Page 51 of Till Death Saves Me

"Out," I reply, following her. "Some meeting or other."

"Good. I wanted to talk to you." Anya plops onto the couch, eyeing me with a mischievous glint. "So, spill. What's going on with you two?"

I feel heat creep up my neck. "What do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes. "Please. The tension between you two could power half of New York." She points a finger at me. "I saw it when he-" She stops, her expression faltering, but then she clears her throat. "The other day. Something's changed."

I busy myself arranging throw pillows, avoiding her gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh," Anya says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm actually the Pakhan."

I throw a pillow at her, which she catches easily. "Shut up."

"Come on, Ginny," she presses. "I've never seen Ivan so... I don't know, relaxed? And you? You're practically glowing."

I sink into the armchair across from her, sighing. "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Anya leans forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. "But you've fallen for him, haven't you? You finally got to see who he really is."

My silence is apparently answer enough. Anya lets out a triumphant whoop.

"I knew it!" she crows. "Oh, this is too good."

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Anya, please."

"Nope, no way," she says, grinning. "I'm going to enjoy this. My stoic brother and his arranged bride, falling in love? It's like a damn Hallmark movie."

I peek at her through my fingers. "You're terrible."

"I'm delightful," she counters. "And you love me."

I can't help but laugh. "God help me, I do."

As our laughter subsides, I remember something. "Hey, how are you feeling? After... you know."

Anya's smile falters for a moment before she waves her hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle. Now, back to you and Ivan..."

I shake my head vehemently, trying to dispel Anya's assumptions. "You're reading way too much into this. Ivan and I... we're just figuring things out."

"Figuring things out," Anya says, wiggling her brows. "That's better than at each other's throats, right? It means there's something there..."

I roll my eyes, but my heart's not in the argument. Truth is, I've mostly come to terms with my feelings for Ivan. The idea doesn't terrify me anymore.

But I'm not ready to share that with anyone, not even Anya. What Ivan and I have is still so new, so fragile. I don't want totalk to him about it, just in case. I think I can handle holding it close to my chest, letting him fuck me and make me feel like he really wants me as his wife.

And keep putting off the inevitable. When he tells me that he said not to get attached. That he isn't.

When my heart is shattered.

"Whatever you say," I quip, desperate to change the subject. "Now, are we going to watch this movie or what?"

Anya lets it drop, but the knowing glint in her eye tells me this conversation is far from over.

Hours later, I hear the front door open and close. My body instantly tenses, every nerve ending suddenly alert. I don't even need to look up to know it's Ivan.

"Hey," his deep voice carries from the entryway. "I'm home."

My breath catches in my throat. Home. When did this place start feeling like home?

---