Page 35 of Lethal Saint

“Yes, Vasya?” I asked, returning my attention to my wife.My wife.God, it felt good calling her that.

“I—I can’t eat all that,” she said, her eyes on the sleek brown table, tracing the grain with her stare. “I’ve already messed up by eating doughnuts for breakfast every day. I’ll get fat, and Ican’tput on weight, even a pound will—”

“Will what, little queen?” I prompted when she bit off her words. I went very, very still.

“Make me undesirable. And I want to be desirable for you. I swore I’d be good to you and—”

“You are beautiful exactly as you are,” I interrupted sternly. “You’ll be beautiful if you put on a hundred pounds. Eat what makes you happy, Vasilisa. You’re in control of that, not me, remember?”

Her cheeks flushed under her light makeup, her breath hitching once before she nodded. “I make the rules.”

“Exactly. And if it helps, I didn’t mean for you to eat every single bite. Just try them, see what your favourites are, and I’ll help you dispose of the ones you don’t like.”

“Dispose of,” she echoed, a hint of warmth in her eyes now. “What if I don’t like any of them? You can’t eat them all.”

Oh, that was a gauntlet throw. I leaned across the table, a smile on my face. “Watch me.”

She snorted. Holy shit. That was adorable. I needed her to do it again, ASAP. “You’re ridiculous. But you’d be beautiful if you put on a hundred pounds, too.”

There was something shy about that comment, something that made my heart turn liquid. I wanted to blurt that I loved her, but it was far too soon and most people didn’t fall immediately. I’d only scare her.

“You are very special, Vasilisa,” I murmured, and wondered if she could hear the love in my tone. “Vasilisa Marshall,” I added, not hiding my thrill.

Her eyes brightened. “Vasilisa Marshall. I like it more than Vasilisa Ivanov. It makes me feel…”

I kept my eyes on her, outwardly patient even if I was hissing with impatience on the inside. What did it make her feel? What did my surname do to her?

Tell me, tell me, tell me.

“Like a queen,” she said finally, shyly. “Not a—whatever I was before. Servant. Pawn. Hole,” she whispered, very clearly repeating someone else’s word.

“Tell me who called you that and they’ll beburiedin a hole by the end of the night,” I swore, some of my manic energy spilling out. My hands itched, needing to choke the life out of them.

Her breath caught. “You’ll kill them like you killed all those people in the ballroom?”

“Yes,” I swore.

She glanced out the window with a sigh. “I shouldn’t.”

I was seconds away from pressing for info, but the barista arrived with our drinks and the first of many plates full of pastries and deserts.

“You do remember the breakfasts we’ve had on the balcony every morning, don’t you?” she asked me, a hint of sass entering her voice. “You know I’ve eaten cake and cupcakes and—Damien,” she groaned when the woman brought four more plates, balanced carefully on her wrists.

“What?” I sat back in the chair, shameless. “I’m not going to apologise for treating my wife on our wedding day.”

“There isn’t enough room on the table,” she hissed.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the barista said with a conspiratorial smile. “We can push two tables together; it’s a slow day anyway. Don’t worry about it at all.”

“Thank you,” I said when she set the final plate down, helping pull the second table to ours.

“No worries.” She winked. “Congratulations. You’re a cute couple.”

She left us to our sweet feast, sweeping back to the counter to serve a woman who came through the door with a trio of dachshunds. I noticed Vasilisa’s eyes fix on the dogs, watched a smile spread across her face, and decided to adopt a dog at the next available moment.

“You’re kinda crazy,” she told me, quietly like she was still afraid I’d get angry. I’d let her insult me all day and be delighted.

“Crazy yes; kinda, no. Very? Absolutely. Now get tasting, Vasilisa Marshall.”

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