Page 9 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

“Will you marry me?” Vaslav asked, holding her left hand in his while his other kept the ring box propped up in view for them both. “Because you want to. Marry me, Vera, promise me that I won’t be alone ... and I’ll give you the world.”

He could mean that.

He did.

The woman had the nerve to make him squirm more when her shapely legs shifted in the wedge ankle boots a shade or two darker than her dress.

“I expect a kiss when I agree,” she finally said. “If you’re going to give me the illusion of a choice, then you might as well make it worth it while you’re on the clock.”

Vaslav’s mouth twitched with a smile. “Is that a yes?”

“Am I getting a kiss?”

“Vera.”

His sharp mutter of her name only made her laughter sweeter to his ears. It was even better when she whispered a breathy, “Fine, that’s a yes.”

He muffled her next burst of happy laughter with the crush of his kiss as he came up off his knee. The ring stayed safe in his hand, he couldn’t even be bothered to get it in her hand first, while he kissed away the shakiness he’d felt in her hand and had heard in her words. It was bruising; he wanted to see what his roughness left behind and how well she wore it. Every unforgiving sweep of his lips captured hers until her mouth was open for him, and he could take her breath, too.

To be fair, she let him as she melted into the back-breaking squeeze of his arms to get her closer.

Vaslav pulled away from a trembling, red-lipped Vera. He tugged the ring from its spot tucked between velvet folds, still husky when he scoffed and said, “You need to stop acting like the illusion of anything I give you is a problem when you clearly like all of it, kisska.”

The squeak-squeak of shoes coming to a rushed halt on the hardwood floors announced their forgotten visitor.

“Are we celebrating something?” Mira asked.

Was it because they were still close?

Could it be because they both smiled?

Vera’s smile just happened to be a little more of a challenge. His, of course, stretched wider as the victor.

“I like it when you don’t deny it,” Vaslav said to Vera, too quiet for Mira to hear.

Then, to the woman waiting between the dining room and kitchen, he added, “Do you think we could find something more comfortable for Vera to wear for the ride, Mira? Boot-wise.”

Vera’s brow furrowed as she peered down at her shoes. He took her momentary distraction as a chance to slip the engagement ring on her finger. By the time she looked back up, he was able to see the surprise skip over her expression when she saw it on her finger for the first time.

“Lucky it’s a perfect fit, no?” Vaslav asked. “For a family piece, I mean. I suspect he didn’t have it resized.”

“A ring! We are celebrating,” Mira crowed.

The most excitement he had heard out of her all day. She was terribly bored without his mother sticking her fingers in every aspect of Mira’s days, but he didn’t regret cutting off the communication. It couldn’t last long.

Vera’s lips curved with her sweet happiness. “You’re a trip sometimes. You know that?”

“Mmm,” he grunted noncommittally. “Mira, the boots?”

“Yes, on it!”

He let go of Vera’s hand, all too pleased with the fact that he had been right again as he reveled in the sight of her arm falling back to her side. The ring did snare a person’s focus on her hand like a trap for the eyes. Unmistakable in the way her delicate fingers displayed it—and him.

His claim on her.

“Why do I need boots?” Vera asked.

“We’re having lunch.”