Page 168 of Toxic Salvation
Her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “You already asked me, and I already said yes.”
“I’m asking you to marry me tonight,” I say, as words pour out of me, unplanned and reckless. “Not just tonight—right fucking now. Just you and me. The stars can be our witnesses.”
“Kovan—”
“We can do the big wedding later,” I continue. “We can do all the paperwork later, too. But I want to exchange vows with you right now. I want to call you my wife. I want to make my commitment to you right now. I can’t wait any longer.”
Her walls clench tight around me. “This is insane.”
“Yes, it is. But it feels right. Tell me you love me, Vesper.”
“I love you.”
“Then marry me.”
“Okay.” She laughs, her eyes flooding with happy tears. “Let’s give the stars a show.”
Still buried inside her, I carry her to the French doors that lead to our bedroom balcony. I throw them open and a breeze rushes in. The night air is cool against our heated skin. Above us, the sky is clear and full of stars.
“I, Kovan Krayev, take you, Vesper Fairfax, to be my wife. In sickness and in health, in danger and in safety, in this life and whatever comes after.”
She’s crying now, but smiling, too. “I, Vesper Fairfax, take you, Kovan Krayev, to be my husband. Through everything that comes our way, good and bad. I choose you, always.”
I kiss her under the stars. When we break apart, we’re both breathless.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you, too.”
Then I drag her to the ground because there can be no more waiting. We make love under the open sky, with the stars as our witnesses and the night as our cathedral. And for the first time since that phone call this afternoon, I feel like everything is going to be okay.
Because she’s here. She’s alive. She’s mine.
And I’m never letting her go.
56
VESPER
Some people use guns.
Some people use knives.
Tonight, my weapon of choice is lingerie.
I’m wearing a black silk teddy that barely qualifies as clothing. The fabric is so sheer it’s practically invisible, and the underwire pushes my breasts up to the damn ceiling. The designers clearly had one goal in mind: make sure my nipples are the star of the show.
Well, mission accomplished.
The hemline stops just below my ass, which is wrapped in what I’m pretty sure is the thinnest thong in existence. I spent ten minutes trying to figure out which way was up. By the time I wrestled it on, I needed a nap.
But I didn’t stop there.
I blew out my hair until it fell in perfect waves. Applied just enough makeup to look naturally gorgeous. And then came thereal challenge: these stilettos that I’ve been practicing in for thirty minutes straight.
Good thing I did the practice rounds, because I’ve already face-planted three times. Two of those falls left me sprawled on the floor with my heels pointing at the ceiling like some kind of demented yoga pose.
But now? Now, I can actually walk across the room without eating carpet. My strut has swagger. Confidence is through the roof.
