Page 100 of Dirty Grovel

“I… I…” I can feel the tears welling up in the face of his straight-faced declaration. “I don’t know what to say.”

He smiles, his eyes brightening so that I can see the gold flecks in them. “You’ll have the rest of our lives to decide what to say. For now, a simple ‘yes’ will do.”

I close my eyes, straining to listen to my own heartbeat, determined to trust my instincts.

This might just be the best decision of my life.

Or it might be the worst.

Either way, I decide that there’s only one honest answer my conscience and my heart are capable of giving him.

“Okay. Yes. Yes, Oleg Pavlov, I’ll marry you.”

30

SUTTON

“The sconces need to be changed, obviously; they’re chipping away. We can replace them with something from France.”

A crash of lightning erupts overhead. Oksana doesn’t bat an eyelid as she turns to me, all dignified grace in her black wrap dress and iridescent pearls.

Spending any length of time with Oksana makes me feel like I need to up my style. Sweats and oversized t-shirts just don’t cut it anymore.

Well, her and the giant sparkler I have glistening on my finger. Four carat diamonds and pajama shorts that say“UICY”on the butt because the “J” is missing don’t exactly mix.

“The scones look fine to me.”

Oksana turns her cool gaze on me. It’s amazing how she can convey so much with just the arch of an eyebrow, the tilt of her mouth, the tightening of her jaw.

For example, the look she’s giving me right now seems to read,If you’re going to make it in this world, listen and learn, little girl.

“They’re called sconces,” she corrects.

I wrinkle my nose. “Isn’t that what I said?”

Oksana shoots me a sharp glare while I try not to burst out laughing. “Come on,” she tuts. “We need to review the other rooms before you can officially move in.”

We venture on. I’m barely paying attention, though.

It’s enough for me that Oleg went and bought the gorgeous Victorian house that I imagined raising our child in. I don’t need everything in it to be perfect.

Unfortunately, Oksana didn’t get that memo.

“Hm. A nursery.”

I rush in behind her, my jaw dropping at the sight of the beautiful mural that wraps around the entire room. It’s bright and colorful, giving secret garden vibes.

“We’ll have to paint over?—”

“No!”

Oksana twists around, her nose pinched. “‘No’?” she repeats clumsily, as though she hasn’t heard the word very often.

“It’s beautiful. Why would you want to paint over it?”

“It’s rather… feminine, don’t you think? What if you and Oleg have a boy?”

“Then I’d want my son to appreciate all color palettes and not just the gender-designated colors assigned for him by society.”

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