Page 98 of Dirty Grovel

“It means that if you ever decide you want to sleep with some other women, I won’t stop you; I won’t make any demands of you. I’ll let you go. I just don’t want to be… one of many.”

He stares at me. His golden eyes are sheathed in darkness. They look black under the subtle moonlight.

“And does the same rule apply to you?” he asks darkly.

I frown. “I want the same rights as you have. Whether I use them or not is entirely up to me.”

His jaw tightens. For a moment, I wonder if it was a smart idea to bring up this topic while we’re sitting at the edge of a yacht.

“Wait here,” he says at last.

I watch him rise abruptly and disappear below deck, his white shirt bristling in the wind. The serene sense of calm I had a few minutes ago has completely disappeared.

Why is Oleg acting so weird? How are we supposed to be friends if he freaks out at the simplest conversation?

My heart is hammering painfully against my chest when Oleg reappears, something clutched tight in his right palm.

He gestures for me to join him at the edge of the railing. I lift myself off the floor and follow him.

It’s so much cooler at the edge. Windier, too. A storm cloud lurks in the far distance. Every so often, a piercing bolt of light illuminates the dark waters.

It’s easier to pay attention to that than the stoic man by my side.

“You’re not going to make me walk the plank, are you?”

Oleg manages a ghostly smile. “Remains to be seen.”

He raises his hand toward me, but I still can’t see what he’s holding. “Are we playing a game?” I ask. “Heads, I sleep in the cabin tonight? Tails, I sleep with the fishes?”

“You watch too many mafia movies.”

“It’s research.”

He laughs quietly, the first time I’ve heard that sound in days. “I’m trying to show you something here.”

“You’ll need to open your palm for that. I don’t have X-ray vision, unfortunately.”

He flips his hand and opens his palm. Sitting right in the center of it is my ring.

I never thought I’d see it again.

“I don’t understand,” I say, swallowing back my nerves at seeing the ring poised over the railing. One wrong move and it will disappear into the ocean,Titanic-style. “Is this supposed to be some sort of gesture?”

“What do you imagine I’m trying to convey?”

“I don’t know—fuck traditional marriage and all its trappings?” I suggest. “We’re writing our own rules?”

He shakes his head. “I believe that some rules—” His fingers fold around the ring. “—happen to work.” He turns to me, takes my hand, and holds up the ring. “This time, I hope you never feel the need to take it off.”

My chest feels tight again, but this time, the sensation is not unpleasant. “I don’t understand, Oleg.”

“I want you to wear it.”

“I gathered that much. My question is,Why?”

“Because I want you to marry me, Sutton Palmer. I want you to be my wife. Not in the unconventional sense. There will be no open relationship or marriage of convenience for us. There willbe no ‘arrangement’ or faux family. I want this to be legitimate. I want it to be real.”

Goosebumps skitter along my skin and a chill twists through my gut.

---