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She swallows nervously. “I never told you how much it meant to me that you were there for my mom in her final days.”
I blink at her, rendered mute. Of all the things I thought she might say, that didn’t even rank.
Her smile trembles. “I was so focused on resenting and blaming you that I didn’t stop to think about how I was actually grateful. Grateful that she didn’t have to be alone those last few months. That she had someone to have lunch with and talk to and connect with.” Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. “She was right about me. I wouldn’t have handled those last few months well. I would’ve fought to keep her alive. I would’ve been talking to doctors and researching new therapies and denying the fact that she was dying. It would have been a nightmare for everyone.”
“You loved her. Of course you’d do anything to keep her with you for a little longer.”
She swallows her tears. “She would have been so happy to see us together.”
I nod in agreement. “I think she knew we’d end up together eventually.”
“Yeah?”
I press a kiss to her neck. “Yeah.”
The night sky is just outside the window, but I’m mesmerized by my wife. By her strength, her forgiveness, her perseverance.
Her eyes float slowly to mine. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about doingthis.” I slowly drop to my knees between her legs, the need to continue that sentence gone the second I begin to bunch her dress around her waist.
“Here?” she balks. “Now?”
I slide her panties down to her ankles, helping her step out of them. “I want to fuck you over the clouds, Mrs. Adamov. What do you say to that?”
Her eyes flutter as I slide my hand between her thighs. “God,” she breathes, “I love it when you touch me.”
“Roza,that makes two of us.”
37
LAILA
“Our… yacht.Yacht.YAWT.” I roll the word around in my head and my mouth, trying to make sense of it. I pop one pinky out like a cartoonishly-rich super villain. “Let’s dine onour yacht, dear husband, shall we?”
Arsen drops his chin and looks at me over the top of his sunglasses. “How many times are you going to say that?”
“As many times as it takes to believe thatthat—” I gesture with both hands to the superyacht floating just off the coast. “—belongs to us. When the hell did you buy a cruise ship, anyway?”
He frowns, thinking about it. As if buying a yacht is the same as grabbing a sandwich at a bodega on your way home: utterly forgettable. “I don’t know. A few years ago, I needed to funnel some cash out of my accounts, but I don’t remember if that was when I bought the yacht or if that was the skyscraper downtown…”
I choke on my sip of Mai Tai. “You bought an entireskyscraper? In downtown Manhattan?!”
“A few, actually.” Eventually, he shrugs. “Anyway—I’m not sure, but within the last few years. I think.”
I shake my head at him. “I will literally never get over your life.”
“It’s your life now, too.”
I’ll never get over that, either.
It’s been three days of our St. Barts honeymoon, and I’m still finding new things to be amazed by every minute. You’d think at some point, the luxury would get boring.
But no. Never.
Waking up to fresh-baked croissants and fruit bowls and mimosas? Magical.
Parasailing in the bluest waters I’ve ever seen? Ten out of ten.
