Page 82 of Scarlet Sins

He smiles and swings his attention back to me. “Well?”

I hesitate, then put my hand in his. How can I not?

We say goodbye to Kara and head out, and Demyan asks Sasha, “What do you want for dinner?”

A terrible question to ask a two-year-old, but I know what he’s going to say.

“Pizza!”

“We had that last night, Sasha.”

He frowns over Demyan’s shoulder. “Pizza!”

“Pizza,” Demyan says, chuckling, “it is. I know the best place in town.”

We drive to a small family pizza joint. It’s not upmarket, but it’s sweet and real and it’s cozy and Sasha loves it. And it’s absolutely nothing like what I imagine Demyan knowing about, let alone liking.

We’re in a little bustling Chicago neighborhood, and as I look around, feeling like a real family out together, I lean in. “This place isn’t exactly your style. Or it doesn’t seem like your style.”

He raises a brow and smiles. “There’s obviously a lot you still don’t know about me.”

“Obviously. But if you start wearing boat shoes and pastel sweaters tied around your shoulders, I’m out.”

“Noted. I’ll get Olga to overhaul my wardrobe.”

I laugh, but he turns serious on me.

He picks up my hand, kissing it. “Erin, I meant what I said, and I hope you stick around long enough to find out all there is to know about me.”

“I thought you were fancy dinners and swanky parties where you do business deals. I thought it was all… you know… excitement.”

“There’s danger, yes, but it’s not all that, and this, you and Sasha? You’re excitement. And this, dinner in a cute little place like this with you is everything to me. And the fact that our little family is growing makes this even more special.”

I smile, his words touching me, so I lean over and kiss him and it turns passionate.

Sasha bangs on the table. “Yucky,” he says.

Chapter Twenty

DEMYAN

The hospital doesn’t lookany different, but it feels different. Or maybe it’s just me.

Ilya’s finally being discharged.

And I’m happy to not see this place again for a long time.

I go to his floor and his room where he’s in his wheelchair, one I got for him. He gives me an irritated look as he hands a tablet back to the member of hospital staff there.

“You’re released,” she says and taps the manila folder on the pile of things on his lap. “Behave or else you’ll be back in here.”

“This place is like a prison.”

“You bet your ass. You have early release due to good healing, but screw it up and parole’s canceled.” She laughs and heads out, giving me the once-over. “Take care of him.”

“Come on, let’s get your lazy ass home,” I tell him in Russian.

He puts on a disgusted expression. “Do I need to be in this idiotic thing?”

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