Page 142 of Beautiful Agony

"Look at her," Lacey whispers. "She's absolutely perfect."

"She is." I brush my finger along Larina's cheek, marveling at how soft her skin is. "Just like her mother."

46

LACEY

ONE YEAR LATER

I pushopen the familiar door of Mrs. Klossner's dry cleaners, and the bell chimes above—exactly as it did that first day I met Vadim. My heart skips at the memory. The shop looks different now, renovated and modernized, but still manages to retain a part of its old charm.

Vadim's hand rests on the small of my back as we enter. I lean into his touch, drawing strength from his presence. The counter where I once struggled with Nathan's ring feels like it belongs to another lifetime.

"It feels strange being back here," I whisper, running my fingers along the polished wood. "This is where everything started."

"When you stole my suit," Vadim teases, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"In my defense, I was too flustered to realize what I was doing that day." I turn to face him, feeling that familiar flutter in my stomach when our eyes meet. "Four hundred thirty-five days, sixteen hours, and twenty-eight minutes ago." I tap my wrist where a watch would be. "But who's counting?"

"Not you," Vadim murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that makes my knees weak.

"Not me," I agree, leaning into him.

The air between us charges with electricity, just like it did that first day. His eyes darken as they roam over my face, lingering on my lips. My breath catches in my throat as his hand slides from my back to my hip, pulling me closer. The familiar scent of his cologne—spicy and masculine—surrounds me. I reach up to straighten his tie, letting my fingers trail down his chest.

"How can I help you folks?"

We spring apart at the voice. A young woman stands behind the counter, a cheery smile on her face.

"Just picking up our dry cleaning," I slide our ticket over. "For Mr. and Mrs. Stravinsky."

"Of course!" The young woman types into the computer. "I'll be right back."

As she disappears into the back, Vadim's fingers trace lazy circles on my hip. "You enjoy saying that, don't you?"

"What?" I ask innocently.

"Mrs. Stravinsky." His lips brush my ear. "That sounds almost as good aszvyozdochka."

Heat blooms across my cheeks. "We're in public," I whisper, though I make no move to pull away.

"Heading somewhere special?" the young woman asks, returning with our garment bags.

"Paris," I reply, watching her eyes light up. "A very delayed honeymoon."

"Oh, how romantic! I've always wanted to?—"

The bell to the door chimes again, cutting through the young woman's enthusiastic chatter about Paris.

"Lacey? is that you?"

My heart leaps at the familiar voice, and I turn to see Mrs. Klossner in the doorway, her warm eyes crinkling with delight, her hands clasped together as if she's just discovered a wonderful surprise.

"Mrs. K!" I rush over to hug her. "What are you doing here today?"

"Same as you, my dear," Mrs. Klossner says with a twinkle in her eye. "Coming to pick up my dry cleaning. But since you're here, I should double-check the tickets. Wouldn't want to risk any more mix-ups."

Heat rises to my cheeks as I catch Vadim's knowing smirk. Mrs. Klossner turns to him with a warm smile.

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