Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(75)

57





Sara



I have no idea how I thought the dinner would go, but the last thing I expected was for Peter to bare his soul to my parents, to disarm them with sincerity instead of squashing their objections with arrogance and veiled threats.

All through the rest of the dinner, he’s polite and respectful, answering their questions with enough detail that when he does gloss over something, it still sounds like the complete truth.

Where did we meet? In a club in Chicago. Was he already a fugitive? Yes. Why did we date in secret? Because of said status as fugitive, which he didn’t inform me about until I was already on the plane with him. Why didn’t I come home for five months? Because the authorities discovered where he was, and that was the only way for us to be together. What is he planning to do now? Still deciding, but he has enough money for both of us to live on for the rest of our lives. How did he acquire so much money? Through his consulting business—and yes, the specifics of that are classified, too.

At first, I just listen, but when I better understand his strategy, I pitch in with my own answers, carefully following Peter’s lead. By the time we get to dessert—bowls of fresh berries topped with homemade tiramisu—my parents appear, if not exactly comfortable with our relationship, then at least more accepting.

It’s certainly better than their panicked reaction when I informed them about our engagement in the parking lot. They were on the verge of calling the FBI when I told them our wedding is this coming Saturday, and it took everything I had to convince them to go up and actually meet Peter for themselves.

“I still don’t understand why you’re rushing into marriage,” Mom says, sipping her chamomile tea, and I hide a smile at the resignation in her tone. At least the topic now is the speed of the wedding, not how dangerous Peter is or whether we should be together at all.

“That’s my initiative, I’m afraid,” Peter says and gives my mom a smile so charming I’m surprised she doesn’t melt on the spot. “I’ve missed your daughter so much that I proposed as soon as we were back together. Life is just too short, you see; when you find the right one, you have to hold on to her—and I know Sara and I are right for each other. Besides”—he glances at me, his gaze heating up—“I’d like us to start a family soon.”

My dad nearly knocks over his coffee cup. “You what?”

Peter hands him a napkin. “I’d like us to have children,” he says calmly as my dad mops up the spill. “A little girl and a boy—or whatever fate has in store for us.”

I blush as Mom’s gaze instantly zeroes in on my belly.

“Sara, darling, you’re not—”

“No, of course not.” I can feel my face reddening further as Mom lifts her eyebrows disbelievingly. “It’s too soon—Peter’s just returned.”

“But you’re already trying?” Mom asks, a gleeful grin spreading over her face, and to my shock, I realize she’s happy about this development.

The primal urge to have grandkids must outweigh her remaining concerns about Peter.

Dad, on the other hand, looks as uncomfortable as I feel. “Lorna, please. This is none of our business.”

“As soon as a baby is on the way, you’ll be the first to know,” Peter promises my mom, and she shocks me again by nodding conspiratorially.

“Thank you.” Lowering her voice, she leans in toward my former kidnapper. “I thought it wouldn’t happen in our lifetime.”

My face must match the color of the raspberries in my bowl, but my dad appears intrigued. I guess it just occurred to him that all of this—from the unexpected return of my no-longer-criminal lover to our hasty engagement—bodes well for something he’s been hinting at ever since my wedding to George.

Like Mom, he wants grandkids, but given his advanced age, he’d all but given up hope he’d see any.

On my end, I’m still rather terrified by the idea, but now is not the time to express those doubts. Besides, I remember how I felt when I got that late period, how the disappointment was so intense it was almost like grief. Maybe I do want a child with Peter, even though the rational part of me is screaming that we should wait and see how this all unfolds.

Whether I can really build a normal life with a ruthless killer.

As we finish up dessert, Peter discusses the details of the upcoming wedding with my parents, considerately asking them about their officiant preferences and how many people they’d like to invite themselves. I listen bemusedly as the three of them settle on a local judge my dad knows, and my parents express a desire to invite the Levinsons along with a few more of their friends—something Peter very much supports.

“On my end, I’m only going to have three friends,” he says, undoubtedly referring to his Russian teammates, and that seems to calm my parents a bit more—probably because the fact that he has friends further humanizes him in their eyes.

When we finish, Peter starts clearing the table as my parents get ready to head home.

“Thank you. That was delicious,” Mom tells him.

“Yes, thanks,” Dad echoes grudgingly as my fiancé smiles at them.

“It was my pleasure. We hope to see you again soon,” he says, and I put on my shoes to walk my parents down to their car.