. Won't expect anything from you except that you stay under my roof where I can protect you."
Her brow furrows. "You won't...?"
"Not until you're ready—if you’re ever ready. Not until you tell me—clearly, without any doubt—that it's what you want."
She blinks rapidly, and I realize with a jolt that she's fighting back tears.
I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and brush her soft cheek with my thumb.
She stares at me for a long moment, and finally, she nods.
"Okay."
"Okay," I echo.
It's settled, then.
She'll marry me. She'll be safe. War will be avoided.
