Page 31 of Ivory Oath

I grab my button-down from the end of the bed and toss it to her. It’s the same one I draped over her shoulders back at the safehouse. “It’s bloodstained, but?—”

“I accept.” She angles away from me to slide the hospital gown off and pull on my shirt instead. It’s not like I haven’t seen—and tasted—every inch of her before, but I don’t begrudge her her privacy. She tugs the shirt cuffs over the bulky bandages on her wrists.

When she turns back to me, she’s still doing up the last couple buttons. My shirt drapes around the tops of her thighs. If she was an inch or two shorter, it would almost be long enough to pass as a dress. As it is, she looks like the poster child for a walk of shame.

In a way, that’s what this is. My shame walk.

The only reason we’re here is because I fucked up. I never should have made her leave the mansion. I never should have let Trofim find her.

None of this should have happened—and I’m going to spend every second proving to Viviana that I won’t let it happen again.

She finishes buttoning her shirt but continues playing with the seams. Finally, she crosses her arms nervously over her chest. “I don’t really know how to bring this up, but I left all of my stuff at that hotel room. Trofim grabbed me and I didn’t… I couldn’t grab everything. So all of the money you gave me is gone.”

“I’m sure the night manager took the cash. But fuck it. I don’t give a shit about a few thousand dollars, Viviana.”

“Right. Yeah. But, I do.” Her eyes are pale green under the fluorescents. “That money is all I had. I haven’t been to work in weeks and I don’t even have my wallet to use my credit cards. I can’t afford a motel tonight without that money.”

“A motel?” I reach towards her, but freeze when she flinches back. I shove my hands in my pockets instead. “You aren’t staying in a motel, Viviana. You’re coming home.”

“To the mansion?”

Where else would home be? I want to ask.

“Yes.”

Her eyes shimmer with tears. “Am I going to see Dante?”

“Of course you’re going to see Dante. Why wouldn’t you?” I say. “I’m not going to save you and then turn around and lock you up again.”

It sounds ridiculous to me. I just told her that I made a mistake. I confessed that I needed to get her back. What more does she want from me?

But the relief on her face says it all. She still wasn’t sure.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I grumble. “You’re my wife. It’s your house, too.”

Five minutes after we pull away from the hospital, I look over and Viviana is asleep. One leg is curled underneath her and her cheek is pillowed on her arm.

She must trust me a little bit to fall asleep while I’m driving.

Or she’s too exhausted to worry about self-preservation.

After everything she’s been through, she has every right to be wary. I just never thought I’d look into her eyes and see fear directed at me. I’m used to it from other people, but never her.

Anatoly and Dante are waiting on the front porch when I pull down the drive. Anatoly has to hold Dante back so I can bring the car to a full stop.

Like some kind of motherly spidey-sense, Viviana’s eyes snap open the moment I shift into park. She jolts up, looking around, panicked. Then she sees Dante.

“Oh my God.”

She tears out of the car, leaving the passenger door hanging open. The second she drops to her knees, Dante crashes into her arms.

“I think you got bigger,” Viviana manages through tears. She strokes his hair and cradles his chin. “It’s almost like you aged a whole year while I was gone.”

“Because I’m six now,” Dante says proudly before pulling her in for another hug.

Viviana kisses his cheek and crushes him to her. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday, buddy.”

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