The lighter’s flame flickers to life.
I roll to the right so I’m facing him. He hasn’t lit the cigarette; he’s just studying the flickering flame.
I blow it out, and his eyes cut to mine.
“Will he?” I press.
“I don’t plan to ever get married.”
There’s a warning in his voice, a reminder that we’re coming too close to topics we don’t discuss. But all I feel is relief. It makes no sense, or maybe it’s entirely logical—if I can’t have him, I don’t want anyone else to.
“Most guys want someone to cook for them and fold their laundry.”
“You mean an Isabella?”
He’s teasing me now because I’ve admitted my “aunt” still does both those tasks sometimes. I can cook and fold; she’s just better at both. And it’s nice to feel taken care of.
I scoff, then flop onto my back with my limbs splayed out like a starfish. This bed is huge. Larger than a king, it seems like.
“Do you want to get married?”
The question is even more unexpected than Lev mentioning his brother was. These evenings are normally treated like a stasis from the rest of society, a separation from the surrounding world.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Parts of it sound nice. Others … don’t.”
It’s an immense amount of trust to place in someone else—tying the rest of your life to theirs. Their dreams become your dreams. Their problems become your problems. Their enemies … become your enemies. I don’t know if I could marry someone who didn’t know the truth about my background, and I don’t think that anyone normal would be okay with joining a family of criminals. I’m never sure of my own safety, let alone ensuring someone else’s. How selfish, to drag someone else into that.
And of course, there’s the man next to me, who effortlessly overshadows everyone else I’ve ever met.
If he were an option, my answer would be different.
SOMETHING NEW
Isleep. I’m not sure how, with the largest decision of my life looming over me, but I do. I don’t hear Lev approach, much less have the awareness to reach for the gun he gave me in case it was someone else beside the bed.
I blink up at him, slowly registering the warmth of his hand still resting on my shoulder from shaking me conscious.
Exhaustion obviously played a role.
But it was mostly Lev. This room smells like him, and so do the sheets. It didn’t matter he wasn’t physically in bed beside me last night; his proximity surrounded me. That’s why I slept.
And it’s why I’ll marry him. Accepting the offer might be the most selfish thing I’ll ever do. I feel weak, requiring a man’s protection. I feel guilty, acceptinghisprotection. I need help; Iwanthis. I’ve always wanted him, and I realized the desire wouldn’t be temporary about a decade ago. Just like I knew I would never have him.
“Time to go,” Lev says, the welcome warmth of his palm falling away.
I nod, although I’m not sure he can tell in the dark. My pupils are slowly adjusting to the limited light, but all I can makeout are vague shapes. It must be early—really early—because no sunshine is visible between the cracks in the blinds.
I slide out of bed, and Lev tosses something on the comforter.
“Put that on.”
I oblige, yanking his shirt over my head and pulling on the new piece of fabric. He turns his head, giving me some semblance of privacy even though he can’t possibly be able to see much. Even though he’s seen me naked many times before.
It spears some doubt in the center of my chest. He didn’t try to sleep with me last night—didn’t even touch me. He left me alone in this bed for hours.
Maybe he has another woman somewhere in this huge house. It’s not like I warned him I was coming in advance. This isn’t a traditional relationship by any definition.
“Ready,” I say, smoothing the front of my new outfit and grabbing the gun off the table.
