Page 60 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe

Misha sighs again. “I hope so. I really want her there. But - if it doesn’t happen that way - if she refuses to come, I just need you to know that it doesn’t change anything. I love you no matter what and I can’t wait to marry you, Vincent.”

Her words tighten around my heart, tying me to her, locking me into her. She is my entire world.

All afternoon Misha and I plot and plan and customize our wedding. It’s going to be perfect.

I have invited everyone. They will all be there to witness our union. And her beauty.

They will witness this little creature pledging her soul to me, her life, her love, and her heart.

When the food arrives, we spread it over the coffee table and snack on all the assorted flavors while we carry on planning and by midnight, we are both exhausted and happy - and we’ve chosen everything for our perfect day.

Misha pops it all into an email and sends it to the wedding planner to make sure she knows exactly what we want. Then I scoop my little fiancée into my arms and carry her up to our bedroom.

She’s exhausted, and even though I want to devour her whole, I pull her into my arms and cradle her against my chest so that she can rest peacefully. We have our whole lives ahead of us and I can be patient for her.

Misha sleeps so deeply while I lie awake listening to her breathing to make sure she is ok. I watch her, stroking my hands over her body and admiring her beautiful face.

I can’t believe she is going to be mine. She is everything I have ever wanted.

As dark as I am.

As enticing and mysterious.

As wild and charismatic.

And best of all - she is entirely devoted and obedient to me. I own her. I own every inch of her body and soul.

“You can never escape me, little raven.” I whisper quietly in the dark before I rest my head on the pillow next to her, wrapping my arm possessively around her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Misha

All the way there I’m gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles have turned white. My stomach is churning, nervous tension pulling and pushing inside me. Ugh. I hate this. I can’t wait to get it over with. My mother has to see the truth. That I’m happy. That I want this.

All I want, all I can wish for at this point, is for my mother to be happy for me.

I’m almost at her apartment and the anxiety is growing stronger by the second.

The sharp breath of air I pull into my lungs stretches against my ribs. I hold it inside me, allowing the discomfort to focus my thoughts. My body screams for me to release the air, but I wait. Only when I start feeling dizzy do I let it slip from my lips, slowly easing from my body.

“You’ve got this,” I tell myself, parking on the street below her apartment. The door slams loudly when I flick it closed and makes me jump. “Sheesh, Misha. You’re so tense you’re giving yourself frights.” I chuckle.

I glance up, all the way to her window, and see her standing there, looking down at the street. She waves, a speck in thedistance. I smile and wave back at her, then head inside to catch the elevator.

“Hi, mom.” My arms wrap tightly around her as I hug her.

She threads her arms around my waist and hugs me back, tighter than usual. I can sense the worry in her.

“I’m busy making us some lasagna for lunch.” She says, pulling me inside and closing the door behind me.

“Oh yay, I’ve missed your cooking.”

“You should visit me more - then you wouldn’t have to miss it.” She remarks sternly.

My eyes roll in a dramatic display of my annoyance.

She laughs.

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