Page 122 of Dirty Grovel

She smiles softly. “Thank you for sending me those therapist listings. I’ve narrowed down a few I think might work for Sydney.”

“Have you broached the subject with her?”

“Not yet, but I will,” Sutton promises. “She’s just a little vulnerable right now. I’m afraid she’ll shut down if I force a therapist on her.”

“Sounds like something a therapist could help her with.” Sutton smiles but it’s a sad one, filled with worry that she’s not naming. “What were you thinking when I walked in here? You seemed far away.”

She drops her gaze at once. “It’s nothing.”

She’s gone stiff in my arms. “Tell me what’s bothering you. Or else I’m gonna find a way to get it out of you.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she glances at me through her eyelashes. “Tell me about the Bratva.”

My blood runs cold. It’s so much worse than I thought it was.

If she had been worrying about her sister, I could have handled that.

If she had been nervous about motherhood, I could have dealt with that.

But this?

I’m not sure I can make the reassurances she wants where my business is concerned. I’m not sure I can give her the security she craves.

And if I can’t… what will that mean for us?

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Everything,” she answers. “But mostly, I want to know how our baby fits in.”

Fuck me.I had something totally different in mind when I came home early today.

I should have just thrown her down on the kitchen table and fucked away her worries.

But maturity tells me that this particular problem would have reared its head sooner or later.

“Come,” I say, taking her hand and leading her onto the patio.

Maybe I can make this sound better if I just surround her with beauty. I seat her right beside the sand verbena and fiddlenecks, green blooming bright and lively right next to the sunshine blonde of her hair.

I sit down on the stool in front of her, my hands resting gently on her knees. “There are some things that you’re better off not knowing, princess.”

She shakes her head. “I’m no princess, Oleg,” she insists. “And this is no fairy tale. I want the truth. No sugar coating. Or do you think so little of me that you won’t even try?” Her eyes harden as she looks at me. “I accepted your proposal because I want to be with you, Oleg. I’m not going to run just because things are hard or scary. But I do want to know what I’m in for. I think I deserve to know.”

She’s right; she does deserve to know.

But her self-assurance, her confidence, her strength take me off-guard.

Shame on me. I shouldn’t be surprised at all.

“I have no desire to lie to you, Sutton. And you’re right: You do deserve to know the truth.”

She leans forward to cup my elbows and rest her forehead against mine. “Then tell me.”

Still, though, I hesitate. “It’s not so easy.”

“Why? Because you think I can’t handle it?”

“No,” I admit. “Because I have to explain generations of blood, violence and power to someone who radiates pure light.”

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