Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(71)

I open my eyes and steal a glance at the clock. To my relief, it’s almost time for my next patient.

“Look, Marsha, I have to run. You’ll meet Peter on Saturday and learn all about him, I promise. Now I have to see a patient.”

“Sara, wait—”

“I’ll email you all the details tomorrow,” I say and hang up, then mute my phone before she can call me back.

Four invites down, a bunch more to go.

I can handle this.

It’s not so bad.





55





Sara



It is that bad, I decide by the time I get off work, having spoken with Rory, Simon, Andy, Tonya, and my coworkers at the clinic during another fortuitous cancellation. After having essentially the same conversation a dozen times in a row, I’m wiped, and I still have to deal with the big kahuna tonight.

Dinner with my parents.

“I got it,” Peter told me at breakfast when I offered to pick up takeout on my way from the office. “Just come home on time and don’t worry about a thing.”

Danny is idling by the curb when I emerge from my building, and I roll my eyes at Peter’s overprotectiveness as I get into the car. This morning, the weather was too nice to drive the short distance to my office, so Peter walked me to work. And now I have an escort home as well.

At this rate, I’m going to forget what it’s like to be on the street by myself.

Impulsively, I dial Peter’s number.

“Hi, ptichka.” His deep voice caresses my ears. “Are you on your way home?”

“I’m in the car with Danny.” I glance at the driver, who’s doing a good job of pretending to be deaf and mute as he pulls out onto the street. “You already knew that, though, right?”

“Danny texted me a minute ago, yes. How was your day, my love?”

“It was good. I invited pretty much everyone I wanted to invite, and Simon is the only one who won’t be able to make it. He’s got a family thing in South Carolina.”

“Very nice.” I hear some kind of clanging noise in the background, followed by running water, and then Peter says, “Hold on one sec. Just have to strain this pasta.”

“Are you making dinner?” I ask when he picks up the phone again a minute later.

“Yes, Italian. Your parents like that, right?”

“They love it,” I say, smiling. “I’m sure they’ll be very impressed.”

“You mean once they get over the urge to call the FBI? Yeah, you’re probably right. This is coming out pretty tasty.”

I burst out laughing, my anxiety over the upcoming dinner transforming into pure giddiness. This is happening, really, truly happening.

Peter and I are becoming a normal couple.

“How was your day?” I ask. “What did you do today?”

What does a former assassin do with his time?

“I ran a few errands, picked up some more groceries and such,” Peter says, and I can hear the warm smile in his voice. “I also scoped out a couple of houses in the area for us to take a look at later. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about it yesterday, but this apartment is probably too small for us—especially this kitchen. And if I’m not mistaken, they don’t allow pets, right?”

“Right. It’s one of the biggest downsides of this building,” I say, my heart tap-dancing in my chest. It’s happening, really happening. A life together—house, dog, and all. Tamping down on a spike of giddiness, I say, “I chose it because it was close to both my parents and my work, but I wouldn’t mind moving a bit farther now that Mom has recovered.”

“That’s what I figured,” Peter says. “Two of the houses I looked at are close by, and one is about a mile farther from your office. Of course, there’s still your old house…”

“They gave it back to you?” I ask and immediately realize it’s a silly question. Peter is no longer a fugitive, so the government has no legal right to keep the property they seized when they learned it belongs to him.

“Yes, of course,” Peter says. “Think about it and let me know what you want to do with it. Even if we don’t move back there, we can keep it just in case, or we can sell it. Your call.”

“Oh, really? And here I thought you’re making all the decisions,” I tease, then realize I’m only partially joking. Once again, Peter has swept into my life like a whirlwind, turning it upside down and wreaking havoc on my peace of mind. His force of will, coupled with his ruthlessness, makes it impossible to pretend that I’m in any way in control of my fate, that I have any real say in where our relationship is going.

And yet… maybe I do. We’re here instead of hiding out in some remote part of the world, and I’m about to be his wife, not his captive. Even if his methods are heavy-handed, Peter has demonstrated in the clearest way possible that he cares about what I want.

That my happiness matters to him.

“You mean about the wedding?” Peter asks, taking my teasing at face value. “Because we can still change a few things if there’s something you don’t like.”

“Such as the date?” I ask wryly. At the silence on the phone, I say, “Never mind. I already invited everyone. It’s all good.”