Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(59)
“Oh. Wow.” Until this moment, I didn’t realize the full scope of the impossible deal he made. “How did you get them to agree to all this? I mean, I know you said this Esguerra has leverage, but…” I trail off as Peter’s expression noticeably darkens.
“Your government had conditions of their own for me,” he says tightly. “But it’s nothing that needs to concern you, ptichka. Suffice it to say, the US military is one of Esguerra’s biggest clients, and they want to maintain that amicable relationship, both because they want the weapons he produces and because they want to keep those weapons out of others’ hands.”
“By buying them up themselves?”
Peter nods and resumes eating. “Exactly.”
There’s a grim edge to his expression, and as much as I want to pry further, I know I need to back off. Watching him finish his food, I have the unsettling sensation that a wild animal has invaded my cramped kitchen, a predator who belongs out in the jungle. I’ve seen him in domestic settings before, of course, but it feels different this time, knowing that he’s here for good, that this big, lethal man is going to be part of my regular life… part of my family.
My mind starts to spin again, and I push my nearly empty plate away. “Peter… How is this going to work?” At his questioning look, I clarify, “What am I going to tell my parents? The FBI probably showed them your picture at some point. Even if I introduce you as Peter Garin, they’re bound to suspect who you really are—especially since I kept insisting that you’ll be back when the misunderstanding with the FBI is resolved.”
The grim look leaves his face, replaced by one of dark amusement. “Well, that’s just perfect then, isn’t it?” Reaching across the table, he covers my hand with his palm. “You’ll just tell them that the misunderstanding finally got resolved—and that I got a new last name in the process.”
“Uh-huh. And what about their friends, who’ve heard a version of that same story, and what about my friends, who were told a completely different version—one in which you’re nothing more than my kidnapper? What are they all going to think when I show up with this”—I lift my left hand, displaying my ring—“out of the blue, and introduce a Russian fiancé named Peter who looks suspiciously like a picture FBI agents might’ve been passing around when I disappeared?”
He squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry about them, ptichka. Their opinions don’t matter. Just tell them I’m someone you’ve been secretly dating for a few months, and let them draw their own conclusions.”
“What conclusions? That I’m fucked in the head? Or that I have a fetish for Russian men who share the same darkly handsome looks and happen to be named Peter?”
He grins and gets up, picking up his plate and mine. “Either way works. Just don’t confirm anything. Let them think I’m in some kind of witness protection program, and you can’t really talk about it.”
That’s actually not a bad idea. Marsha and anyone else who suspects Peter’s real identity will think I’m completely nuts, but as long as I don’t confirm their suspicions, there will be room for doubt. After all, how crazy is it that the man who murdered George and kidnapped me got full amnesty and is now about to marry me? My friends might as well think I’ve got some kind of masochistic tendencies and have decided to hook up with a man who shares many of my tormentor’s traits.
It’s certainly a simpler explanation.
“So we tell my parents the truth, and stick to the Peter Garin story with everyone else,” I say, getting up to help him clear the table.
“That’s what makes sense to me,” he says and glances at the clock. “You should get dressed and going, ptichka. You don’t want to be late.”
Right. For my job. I almost forgot about that.
“Here, let me help you,” I say, walking over to put away the leftovers, but he waves me away.
“I’ve got it, don’t worry. Just go get ready for work.” And dropping a quick kiss on my forehead, he starts loading the dishwasher.
48
Peter
I drive Sara to her office and leave the car with her, so she can go to the clinic after work as planned. It’s only a ten-minute walk from her office to her apartment building, and the grocery store is on the way, so I stop by and load up on the basics for tonight’s dinner. It’s not a lot, only what I can easily carry in one hand—I like my gun hand always free—and I make a mental note that we’ll need a second car, just like everyone in the suburbs.
That’s not the only thing we’ll need, either. The fridge in Sara’s tiny kitchen is only a meter tall, and the kitchen itself is barely usable. I spent my formative years in a freezing, crumbling cell in Siberia, so I’m not picky about living quarters, but I see no reason for us to continue with an apartment that was clearly designed for a single occupant.
Tonight, when Sara returns, we’ll discuss living arrangements, as well as our upcoming wedding on Saturday.
Of course, I know why cars, apartments, and wedding details are on my mind. Thinking about logistics is distracting me from the urge to grab Sara and lock her in my bedroom, so I can fuck her all day long. And then all night. And then for a week after that.