Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
It’s not an accident. It makes my throat tight.
“That was new,” I whisper against his chest.
He studies the ceiling for a beat, then looks at me. His walls are still up, but a brick shifts.
“I don’t let people in,” he says. “You know that.”
I nod.
“I don’t love easily,” he adds quietly, like it costs him. “I don’t get attached. It’s safer that way. For everyone.”
“I know that,” I tell him honestly, stroking the skin on his pecs. “I don’t expect you to—”
“I had a wife,” he says, cutting me off.
Whatever I was going to say dies on my tongue. I wasn’t remotely expecting this confession. I can’t even imagine him with a wife. In an instant, I have to recalibrate absolutely everything I knew about him.
“We were young,” he continues. “Before any of this was as big as it is now. I thought I could keep the business in one box and her in another. I couldn’t. People noticed that she mattered to me. They used it. She died because of me. That’s the simple truth. The softer version is I did everything I could and it wasn’t enough.” He shakes his head once.
I lie there, processing his words. It’s a heavy confession. There is nothing I can do or say to make this better. My heart begins to ache for him so deeply that the tears start falling of their own accord.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It feels small and insignificant in the face of what he’s just admitted.
He nods like he doesn’t need the words but hears them anyway.
“Since then, I don’t give anyone leverage. Not friends. Not women. Not even my own people. The only person who gets to slow me down is Yuri, and that’s because he’d shoot me in the leg if it kept me from walking into something worse.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “I absolutely believe that.”
“I don’t talk about her,” he continues. “I don’t like to talk about any of it. But Yuri said something today, and it reminded me that some things are worth fighting for.”
“What did he say?” I can’t help but ask, looking up at him, running my fingers through his hair.
“He said that I’m in love with you,” he admits boldly, without a hint of insecurity.
The room tilts a little. Suddenly I feel like I’m in a parallel universe with a different Lev saying this to a different Mari. Maybe they have it more together than the two of us do.
“I don’t say words I can’t protect,” he goes on, before I can say anything. “I don’t know what I am with you yet, but I know I need you here. I know I need you safe. I know the idea of you leaving burns through my head in the worst way. And I know you’re carrying my child, and that changes every rule I thought I’d die following.”
I swallow. My hand covers his where it still rests low on my stomach.
“I was ready to run,” I admit, because if he’s going to be honest, I have to be, too. “I had a plan. It wasn’t a good one. But I had one.”
He nods once. No surprise. “I know.”
“Of course you do.” I sigh. “You’ve got half the city watching me order lunch.”
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His face is open in a way I haven’t seen before. There isn’t softness there, exactly, but there is clarity and conviction.
“I can’t promise you a version of life that looks normal,” he says. “I can promise I’ll put you and the baby first. Even when it pulls at the way I run things. Especially then.”
“You said you don’t say words you can’t protect,” I say.
“I meant it,” he says.
I lift our joined hands and rest them over my heart. “Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he repeats, like he’s trying the word on in this new room we’ve made between us.
We lie there, quiet, until the quiet turns warm again. He doesn’t push. He lets me move first. I shift closer, and he understands. His hand slides down my spine, slow, and settles at my hip. He kisses me again, without rush or edge, and I open for him. When he rolls me under, I go willingly.
He takes his time. He checks in with every change. His mouth trails the line of my throat, then my collarbone, then lower, reverently. When his hands come back to my stomach, his touch gentles further, and the gentleness lights me up from the inside.
We move together. He keeps listening. I keep answering. The heat builds again, and he keeps me right on the line until I’m whispering pleas into his mouth. He gives it to me when I ask, not a second before, and I break apart in his arms. He follows, breath shuddering against my cheek.