Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Perfect,” I murmur, struggling to hold back the emotions that tug at me. The ring is gorgeous and simple, exactly like my beautiful Dasha. “Thank you, Vasya. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“That lucky wife of yours will love it. Schastlivogo puti i zdorov’ya.”
“Spasibo, i vam togo zhe.”
“Your Russian’s getting very good,” she says, sounding delighted, and waves as I hurry back out of the shop.
Dasha looks at me quizzically as I climb back in beside her. “What were you doing in there?” she asks.
Grigor pulls out immediately, and we’re back on the road. “Just wanted to get something special.” I hold the ring box up and let her take a look.
Her brows raise. “And what’s in there?”
“I was thinking about waiting until we got home, but now seems like a good time. You’re healthy, the baby is healthy, and we’re past the first trimester.”
“A good time for what, love?” she asks very gently.
I open the box and show her the ring. Her eyes widen, and one hand moves to cover her mouth in surprise.
“I know we’re already married,” I tell her, reaching out to take her hand. “But my kitten, that wedding didn’t do how I feel justice. It was good because it was ours. I only just keep thinking you deserve more.”
“So you got me an expensive fucking ring?” she blurts out, and her cheeks turn bright red. “Sorry. That thing’s just—”
“Yes, baby, I got you an expensive fucking ring, because you deserve something beautiful.” I slip the ring slowly down onto her finger, relieved that it fits. I had to get sneaky measurements when she was sleeping, and even then, I wasn’t sure. “I love you. I want our life and our marriage to mean something. This child is coming, but for now, it’s only me and you. I want you to look at that ring and remember that I love you no matter what happens from here, no matter where we go, no matter how difficult our life as parents might become. You are mine, and I am yours.”
She’s crying now. I didn’t mean to get the tears started, but they seem like happy tears, so I don’t say anything. She pulls me into her and kisses me, and I can taste the salt on her lips. I lean my forehead against hers, and she’s breathing fast and grinning big.
“I love you too,” she says with a sigh. “And I love this ring. Thank you so much.”
“You are more than welcome.”
She leans against my shoulder for the remainder of the drive, her hand held out, light glittering through the stone.
And all I can do is watch her face, breathe her smell, and wonder how I got so lucky, ending up with this woman. The perfect fit for my dead, rotten heart.
Though I feel it coming alive again every day that we’re together.
Chapter 37
Tigran
Poor Dasha Sarkissian. All those constant doctor appointments. Week after week, image after image, all to make sure her child is still safe and healthy. Poor, poor girl, what a mess, and all of them so stressed, what with the Irish war going on all around them.
That’s the rumor, anyway. Everyone’s been talking about it mostly because Sona’s been making sure they do. Poor, poor Dasha. I smile to myself as my truck follows after the SUV with the extremely dark tinted windows. The same SUV that drives from my house to the private hospital every single Thursday morning at ten and returns on the same roads exactly one hour later. We’re six minutes into the trip, and I’m just starting to relax.
Six weeks of this. The same thing, over and over again. A trip to the hospital, a trip back home. And all the while, the rumors keep swirling. Poor, darling Dasha, so brave and strong, holding it all together for her baby and her husband. I am miserable with worry, of course.
Sona is many things, but she’s good at her job most of all.
I’m beginning to let myself relax. We’re seven minutes from my house and in a decent neighborhood now. Grigor is driving conservatively, following all the rules, going nice and slow. That’s part of the plan too, but it still drives me crazy.
I’m halfway ready to say this was another failure when Grigor pulls up next to a parked van and an explosion rips into the day.
I’m two cars back, and I still have to slam on my brakes. Slag and flaming chunks of plastic rain all around us. The van just went up like there were ten tons of dynamite inside. Grigor’s SUV is lying on its side, and all the car alarms in the area are screaming.
“Fuck,” I growl and kick open my door. The drivers ahead of me are doing the same: a young woman in shock, an old man looking like he wants to help. “Get back in your vehicles,” I snarl at them, brandishing my gun.