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“You didn’t, Arsen.”
“I did,” he insists. “The moment I decided to let Jasper back into my life—and by association, your life—I put you at risk. From now on, it’s inner circle only. No one else gets trust handed to them on a silver platter.”
“What about Enzo and Guilia?” I venture. “Do they count as the inner circle?”
“After you lost consciousness, I called Dominik and Gedeon. They arrived with Enzo, who’d apparently refused to leave without giving us backup.”
I smile. “He’s a good friend.”
Arsen shrugs nonchalantly. “He’s a good ally. ‘Friend’ is a long ways away.”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. “Boys. So unwilling to be emotional with each other.”
Arsen silences my laughter with his lips. He only pulls away when the doctor enters, carrying a clipboard.
“Mrs. Adamov, I’m happy to say there’s no medical reason for us to keep you with us any longer. I’m here to sign your discharge papers. You’re cleared to leave.” He makes a show of signing off on the clipboard. “The bruise on your forehead did require three stitches. I’m afraid it’ll leave a scar.”
He looks baffled at the smile on my face. Arsen wraps an arm around my shoulder and presses a kiss to my temple.
“That’s okay, Doc,” he murmurs cheerfully. “In this family, we don’t mind scars.”
EPILOGUE: LAILA
FIVE YEARS LATER
“Evalina!” I cry. “Where is your dress?”
My daughter’s bottle-blue eyes sharpen as she toddles towards me in nothing but her Gucci lace shoes. “Mama, me no Evalina! Me Lynn!”
I blow out a breath, channeling all of my many years of yoga training to stay calm. Mostly because I also had to channel my yoga training to strap my toddlerintoher dress in the first place. And now, the devil only knows where she’s stashed it.
“Lynn, honey,” I sigh, squatting down so that I’m at eye level with her. “Why are you walking around in your undies?”
“Pretty dress was itching.” She pats her diaper, smiling at her problem solving. Without warning, she whips around, jabbing a chubby hand towards the buffet table. “Mama, more cake! I love choco!”
“And who could blame you?” Arsen appears out of thin air and scoops Lynn into his arms. He drops a kiss to her bare belly, making her giggle.
“Cake, Papa!” she demands.
I narrow my eyes at my husband, who makes no mention of the sudden and mysterious disappearance of a five-hundred-dollar dress with sequins you could see from space. “She’s already had two slices, Arsen.”
“It’s a special night,” he demurs. “Mama’s opening yet another yoga studio, expanding her empire.”
I snort. “Five yoga studios don’t equal an ‘empire.’”
“I disagree. But if you’re not satisfied, we can always add a zero to that number.”
He’s not wrong—Lord knows there is no shortage of businessmen and investors beating down my door and waving giant checks in my face. The Rose Garden is a hot commodity in the world of boutique yoga studios, but no amount of money is worth being stripped of my creative control. My name and face is attached to my brand, which means it has to reflect me. Not some soulless, corporate non-entity.
“I’m fine with my little corner of the universe. I get to run my studios and spend time with my family. It’s the best of both worlds.”
Arsen studies me carefully. But in the end, he just shrugs. “As you wish,roza.”
“Papa!” Lynn wheedles. “Cake, pwease!”
Arsen winks down at Lynn. “You’re just as determined as your mama.”
“And as stubborn as her papa.” I poke at the little dimple in her cheek. “Go find your dress and maybe you’ll get another piece of cake.”
