Page 59 of Convenient Vows

I’ve spent years alone in my own head, behind walls no one was invited to climb. But she walked right in — barefoot, humming, leaving warmth everywhere.

She didn’t tear those walls down. She just looked at them until they didn’t make sense anymore. And now I can’t imaginethis house without her voice echoing through the halls. Can’t imagine my bed without the press of her body beside me.

But I do not want her body only, I want to be worthy of her. I want to be the man she chooses to stay with, and if I am willing to earn the right to be next to her.

I need to show her with effort and intention that I want to be hers. And starting tomorrow morning, I will.

I drain the rest of the scotch and set the glass down. My hands are still shaking — not from anger, or restraint, but from the terrifying truth of how much she matters to me now.

And how far I’m willing to go to make her truly mine.

The following morning, I get up early and fix breakfast for the both of us. Well, more like put together what we already have in the house. Mara looks at me suspiciously when I pull out her chair and set her plate before her.

“What is happening?”

“Nothing.” I say taking my own sit.

She snorts into her coffee, shaking her head as she tears into a croissant.

“You can’t fix breakfast, and call it nothing.”

I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee and watch her from across the table, letting it hit me again: I love her.

“You’re in a good mood,” she teases, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Who are you and what have you done with broody Zasha?”

I chuckle. “Don’t get used to it.”

“That is a shame.” She laughs.

A message notification pops up on my screen and I pause to read it.

“I’ve got to go, but I’ll be home early today.”

Her brows lift in surprise, then soften. “Okay,” she says, quiet but warm.

“I’ll be waiting.”

By noon, I arrive at Viktor’s estate and head straight to the living room, severely regretting every decision that’s brought me to this moment.

Although I wanted to speak to Scarlett, I wasn’t prepared to find Scarlett and Alina sitting on one of those obscenely expensive couches, delicate china teacups in hand, legs crossed like a pair of goddamn mafia wives from a magazine spread.

I clear my throat, and both heads swivel toward me, blinking in perfect sync.

“I need your help,” I say, jaw tight. “I need help with wooing my wife.”

Scarlett sets down her cup slowly. Alina’s eyebrows climb her forehead like she’s watching an animal do tricks.

There’s a beat of silence, then Alina exclaims, “Oh my God.” She says, “This is not happening.

I grunt, crossing my arms. “This isn’t a joke.”

They exchange a look that says they already know that I’m in love with Mara, and then burst into laughter. Not polite chuckles. Not discreet giggles. Full-blown, tears-forming, hand-over-mouth laughter.

I stand there like a statue, arms crossed, dignity in shreds, wondering why I didn’t just Google “How to Woo Your Wife” like a normal person.

“Okay, okay,” Scarlett says between gasps, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just—Zasha Petrov, the most lethal man in the city, asking for romance advice?”

“This isn’t a mission briefing,” Alina chimes in, grin wide, “so stop looking at us like you’re waiting for coordinates and a kill order.”

---