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Love is important.
But security and protection… that means everything.
Of course, he can never know that.
“And the condition for that is that I have to marry you?” I ask. “What if I don’t want your security or your protection? I can do this on my own.”
“It’s not a question of ability. Far dumber people than you have figured parenthood out,” he says. “But I won’t let you disappear with my child. My heir. If you refuse to marry me, then I will not force your hand. But—”
Ah, here it comes.I knew there would be a but.
“ … but the child will stay with me.”
I shake my head. “You’re out of your mind. You can’t co-parent with ultimatums.”
“Call it what you want; I’m simply telling you how it’s going to be.”
“There is no choice!” I cry out in frustration. “I would never give you my baby and walk away.”
“I wouldn’t exclude you from the child’s life entirely,” he says flippantly. “I would allow you visits. Access. Something along those lines.”
“Okay, let’s get one thing straight, buddy,” I snap, stalking right up to him and jabbing a finger in his obnoxiously muscled chest. “I am this baby’s mother. I will raise this baby. And I will not be pushed out by some rich bully who thinks he can buy the entire world. I’m not Petyr Ivanov. Point thirty guns at me—”
“Thirty-two.”
I can’t decide whether to laugh or scream and rip my hair out. I settle on finishing my speech.
“Point thirty-two guns at me if you want. I. Won’t. Budge.”
He gives me a satisfied smirk. “Very well then. I’m glad we agree. Let’s plan a wedding.”
I groan. “That is not what I meant!”
I might end up ripping my hair out after all.
He eyes me for one more shuddering breath. Then he pivots gracefully and leads me through the entryway and across the sun-soaked living room. A floating staircase on the opposite wall leads to a mezzanine level. Misha takes the stairs at an easy jog.
“We’re not done here!” I huff, chasing after him.
He ignores me and keeps walking. I follow him, a constricting sense of panic climbing up my throat. The house feels so much bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Which is saying something, because it looked pretty darn big from the outside, too.
Maids scurry into rooms out of sight as we move through the second floor, across a walkway that looks down on an indoor pool, and to yet another set of stairs.
Again, Misha takes the stairs at a jog. I struggle to keep up after the exhausting, painful morning I’ve had. But if I fall behind, I’ll get lost in this labyrinth.
He disappears into a room. I follow him in, realizing too late I’m standing in his bedroom.
“Do you really want this?” I say, lingering nervously at the threshold like I’ll get struck by lightning if I venture too far inside. My voice is quieter now. Hushed. Afraid. “Do you actually want to marry me?”
He shakes his head without looking back. “This is not about what I want. This is about doing what’s necessary.”
“How romantic.”
“Romance has nothing to do with it.”
“Right. This is about what’s best for the child you don’t even want.”
He shakes his head and sighs as he turns to face me. “You’re not listening. This is not about what I want.”
