Page 36 of Lethal Saint

Amusement made her eyes flicker in a way I was instantly obsessed with. I was even more infatuated with her quiet groan when she took a bite of a pink macaron, the confection clearly new to her by how she reacted.

“This is…” She gave me a startled look. “What even is this?”

“It’s a macaron, little queen.” Content to watch her, I sat back in my chair and sipped my coffee. I probably should have got some caffeine for Mr. Grumpy Ass outside, but I’d sweeten him up with whatever desert didn’t suit Vasilisa’s taste.

“I know all of these,” she said when she’d crammed the rest of the macaron into her mouth and swallowed it in a millisecond. I was relieved to see if done a good job putting her calorie fears to rest. “I’ve seen a cake before, Damien. There was a whole cake that first morning.”

“But you haven’t triedthesecakes,” I pointed out.

Her expression turned dry, but she was smiling. “I’ve had brownies before too, but I don’t like them. They’re too hard.”

I smiled over the rim of my cup. “Not these ones. They’re perfectly fudgy. Try one; they’re my favourite brownies in London.”

Sceptical, she nibbled on the end—and her eyes went round at the velvet texture, the rich chocolate, the popping candy on top of the piece.

“Holy…” she breathed.

“Shit? Fuck?” I supplied

“Yes.” She laughed. That was four. “Both. They’re better than anything I’ve ever tried before. Better than the doughnuts and muffins we have at breakfast.”

I reached over the plates of cookies, elaborate breads, scones, and tarts, skimming my knuckles down the delicate edge of her jaw. “I’ll be back in a moment, little queen. Eat everything and anything you want; you don’t need my permission.”

I could have imagined the warmth in her eyes, but I hoped it was real. I almost didn’t leave my seat, but I forced myself to set down my coffee and get to my feet, waiting behind a man in a blue pea coat and a wool hat.

Impatience burned in my veins. My wife was waiting for me, sitting alone. I kept my eyes on her, ensuring no one approached her, not trusting a damn person who wasn’t part of my family or our entourage. But she sat in her magical wedding dress, undisturbed, eating a forkful of matcha cake and glancing at me every few seconds.

Finally, the man in the pea coat got his coffee and shuffled out of the cafe, and the woman behind the counter blew a strand of tight curls from her eye and gave me a strange look.

“Don’t tell me you want more cakes.”

I laughed. “No. Who owns this café?”

I’d seen her here multiple times, but that wasn’t a guarantee that she was the owner.

“I do.” She frowned, leaning on the counter. “Why?”

“I want to buy this café for my wife as a wedding gift.”

She laughed, loudly enough that I saw Vasilisa’s head turn towards us. I’d be back with her soon; being apart from her this long itched my skin. But she had her gun. My girl was armed, and eager to use that weapon.

“No chance,” the barista—well, café owner—shot down instantly.

“I won’t change a thing,” I said, dragging my stare from my wife and giving the woman a serious look. “You’ll run it exactly as you do now. The only thing that will change is the name on the deed.”

She stopped laughing, realising how serious I was. “I’m not selling.”

“Not even for half a million?” I pressed. It was an astronomical sum for a leasehold worth eighty thousand, but I wanted to see Vasilisa smile again, wanted to hear that soft sound of bliss as she bit into her brownie.

“Half a—” The woman’s mouth fell open. “Are you insane? Are you serious?”

“Yes to both.” My lips curled on one side. “Your food makes my wife happy, and I want her to remain that way. I’ll have my lawyer visit you to sort out the paperwork.”

“I haven’t even said yes yet!” She laughed, disbelief in the bright sound. “You really are insane.”

I shrugged. “I’m in love.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But only if nothing changes.”

---