Page 14 of Bloody Lace

Evelyn:No thanks. I’ll meet you there.

Dimitri:Independent. I like it.

I frown,staring at the last text.Does he really?I find it hard to believe that a man who is part of an organized crime family really likes the idea of having a fiercely independent woman as his wife. I don’t know anything about those kinds of families other than what I’ve seen in pop culture, but my impression isn’t very good. I don’t know that I trust what he’s saying.

Am I really going to do this?Marrying him is insane. It’s an idea that I can’t believe I’m really considering. But it’s also incredibly tempting. To not only have the losses I’ve suffered covered and the damage to my shop repaired, but also be able to remake it in any way I want?—

It might be worth the risk I’m taking. It feels too good to be true, but what if it isn’t? What if he just really sees me as a solution to his problem, the same way he can be for me?

My stomach is fizzing with nerves as I get ready to go. I go through five different outfits, wanting to look nice while at the same time not wanting to make Dimitri think that I’m trying to impress him. One outfit seems too slouchy, another too sexy, until there’s a pile of clothes on my bed and my hair is frizzing from how many times I’ve run my hands through it. I stare at the last outfit I pulled out—a pair of dark blue jeans with flowers and tiny mushrooms embroidered on the pocket and a silky rust-colored blouse with long, billowy sleeves, and decide to simply go with that. It’s a little cottagecore for the bar I’m going to, but I5’ve run out of energy to keep going through outfits—which just tells me how thoroughly exhausted with all of this I am. Trying on clothes is usually one of my favorite hobbies.

Forty-five minutes and a taxi ride later, I get out in front of the Copper Pot, my boots sinking into the snow. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and cheery, the bar strung with garlands and lights, each table lit with candles. I look around when I walk in, searching for Dimitri, and I see him sitting at a small round table in one corner, wearing dark grey chinos and a forest greenshawl-collared sweater. His dark blond hair is swept back, styled much like the first time I met him, and I’m startled all over again by the bright blue of his eyes. He’s unfairly handsome, possibly the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and it’s only enhanced by the bit of stubble on his jaw and his accent.

And the tattoos. Both of the times we’ve previously met, I was too distracted to notice his tattoos. But now, as I see him stand up from the table, I notice the black ink that swirls over the backs of his hands, hints of it just under the collar of his shirt. It only adds to how sexy he is, and I feel a sudden deep apprehension about this plan for an entirely new reason.

There are sparks between us that I can’t deny. I felt them that first night, and I feel them now, as Dimitri slides the other chair away from the table and I step close enough to smell the woodsy scent of his cologne.And I’m thinking about marrying this man?Putting myself in close, constant proximity to him is asking for a temptation that will be horribly hard to resist.

“I’m glad you decided to consider my offer.” Dimitri smiles at me, sinking back down into his chair. “I know it’s a strange proposal, but?—”

“It is.” I bite my lip as the server comes over, ordering a glass of pinot noir. Dimitri asks for vodka with lime, top shelf, and then looks back at me.

“I meant it when I said I’ve thought about you ever since that party at the Met last year.” His blue eyes find mine, as intense as ever, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“And I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to see you again.” I take a deep breath, stiffening both my spine and my resolve. “If we’re going to enter into this—arrangement, Dimitri, then I have terms.”

He gives me a wary look. “Alright. I’m listening.”

“This marriage is temporary. Once your father has passed and my shop is rebuilt, you’ll give me a divorce. I know you saidthat’s what you would do, but I want to say it again. Out loud.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “And I want it in writing. Along with the rest of what I have to say.”

There’s a spark of something in Dimitri’s eyes, an interest that tells me he isn’t often challenged. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he liked my independence. He doesn’t say anything, and I continue.

“I have full say in the restoration of my shop. All of the design choices, materials, everything is my decision. Full stop.”

“Agreed,” Dimitri says, without hesitation. “I have no issue with that.”

“I keep my apartment. I assume we have to live together, so that it’s believable. So you’ll make sure that I can go home when this is finished.”

He nods. “Of course.” A small smile twitches the corners of his mouth. “Is there anything else?”

I take a deep, slow breath, feeling a shiver of nervousness run over my skin. “There won’t be any physical aspect to our marriage. You won’t expect a wedding night, or any other night.”

There’s something heated in Dimitri’s gaze as he looks at me, his eyes sweeping over my face in a way that makes my cheeks heat. I can tell in an instantexactlywhat he thinks of that proposition, and a flood of butterflies rush up through my stomach.

I don't think I’ve ever had a man look at me like that before. Like the only thing in the world that he wants is me, and he’s just been told he can’t have it. It’s enough to make my already shaky resolve waver, but I reach for my wine glass, taking a long sip before I can say anything else.

“A marriage requires consummation to be valid,” Dimitri says slowly. “If I’m to understand what you’re saying. The wedding night is?—”

“Not necessary.” My voice sounds slightly strangled. “You can say whatever you want about our wedding night, but whatwon’thappen is anything between us. At all. Not for the entirety of our marriage. I mean it.”

His mouth twitches, and I immediately regret those last three words. It very much sounds like a case of my protesting too much, but Dimitri just leans back, taking a sip of his drink as he looks at me. I think I see disappointment in his gaze, but he’s clearly trying to pretend that he doesn’t care one way or another.

“Do you want that in writing, too?” he asks, that amusement on his mouth again, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Yes.”

“I’ll have my lawyer draw it up. Is that all your requests,l’vitsa?”

Don’t call me pet names.It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back as soon as I see the flicker of mischief in his eyes. He’s baiting me, I realize, tempting me to admit that the pet name bothers me. That it does something to me.

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