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“Tell me anything.”
Exasperated, I heave a heavy sigh as I tighten my embrace around my legs. “I was happy.”
“Why?”
I’ve never had someone ask me why I was happy. I’ve never even considered the question, but at the ask, I can’t help but wonder what about my life made me happy. It wasn’t particularly abundant. Mama and I didn’t live a life of extreme luxury, even though Daddy could afford a great many luxuries. Luxury, aside from the rare vacation with Daddy, had never appealed to Mama. She’d driven the same cherry-red minivan for the last fifteen years, and my butt had been at the farmer’s market table next to Mama every second Saturday, selling the rose soap we made. A labor of love, Mama had called it, uninterested in trying to make more of her soap making talents, even though Daddy had assured her he’d back her business endeavors. Mama hadn’t been able to leave her kids at the hospital, and although I loved making our soaps, I’d loved the library more.
I finally have my answer, and meeting Kirill’s eyes, I give it to him. “My life was simple.”
“And that made you happy?”
“I’ve never wanted a grand life. A career that made me happy, a husband who cared for me, a man I could talk to and grow with—and babies. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” My nose burns with emotion, because I know I’ll never have any of that now. “I wanted a comfortable home. Something big enough that my kids could run, but not so big that I couldn’t keep it myself.” My eyes burn as I stare into the popping bubbles. “I always dreamed of a big porch. Something I’d sit out on with my husband once the babies were asleep. He’d hold my hand, and we’d sip tea and watch the sun fall behind the trees.”
Kirill is quiet for a long moment. My eyes snap to his when he pushes off the back of the tub, sitting up. Water shifts, bubbles riding tiny waves. “If you want a porch, I’ll build you a porch. If you want babies, I’ll give them to you. However many you want, Ruby.” I’m so stunned, I can’t seem to find words. “I want you to be happy with me.”
As I stare at my husband, my tender heart absorbing his words, I can’t help but feel the first shimmer of hope. Hope that I might once again know happiness. Hope that maybe my life isn’t over after all.
Twenty
Ruby
I wake the next morning in Kirill’s bed, for the first time, not alone.
Slowly, I roll to face my husband. The night before had been unexpected, and seeing him now, propped against the headboard, chest bare, his laptop open, I can’t help but hear the echo of his promise to me. I can’t help but feel that same glimmer of hope.
Gosh, I’m a fool.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you too, wife.” He taps a few keys, closes the laptop, and sets those dark eyes on me.
My heart does a quick and silly jitter. “Good morning,” I say quietly. “Sorry. I’m just not used to you being here when I wake.” I sit, pulling the blanket with me even though I’m wearing one of his shirts. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“Perk of being the boss, I take time when I want it.”
“And why do you want it?” I can’t help the wary tone of my voice as he watches me with that hard, dark gaze.
“We’re going away for the week.”
My brows snap high. “Away? You’re taking me away? To where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t think I like surprises,” I huff, still eyeballing him with wariness.
He chuckles. Something about the hitch of his full lips nicks at the ice encasing my heart where this man is concerned. “We leave within the hour. Get ready, yeah?”
I watch as he rises from the bed, moving swiftly into the bathroom. I take my chance with my moment of privacy, bolting up from the bed and into the closet. I hurry to dress in leggings and a cream-colored sweaterdress that is slouchy and warm. I’m tugging on thick socks that bunch cutely around my ankles when Kirill appears in the doorway of the closet, his eyes drifting hungrily over my body.
Thank God I’m clothed. Sometimes, the way he looks at me really does make me fear he might ravish me.
Dipping my gaze, I attempt to brush past him when a big hand lands in my belly. His voice is rough. “Pack for comfort.”
“Okay.” Even I can hear the nerves rattling in the single, strained word.
Kirill has one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh as he drives. In the back seat, Simba lays sprawled, snoozing. There is a car in front of us and another behind us as we travel, making me feel like I’m driving with the President in some movie scene.
Is my husband so important that he requires these guards the same way the President requires the Secret Service? No—not important. Dangerous.
