Page 147 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

“We’re almost there,” Amman says. “Where I’m supposed to drop you off.”

Everything is happening so fast. The letter and everything I’m still not sure I feel about it. The skyline swooping up to meet us. And, closer now, where we’re landing, the sea of purple-topped green the helicopter lights illuminate …

“Wow,” I murmur as we land.

Amman helps me out of the helicopter, and says goodbye. I thank him in a daze, and then he’s gone, leaving me rooted to the ground, taking it all in:

The lilac-perfumed air. The ever-so-slight breeze. The flickering candles lighting a path through the grass …

Gavril had me brought here. Why?

The answer is down that lighted path. I follow it.

The path winds, bends, and dips, until, all at once, there he is.

My husband.

As soon as I see him, words spill out of me: “Why did you—what is this all about? Gavril?”

He gently places two fingers against my lips. “Shh.” And then drops to one knee.

The candlelight flickers, illuminating the passion in his eyes.

“Joy, I … I meant what I said in the letter. I meant what I said the other night on the podium, too. You make me want to be a better man. You’ve transformed my life in ways I couldn’t have even anticipated …”

Gavril must have caught my flabbergasted, delighted expression, because he grins wolfishly then and cuts to the chase.

“Dammit, my point is: you will marry me.”

I gaze down at him, amused. “Trust Mr. Gavril Vaknin to put his own spin on the age-old question. Aren’t I already married to you?”

“You know what I mean. I want to do it right this time.”

“Is that your way ofaskingme to marry you?”

“Is that your way of pretending you won’t say yes?”

“Got me,” I say with a grin.

“Come here.” He grabs me, sweeps his lips to mine, then rips away, keeping our foreheads tilted together. “Say it. Say you’ll marry me.”

“Make me.”

He reaches down and brushes his thumb between my legs. It sends volts of electricity shimmering throughout my body. I gasp involuntarily.

“Alright, alright, fine,” I say with a shudder. “I’ll marry you again. Three times, if you want.”

He dips me low and presses another soft kiss into my lips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Epilogue

Joy

One Year Later

What a difference a year makes.

I smile grimly at the stack of paperwork on my desk that towers above myHomeless No Morecoffee mug. This is what dreams coming true looks like, after all.

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