She puts on a valiant effort of smiling, but it’s weak as she jokes, “What, afraid you’ll burn if we have a church wedding?”
“Hey, I made it through your wedding just fine. Remember?” I smile back, immediately wanting to kick myself. The last thing she needs is to be reminded of her first wedding. Fuck,Idon’t even want to remember it.
She looked so fucking beautiful as she walked herself down the aisle, her hair shining like gold under the reflections of the stained glass. Her smile was delicate and radiant, and I wanted to steal her away and kiss her until she could think of nothing but me.
“It’s better to do this sooner rather than later. If you want to plan something grand further down the line, that’s fine, but for right now”—I shrug—“you’ll have to settle for something small.” I run a thumb over the back of her knuckles.
If things were different, I’d give her whatever she wants. If she wanted to get married in a massive church, I’d do it. If she wanted to get married on the beach in Fiji, I’d make it happen. If she decides that’s something she wants, I’ll arrange it in a heartbeat.
It’ll just have to wait until the dust has settled and I know she’s safe.
She nods, taking my words at face value, even while I want to kick my own ass.
“What happens after that?”
“Focus on step one for now. We’ll worry about the rest of it as it comes.”
Chapter 12
Blair
“I’ll be back at the usual time to pick him up.” I smile. Mila doesn’t acknowledge me and simply holds Niko closer to her chest, like I’m going to try and snatch him away from her.
Her eyes skip over me entirely as she smiles at Andrei like he hung the moon.
“Thank you for bringing him,” she says, looking awestruck. I twist my hands together, trying not to cringe. She doesn’t move until Andrei, shifting from foot to foot, mutters an awkward goodbye, then she turns away and closes the door behind her.
I tug on the hem of my off-white dress on the way back to the car. It’s been buried in the back of my closet for years, and I wish I’d let it stay there. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to wear for a spontaneous courthouse wedding, so I settled on something that was dressy but still casual. Then Andrei showed up.
Instead of his normal faded jeans and leather jacket, he’s wearing a suit and tie. Even his hair, which is normally casually tousled in a way that shouldn’t look as good as it does, has been tamed.
Am I underdressed?
Maybe I should have done more to dress up, but it took more effort than I have in me right now to put on a little makeup and twist my hair into a braid. And none of it hides the fact that I spent half the night crying and the other half tossing and turning, but I did my best.
Besides, it doesn’t matter what I look like. It’s not like Andrei actuallycares.
Part of me wants to ask what he expects of this arrangement, but I’m a coward. It’s easier to assume that this will be a marriage in name only.
He’ll probably have to make a show of having me by his side at some point, and maybe he’ll stop by to check on us a little more often than he already does, but that’s as far as I expect him to go. At least until he gets over his guilt and whatever flawed logic is pushing him to marry me. Once that’s out of the way, I’m sure he’ll go through his life pretending I don’t exist at all.
Last night he said he never would have hurt me, but that doesn’t mean helikesme.
Daniil once told me it was Andrei’s idea to use me to help tidy up their drug smuggling operations, but I’d bet everything in my bank account that he regretted it immediately. I mean, he can hardly stand to look at me, and when he does, he’s usually glowering.
I’ve tried to be friendly, but my attempts have always fallen flat. Dinner invitations were often declined and attempts to talk to him when he came over were swiftly shut down.
His consistent rejections are the cherry on top of the sundae of my conflicted emotions and thoughts when it comes toAndrei Voronov. Lingering resentment, constant doubt, and the stupid attraction to him I’ve never been able to get rid of are a toxic mixture.
It isn’t entirely his fault. I know that. I was always worried that I’d find myself on the wrong end of his gun, which makes it hard to be friendly. But I tried.
At least a little bit.
Sometimes.
Everything would have been so much easier if he’d matched the uncomplicated image I had of him when we first met, in the moments before he pulled his gun. Just a tall, handsome stranger with an easy smile and dark, messy hair. For those few blissful seconds, he gave me an illusion. Then the smile fell away, and he pulled the sense of ease out from under my feet.
I’m jolted out of my thoughts when he pulls into a parking lot next to a boring, drab building that blends in with the rest of the equally lackluster businesses around us.
