Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(78)

I consider her words and nod. “Okay.”

She blinks. “Okay?

“I’ll ask you before I do anything else with the car,” I say and open the passenger door. Clasping her elbow, I help her inside, my jeans growing uncomfortably tight as I catch a glimpse of pale blue underwear when she swings her shapely legs inside.

We might need to reevaluate this dress as a staple of her work wardrobe.

“I’m not just talking about the car,” she says when I get behind the wheel. “It’s about everything—like wedding arrangements and where we’re going to live and what you’re going to do work-wise. I want us to make all those decisions together going forward, like any normal married couple.”

“I understand.” I carefully check the mirrors and pull out onto the street. “You want me to consult with you like a husband should. I get it.”

“You do?” She sounds puzzled for some reason. “I thought that—never mind. I’m glad you get it.”

I smile and lay my right hand on her slender thigh, enjoying the silkiness of her bare skin. If my ptichka wants me to consult her about such trivia as the car or what I’m going to do with my time, I’m glad to do so.

We can make all the decisions together as long as she understands one simple fact.

She belongs to me, for the rest of our lives.





60





Peter



Saturday morning dawns warm and clear, with the kind of blue, cloudless sky I would’ve ordered from a wedding catalog if I could. The weather was the one uncontrollable variable, but as luck would have it, it’s cooperating, so the event should go off without a hitch.

I’ve made sure of that.

Organizing a wedding is not all that different from planning a hit, I’ve come to realize. You have to be just as methodical about the logistics, and prepare for all eventualities. Of course, the stakes are very different, but it’s good to see that some of my skills are applicable in the civilian life.

Esguerra was wrong.

I’m going to make this work.

Sara and I will be happy here.

Her hair and makeup appointments aren’t until ten, and I wore her out last night, so I let her sleep while I make breakfast. Then I return to the bedroom with a steaming cup of coffee in my hands.

She either hears me or smells the coffee, because she rolls over onto her back, one slender arm splaying out across the mattress while the other hand scrunches into a delicate fist to cover a big yawn. “Is it morning?” she mumbles without opening her eyes, and I grin as I sit down on the edge of the bed and set the cup of coffee on the nightstand.

“Yes, my love.” Leaning in, I nuzzle the warm, fragrant crook of her neck. “It’s our wedding day.”

Her hair smells sweet and faintly fruity, like the shampoo in her shower. It makes my mouth water. Unbidden, my hand slips under the blanket, closing around one soft, round breast, and my cock hardens, my breathing speeding up as her erect nipple stabs my palm.

Fuck. There’s no time for this—not to mention, she might still be sore from the three times I took her last night.

I force myself to straighten and move my hand away. “Your breakfast is ready,” I say thickly and stand up, adjusting the uncomfortable bulge in my jeans. I need to cool off before I attack her right here and now, breakfast and wedding appointments be damned.

“Hmm.” She yawns again and sits up, holding up a blanket to cover those tempting breasts. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she focuses on the cup sitting on the nightstand. “Is that coffee?”

“You bet. And there’s breakfast in the kitchen—a vegetable quiche and home fries. You’ll need the fuel to last you through the day.”

She grins at me. “You’re amazing.”

My heart clenches—and my cock twitches again—as she jumps out of bed naked and beelines for the bathroom, apparently invigorated by the promise of caffeine and food. This is what I’ve wanted, what I’ve fought for all this time: Sara like this, playful and affectionate with me. We’ll never be able to erase the darkness of the past, but together, we can build a lighter future.

A future that still feels terrifyingly fragile for some reason.

I shove the thought away as soon as it surfaces. There’s no reason to assume that this kind of morning is temporary, that it’s anything other than the start of our new life.

Today is our wedding day, and I’m going to make sure it’s the best one ever.

It’s the least my ptichka deserves after everything I’ve done.





61





Sara



The invasion begins just as I finish gobbling down the breakfast Peter prepared for me. What feels like an army of stylists, makeup artists, and hairdressers descends on my tiny one-bedroom apartment, filling the living room with enough hair products, garment bags, and pots of eyeshadow for fifteen brides—or drag queens. Pam and Suzie, the women who measured me for a dress, are there, but so are two of their assistants and at least four hairdressers and makeup people. It’s hard to tell exactly how many with all of them coming in and out of the apartment to bring the ever-mushrooming amount of supplies.

Peter promptly abandons me to the torture, claiming that he needs to oversee the security arrangements and other logistics at Silver Lake. His own tux is getting delivered straight there, so I won’t even get a chance to see him in it until Danny brings me there later this afternoon.