Page 119 of 10 Days to Surrender

A weight.

My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness. Moonlight spills through the shutters in silver ribbons, and there—outlined in that ethereal glow—stands Sasha.

I must be dreaming. “You’re supposed to be in New York,” I croak, still wondering how much of this is real.

“And you’re supposed to be asleep.”

He’s watching me with those intense eyes, still dressed in black tactical gear, looking deadly and beautiful. My breath catches in my throat as our gazes lock across the moonlit room.

He crosses.

Three steps. Two. One.

Then he’s on me—no, actually, he’s kneeling next to me, cupping my hand between his.

“I have something for you.”

From his pocket, he produces a small, wooden box, patinated green with age. The hinges creak as he opens it, revealing a delicate gold ring nestled in faded velvet.

“This was my mother’s,” he says quietly. “The only thing of hers I managed to save. After… after what Yakov did to her, I buried it with her. Couldn’t stand the thought of wearing it or selling it. But I couldn’t let myself melt it, either.” His throat works. “But today, after everything was finished with Dragan, I went to her grave. Dug it up myself.”

“Sasha…”

“She would have loved you,” he whispers, turning the ring so it catches the moonlight. “She would have loved what you’ve done to me. Who you’ve made me.” His eyes meet mine. “Will you wear it? Not because some arrangement demands it, but because you choose to be mine?”

“Say it properly,” I rasp.

He stills. “Marry me, Ariel Ward.” Not a question—a raw-throated plea. “Not for politics. Not for peace. Not for profit.” His thumb swipes my tears, smearing salt and iron. “But only because I’m yours. Always was. Always will be.”

I close my eyes. It’s not because I need this time to think it over; truth be told, I’ve known my answer for many, many weeks now. But it’s just because everything with us has always happened so fast, such a blur of moments and places and two truths and many more lies woven in between. So when it comes to this moment, this perfect moment, I want it to last just a bit longer than the others.

Just one extra breath, to seal it in amber. I’ll want to come back to it, I think. I’ll want to hold this moment in my hands again and feel exactly what I’m feeling right now.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, Sasha Ozerov, I’ll marry you.”

46

ARIEL

Things 1 and 2 are not pleased with Gina’s driving.

As she whips yet another hairpin turn way too fast, with complete disregard for the capabilities of this poor little rented Peugeot that’s been through hell and back, both babies start stomping their feet on my bladder.

“Gee! The brake is the one on the left! Goddammit!”

But she’s singing way too loudly to Italian pop radio to even hear what I’m saying. That’s confirmed when she whips around, hair flying like Medusa’s in the wind screeching through the open window, and flashes me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen from her.

“I know, right?!” she says. “It’s the best day ever!”

I cover my face. “Eyes on the road! Hands at ten and two! Ahhh!”

It’s hard to be too mad at her. Well, that’s not completely true—if we die in a fiery car crash on the way to get my wedding dress, I will in fact be pretty pissed in the afterlife.

But aside from the questionable driving, she really has been an absolute angel from the second she saw me coming down the stairs at breakfast with Sasha’s ring on my finger. She made me feel like the most special girl in the world when she damn near tackled me into the stairs, screaming with pure joy.

Everything’s been mostly a blur from there. Gee cried, Mama cried, Jasmine cried, Lora cried enough for all of us put together. Even Zoya shed one solitary tear. Then they all demanded a play-by-play down to the exact word, andthenthey all scolded Sasha for proposing to me when I had morning breath, and only after that didthey all hug him and make him feel uncomfortable in the only way Sasha Ozerov ever feels uncomfortable: by expressing genuine emotions in his presence.

Okay, fine, he’s a work-in-progress.

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