Page 60 of Convenient Vows

I scowl. “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” Scarlett murmurs, eyes dancing.

I sigh. “I want to court her. Properly. Like…” I gesture vaguely, “whatever normal people do.”

Scarlett blinks. “You mean… Mara?”

Alina practically vibrates. “Your wife? The one you’re already married to?”

“Yes,” I snap, glaring. “I want to court my wife.”

They both squeal like someone just handed them what they have been waiting for all their lives.

I consider walking out. But I stay. Because they know things I don’t. And if I’m going to do this, I need to learn.

“Okay,” Alina says, clapping her hands. “Rule number one: take her on dates.”

“Actual dates,” Scarlett adds. “Outside the house. Restaurants. Art exhibits. Somewhere she can dress up and feel seen.”

I nod, mentally cataloging the options.

“Rule two,” Alina says, “buy her things. Not expensive, over-the-top things — just… little things. Trinkets. Something that makes you say, ‘This reminded me of you.’”

“Flowers,” Scarlett says firmly. “Even if she says she doesn’t care, she’ll care. Just… keep it simple. Thoughtful.”

Alina leans in. “Rule three: small gestures. Bring her coffee before she asks. Leave her a note. Surprise her with her favorite pastry.”

“This sounds ridiculous,” I mutter.

Scarlett smiles gently. “It’ll feel that way at first. But that’s the point. You’re not used to softness, but she deserves it.”

I go quiet.

“And when the time’s right, Zasha… tell her. In plain words that you love her.”

My heart thuds, but I nod once. “Okay.”

Scarlett smiles, and Alina’s eyes gleam with mirth. And even though I want to crawl out of my own skin with how awkward this is, I tuck the discomfort away.

I’m willing to learn and adapt.

The sound of fists hitting padded gloves echoes through the training room, sharp and rhythmic.

Sweat beads down my spine. I should be focused, but my punches are a half-second off. My footwork’s lazy. I know it.

And so does Lev.

He circles me, brow raised. “You’re off.”

I grunt, resetting my stance. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re sloppy. Like your head’s somewhere else—wait.” He lowers his gloves. “It is somewhere else.”

I swipe at my forehead with the back of my arm, jaw tightening.

Viktor leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching like a hawk. “Something’s up Zash,” he says. “Spill.”

I say nothing.

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