Page 128 of Deceptive Vows


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When night fell and the moon came out, I decided I was going to paint her.

I want to paint her in moonlight and show her what she looks like when I look at her. I want her to see herself the way I do when she balances me. I thought it was something else, like she tamed the beast inside me. It’s not that, though.

It’s the other thing my father spoke of.

Balance.

We spent all night and day in that bed, and I found myself thinking that maybe this will work. Maybe I wouldn’t get screwed by love, and maybe I didn’t have to retreat.

As I look at her now, I realize the fucked-up thing was me thinking I can give myself permission to love her. I never had a choice.

The last few weeks told me that truth.

She was the one thing I stole that backfired on me.

I stole her life, and she stole my heart. But there is more about the two of us neither is saying.

We’re far from okay.I’mfar from okay and actively choosing to forget the sword of fate hanging over my head, gearing up to sever me from this world.

Nothing about Adriana and me will feel okay until the right things are done.

I’m the villain in our story.

I’m not supposed to do the right thing for anyone else except me. I’m supposed to do what benefits me.

I’m supposed to be willing to do what I must to be the ruthless Bratva Pakhan I’m working hard to become.

But I wasn’t supposed to fall in love either.

Neither was she.

Even now as I look at her, there’s love in her eyes, and I know she can see it in mine.

But in her, I can see love as clearly as the trouble also lurking within them, telling me something worries her. Something more than me.

Again, I think of what her secrets might be.

Right now, I’m being selfish and taking her with me as I escape reality.

She looks around the room at the ballerina sculptures and the paintings with fascination.

She doesn’t know what I want to do to her yet.

I’m sure it will surprise her. The idea still surprises me.

“They’re all so beautiful,” she states.

I watch her floating around the closest sculpture of my mother, and all I can think of is how beautiful my wife is.

My wife.

“My father created them all,” I tell her, and her eyes widen.

“Your father? Really?”

“Yes.”

“They’re amazing, Mikhail.”