Page 43 of Devil's Bride

I’ve never been one to make promises I can’t keep, and I’m not about to begin now. Which is why I look deeply into Irina’s eyes because I want her to feel the honesty in every word I say.

Because no matter what happens, I’ll never hurt her in the same way my father did to Sasha and my mother. I’ll never make her cry or break her heart.

“I’ll never cheat on you, Irina.” I kiss her forehead. “There’ll never be anyone in my life but you, I promise.”

“Because I’m your wife?”

“Because I meant every vow I made the night we got married.”

And because I’m starting to feel something much more than just attraction to her.

Chapter Fourteen

Irina

The loud sounds of colliding pots and pans grows louder as I amble to the kitchen, humming a completely made-up tune in my head. Entering the room, a wide Cheshire cat-like grin settles on my lips at the sight of the food displayed on the table.

“Blueberry pancakes?” It's just a question, borne from the happiness to see something so different on the table. But when the words leave my lips, they sound like the excited shriek of a six-year-old happy to be rewarded with cookies from the jar.

Nina stands by the sink, drying pots and other utensils while I grab a stool at the island and lean forward with folded arms, eyeing the dreary backside of her black and white uniform.

“Blueberry pancakes,” she confirms, and I can almost see the motherly smile curving her lips. “You like?”

“Like? Pfft. That’s for stuck-up snobs who will never admit to the mind-blowing taste of masterpieces like these. As for me, I love. I could eat these for days.” Picking a blueberry from one of the bowls, I pop it into my mouth. “It’s nice to see that the racket was worth it.”

“Oh my... the noise woke you up?”

“Yeah.” My head goes up and down as I stick a berry-infused fluffy pancake into my mouth. It is simply delicious. I have to give it to Nina; she sure knows how to whip up a good meal. “Should have been the aroma. But with the taste of these babies, you’re forgiven.”

Emitting a small laugh, she wipes her hands on a paper towel and turns around, facing me. Then, her brow goes up, and she has the most illuminating look I've ever seen on a person’s face.

I lift a shoulder, mumbling with a mouthful. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she shrugs when she dumps the paper towel and folds her arms over her chest.

I mimic the raised brow on her face. “You literally look like you have something to say.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Well?” The suspense is killing me, and I'm not sure at what point we’ve become friendly kitchen buddies—or whatever—but it feels comfortable having this seemingly mother-daughter-like moment with her. “Say it.”

Slowly, and like she has all the time in the world to do so, she clears her throat, fiddles with the tiny heart-crested button on her shirt and crosses one ankle over the other. I peer closer, wishing I could figure out what has her beaming like sun rays, but I guess I'm just going to wait it out until she gains the courage to speak.

“It might be none of my business, but I see you’re glowing.”

“Well, yeah?” Swallowing the last bite of my pancake, I swipe the maple syrup off the plate with two fingers and stick them in my mouth. “I’m eating the best blueberry pancake-maple syrup combination ever. If I wasn’t glowing, that would be a problem now, wouldn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“No?”

“Your glow has something to do with the boss, I’m one hundred percent sure.”

That is unexpected.

Quiet falls between us and the dangling beige tablecloth string seems more worthy of attention than looking at Nina’s face. I'm not sure what burns hotter; her knowing gaze or the creeping heat on my cheeks. What is she talking about? What glow?

It's true, I'm feeling a bit giddy—and maybe skittish. But it has nothing to do with my husband. I'm a hundred percent sure. Or maybe not.

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