Page 35 of 10 Days to Surrender

“And?”

“She called me ‘a cockroach who’d survive nuclear winter if he knew there was a buck in it for him.’” A grin cracks his weathered face. “Then she kissed me. Drew blood doing it, but still.”

I sigh and scrub my face with a hand. The old bastard loves his fucking parables. Six months of them is starting to wear on me. “What’s your point, Kosti?”

“My point is that love is a siege, not a shootout. You don’t storm the gates—you starve the doubts. Outlast the anger.” He tucks the cigarette behind his ear, suddenly solemn. “Stop fightingwithher. Start fightingforher.”

“Fuck.” I pass the hand over my face once again. “How do I even start?”

“You grovel.” Kosti’s laugh is rough with smoke. “You beg. You prove to her that the man she fell in love with still exists beneath all that scar tissue.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then you become that man again.” He cracks his thick neck from side to side.

My lips twitch despite myself. “You’re an annoying old man, you know that?”

“And you’re a stubborn young fool.” He claps my shoulder. “But at least you’re finally asking the right questions.”

14

ARIEL

Day one in Tuscan purgatory, and I’ve found a new nemesis.

A rooster is crowing like it’s personally offended by the concept of sleep. If I was going by volume alone, I’d guess that the feathered little bastard was parked right outside my window. Lucky for him that he’s not, because otherwise, I’d be strongly considering avian homicide.

I clamp a pillow to my head like earmuffs and try to go back to sleep. I’d been in the middle of a really nice dream about floating on a sea of icing in a rowboat made out of cinnamon rolls. If I can just find my way back there, then maybe?—

BOOMBOOMBOOM.

Someone’s knocking on the door like a freaking SWAT team. I wonder momentarily if it’s the rooster.

“What do you want, you cockadoodle-douche bag?”

“Get dressed.” Sasha’s voice, rougher than usual this early. “We’re going out.”

I squint at my phone. “It’s six in the morning.”

“Exactly. The best produce goes early.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about, Sasha?” I crack open an eye to look at him.

Big mistake. He’s leaning against my door frame in a black henley. His hair is damp like he just showered, and the forearms crossed in front of his chest are brawny and beautiful.

If roosters can be offended by sleep, then I decide I’m allowed to be offended by how good-looking he is. It’s not fair, dammit! He was up damn near half the night circling the property like a cotton-candy-drunk toddler buckled onto a carousel. The audacity to waltz in here like he stepped right off aGQcover is insulting.

Especially because I know I look like death warmed over. My mouth is sticky with the sleep grodies and the bags beneath my eyes are puffy as hell.

He holds out a thermos. “Peppermint tea.”

I blink. “Are you poisoning me?”

“If I wanted you dead, I’d use something a lot more efficient than Lipton.”

I hesitate. But peppermint tea really does sound nice. So I take it from him and try one tentative sip.

“Good,” Sasha approves with a nod. “Now, get up. We leave in five.”

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