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"Did he say that Misha was an okay guy?"
I scoffed, "He's Bratva, baby. He's not a good guy. Just like an Irish mobster ain't a good guy. I already told you that I didn't want you in this world; if I could save you from myself, I fucking would. Never mind Aspen.
"Jesus, she’s a baby. More interested in fashion than good sense. At least you knew what you were diving into."
"You're the only person I don't want to be saved from."
Her genuine earnestness softened some of my tension and stopped me from pacing.
"I like that you care about my sisters," she told me as I clambered into bed beside her.
"They're family," I said dismissively.
"I know, but it's still sweet." She tucked herself beside me, and her fingers twirled in the meager hair on my pecs. "We have a safe room."
"I'm not fucking you in your parents' safe room, little one," I said around a yawn. "You'll just have to contain yourself until we get back."
"Meanie."
"Your meanie," I said with a grin.
"Is Misha serious?"
"Sounds like it."
"Aspen can't get serious about anything other than whether the Kardashians are going to make a new season."
"I wonder what she sees in him. Anyone with eyes can tell he isn't an Instagram boyfriend."
"You know what one of those is?"
"Of course."
"What are they?" she asked suspiciously.
"Oh, ye of little faith. It's a boyfriend who takes photos of his girlfriend who puts them on Instagram. They spend their whole day taking photos of them in different poses."
She hummed. "I'll give you a gold star."
"You do that," I teased, "and you can put it on my cock."
"Now who’s making it about sex?" was her waspish retort. "Paris and Aspen are weird with men."
"Because of the kidnapping?"
She nodded, her face tucking into my throat as she curled around me like a spider monkey.
It never stopped surprising me that I loved how up in my space she was.
Something about climbing into bed with her every night, and her being all over me like this, rammed home just what we were to each other—man and wife.
At the end of the day, no matter how shitty it had been, this was how I started the next one, and that made it infinitely better than yesterday.
"You'd think they'd want someone safer," I mused as I played with a strand of her hair.
"I bet Paris ends up with a cop."
"Great. A pig in the family," I said with a snort. "I think I'd prefer a fucking Bratva brother."
