Page 166 of Nikolay

“They absolutely do.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. But you will.” She poked my chest. “And I intend to make whatever changes I want to that space.”

That should, perhaps, have given me pause. I had inhabited those rooms in a certain order for a long time. My books where I preferred them. My suits arranged precisely. My study untouched by aesthetic experiments. My peace built around predictability.

Instead, I heard myself say, without flinching, “Of course you do.”

She blinked.

I lifted one shoulder. “It will be your home.”

The look she gave me then was softer than teasing, softer even than victory. Something in her face opened and settled all at once. Through the bond, I felt the answering warmth—surprise, pleasure, the first domestic roots of belonging reaching quietly into place.

Then, because she was Maddie and sentiment could never be permitted too long without roughening it fondly, she said, “You realize I’m probably gonna put ridiculous throw pillows on some of your very serious furniture.”

I groaned. “Cruel woman.”

“And color.”

I looked at her in alarm. “There is color.”

“In that wing? Nikolay, black, brown, charcoal, and ‘tragic old money burgundy’ do not count as color.”

“I beg to differ.”

She laughed again, and there it was—that sound filling the room and, impossibly, filling me. I had known pleasure. Triumph. Loyalty. The hard satisfaction of a negotiation successfully concluded. I had even known love in its lesser mortal rehearsals. Nothing in three centuries had prepared me for the simple joy of lying naked in late afternoon light while my mate mocked my decor.

I found, to my own amazement, that I cherished the prospect.

Bohdan was going to be intolerable.

The thought arrived fully formed and almost welcome. Bohdan, with his dry mouth and sharpened amusement, would scent this new softness on me before I reached the bottom stair. He would say something outrageous under the guise of casual observation. Maksym would pretend greater dignity and fail just enough to be human about it. Taras, Goddess help me, would likely say almost nothing and somehow make the silence more devastating than Bohdan’s entire speech.

And Lucia—Lucia, who had loved me fiercely enough to judge me properly—would look at Maddie, look at me, and know whether I had learned what the Goddess intended.

For the first time in my long life, I could not wait.

“What are you smiling at?” Maddie asked.

“My imminent humiliation.”

“That sounds promising.”

“My brothers will tease me without mercy.”

She propped herself up, delighted. “Especially my pretty boss.”

“Bohdan, yes.”

“Speaking of… where was he? Everyone came for me, but not him.”

I let my hand settle at her waist and drew her back against me. “Obsidian never closes, my love. Much to your pretty boss's chagrin, he was forced to stay behind. Trust me. He wanted to rip out Lynch's throat almost as much as I did, but the running of Obsidian was left to him. He checked in a few times last night. You're his sister now, and he cares deeply for you.” That was the truth of it.

She tucked herself into my side with a pleased little hum. “We’re gonna make your life so difficult.”

“My life,” I said, pressing a kiss to her temple, “has improved beyond all measure.”