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“I love you.”
“Marry me.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You’re just saying that to get me to stay.”
“I’m saying it because I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Really? Then where’s the — oh, God.” It was as if someone had sucker punched me, seeing that little velvet box in the palm of Maxim’s big hand. “Please don’t tell me you went out and bought a ring before going to my presentation.”
“I’ve had it for a while, actually,” he said. “Just never could figure out the right time. Aren’t you going to open it?”
“It’s almost scarier than having a baby,” I said, shivering as Maxim cupped a warm hand around my middle.
“It’s just a ring, Ruth.” He kissed my knuckles. “You’ll always be mine whether you’re wearing it or not. Open it.”
Inside the box was a gorgeous yellow diamond wrapped in a gold rope setting — unique, beautiful, and not the ostentatious gesture I would’ve expected from Maxim Volkov.
“If you don’t like it, we can take it back,” he told me quickly, mistaking my silence for displeasure. “You can have whatever ring you want.”
“This is mine,” I said, clutching it to my chest protectively as he made a move to take it. “Mine, Max.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at me after a long moment.
I slipped that beautiful ring on my finger, feeling like I shone just as brightly. The love was there. That was all that mattered. We were going to bring a new life into this world while forging a new life for each other. We would figure out the details together.
For now, though …
“Yes,” I said, kissing him. “You’re mine. Forever.”
Maxim kissed me back, filthy, hot, irresistible, and so full of promise that I ached. “Yours,” he agreed. “Forever.”
Epilogue
Maxim
“Absolutely not. Fuck, no.”
Ruth spluttered a laugh at my reaction before she remembered that she was supposed to be playing the stern disciplinarian. “Max, language. We talked about this.”
“You are not dressing Dima up like a goddamn — sorry! — stupid turkey.”
“Don’t say ‘stupid,’ either,” Ruth fussed, kissing our son on his little runny nose. “You need to get your cursing under control. You’ll thank me once he starts talking in earnest. T
he doctor says he’ll be like a little parrot, repeating everything.”
“Little turkey, now,” I grumbled, ruining yet another one of my expensive handkerchiefs on mucus. “Jesus. What does the doctor say about all of this snot?”
“This is a brand new human being we’re dealing with,” she called from the other room. “His immune system has never encountered any kind of challenge, and now we’ve tossed him into the real world. There is going to be snot.”
“And vomit,” I muttered, well out of earshot. “And shit.” I swept my son into a hug. “What a little monster you are.”
Dima giggled and burbled a little, and I held him out away from me in case that burble had a gush of spit-up behind it. It was just my old sense of caution trying to keep my shirt as pristine as it was going to be with the dots of milk and food already staining it.
“You are going to cost me a fortune,” I informed him, pressing a kiss to his grimy little cheek. “I should buy a fashion company, shouldn’t I? Attempt to cut down on expenditures?”
“You know what’s fashionable?” Ruth grinned as she held up the turkey costume in question. “This. And our son in it. It’s happening. Don’t resist it.”
“For the honor of our son’s future, I forbid it,” I said as sternly as I could manage.
