Keira couldn’t quite believe she’d been so brazen to demand a date with Dmitri. It seemed immature now. Oh, please, husband, please take me on a date. They had so much shit going on, and little of it good, and she was dragging him off-site and distracting both of them.
“Keira.”
She turned to find him standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looked just as fresh and crisp as he had earlier, his suit jacket perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place. It gave her the silliest urge to rumple him a little, but she clasped her hands in front of her to keep from doing exactly that. “Hey.”
He frowned. “What changed since I saw you last?” There was a dangerous edge to his tone, as if he’d go to battle on her behalf against whatever had dampened her excitement.
Which was a problem, since she was the issue.
She didn’t bother to force a smile because he’d know she was faking it. “I’m just wondering if maybe we should save this date for when we’re not on the verge of a crazy plan that may or may not get everyone killed.”
“Is there anything left you need to do to prepare for tomorrow?”
She gave the question more thought than she normally would have before shaking her head slowly. “It’s all ready. Just a matter of last-minute details with the caterers and florist that we can’t do until tomorrow anyway.” She saw where he was going with the question before she even finished speaking. “This is a distraction.” They’d done as much as they could to prepare for tomorrow. There wasn’t a single reason they couldn’t occupy themselves tonight—distract from the nerves fluttering in her stomach.
“Nothing so simple.” He opened the front door for her. “I want to spend more time with you. You want the same. We’re not neglecting any duties in the meantime. There’s no reason not to go to dinner—unless you don’t actually want to.”
“I want to.” She answered quickly—too quickly. Why pretend? Keira grabbed his hand as she moved past him, tugging Dmitri into step beside her. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here before something else goes wrong and ruins the night.”
He squeezed her hand and kept their fingers interlaced. “Walk with me.”
“Without a babysitter? Color me surprised.”
“Pavel will be along shortly.”
“Naturally.” The walk and the almost frigid air didn’t change her enjoyment of being with Dmitri and out of that damn house for a little bit. She loved the house. She did. But going from one cage to another wasn’t Keira’s idea of a good time. Dmitri had said she’d be a full partner, and they hadn’t had the opportunity to test that out. His bringing up the Krav Maga gym was a positive sign, but it was easy enough to say the right words without having any intention of following through with them. Get through this crisis and deal with it after that.
She hadn’t paid much attention to the area when they arrived the first time, but now Keira looked around with curiosity. She’d been to Manhattan a few times over the years, but it felt different now that she actually lived here. When the current threat was dealt with, she’d take some time and walk down these streets and get to know the area better. There was plenty of foot traffic, and she and Dmitri blended into the flow of people. They could have been anyone, just a couple holding hands as they walked to dinner. She liked the feeling. A lot.
Keira stopped short when her attention caught on a brightly lit window. Three easels were set up in the display, all with varying stages of art completed in three different styles. Whoever had painted them was gifted, but that wasn’t what turned her feet into cement blocks preventing her from moving further. No, that was the bits of shop she could see in the gaps between the easels. Art supplies. High-end and varied art supplies.
“Would you like to go in?” Dmitri asked it so very carefully, as if he wasn’t sure which side of the coin she’d land on and wanted to prepare for either.
She did…and she didn’t. Keira swallowed hard. “I want my studio. I want to create again. But it’s been so long. I haven’t painted since my brother died.” A small part of her had decided it was a fitting penance, though what she was paying for was anyone’s guess. She hadn’t set Devlin on that path that night. She hadn’t suspected the Hallorans would stoop to such lengths. Even if she had, at eighteen, no one would have listened to her warnings anyway.
No, the sin Keira couldn’t quite let go of was that she was alive when her beloved brother was dead.
“If you aren’t ready, there’s nothing wrong with saying so.” Dmitri moved closer, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, letting her lean back against him. His voice was pitched low and only for her ears. “But if you want to go in—to start living again—would he truly begrudge you that?”
No. There was no question of that answer. If it had been any other of their siblings who’d died in his place, Devlin would have kicked her ass long before now. She gulped in a breath. “It shouldn’t be this big of a deal to walk through that door.”
“Grief does strange things to a person, moya koroleva. There’s no shame in it.”
He was so damn understanding. It was easier to lean on him when she didn’t have to look into his face, when there were only their slightly distorted reflections in the glass of the shop. She’d thought she was ready to start painting again, had even taken steps in that direction, but this felt like standing in the sun after years pent up in a cave. “I…” It took her two tries to get the next words out. “I want to go in.”
“I am here. You are not facing this alone. If you need to leave, we will leave.”
Dima, I think I love you.
The feeling took residence in her chest, nestled right next to her panic and pain and the weakness she wanted so desperately to let go of. Dark, secret parts of her that she didn’t share with anyone…until now.
She couldn’t say the words. Dmitri had never promised her love. He’d even gone so far as to promise her that there wouldn’t be anything resembling love. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was in danger of forgetting it—again. Breaking down and telling him she loved him would only prove how weak she really was. How unfit.
She couldn’t do it.
She wouldn’t.
But she reclaimed his hand and held on to him like a lifeline as they walked through the door and into the art shop. A tattooed guy with dark curly hair and two rings in his bottom lip waved at them. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”
Keira couldn’t form words, but Dmitri answered for both of them. “Thank you.” He angled his body between her and the guy, his gray eyes taking in every nuance of her expression and body language. “Where to first?”
Since speaking was out of the question due to the knot forming in her throat, she turned and shuffled down the aisle with the canvases. They were standard, but she gravitated toward the stack of larger ones. If she was going to slide back into painting, there was only one size she could start with, and this fit. She had to let go of Dmitri’s hand, and she cleared her throat. “Please hold this.”
Next, she moved to the brushes, studying them carefully before picking three in a variety of sizes. The paints were harder. Keira closed her eyes against the array of colors and counted to ten as she focused on breathing. Color was the very essence of life, and she’d shunned it so completely for the last three years. Her art had always cut to the heart of things for Keira. If she was upset, she painted. If she was excited about something, she painted. If she had to mull through a decision, she’d paint her way out. She’d intentionally cut off that part of herself to shield from the pain of grief, and standing in this shop, it was like she’d suddenly regained feeling after years of being numb. Pins and needles and pain, all rushing through her body until she was light-headed with the sensation.
She was here. She was doing this. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to flee the building and find the nearest bar, she was doing this. Dmitri’s presence at her back calmed her nearly as much as the breathing technique did. She opened her eyes and picked six colors instinctively, doubling up on black and white. “I’m done.”
“Khorosho. Shall we?”
She readjusted her grip on the paints and followed him back to the register. One look at his face had her quelling any mention of paying him back for the purchase, so she stood there silently while her supplies were carefully bagged up.
Keira didn’t take a full breath until they were back on the street. She looked down at the bags in Dmitri’s hands, and the feeling in her chest exploded. She threw herself against him and kissed him soundly. “Thank you, Dima. Just…thank you.”
* * *
Dmitri picked a little restaurant whose owners knew him and were discreet. The inside was narrow and deep, so there were no windows nearby as the hostess led them to the very back of the room. Low lighting was supplemented by a candle on every table, which served the purpose of creating an intimate setting and discouraging anyone from paying too much attention to the tables around them.
He pulled a chair out for Keira, positioning her back against the wall, and then took the seat next to her. From where they sat, they could see the rest of the room, but the low light and artful shadows meant the other patrons’ attention would coast right over them. Keira’s eyes were a little too wide and she hadn’t seemed to pay attention to the rest of their walk there, so he wanted her off the street and somewhere quiet while she had time to process.
Outwardly, it seemed such a small thing—walking into an art store and picking out a few supplies—but it was a huge step for her. What would she paint first? He’d never seen her work, but he knew she’d secured a full scholarship to one of the more prestigious art schools on the East Coast. She must be highly skilled, but art was such a strange thing. It was purely individual and offered a window into the artist’s soul.
Keira’s soul was stubborn and broken and unbearably beautiful, and he wanted to see it painted across those large canvases she’d picked out. After years of downward spiraling, it couldn’t be comfortable, and he didn’t want to push her any more tonight while she adjusted to her newfound sense of being among the living.
He couldn’t stand the silence, though. Letting her thoughts twist and turn and tangle with each other, every single one so easy to read on her face, made his chest ache in sympathy. He took her hand, noting its slight tremble, and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “I’m proud of you, moya koroleva.”
“It’s not like I just scaled a mountain.” Instead of sounding sarcastic, her tone was shaky.
“Didn’t you?” He kissed each knuckle and then let their hands drop to his lap as their waiter approached. Dmitri ordered them both iced tea and the special entree, and the man disappeared almost comically fast.
She sighed. “That’s a horrible habit.”
Even though he knew what she meant, she sounded steadier, so he poked at her a bit. “It’s classically romantic.”
“Romantic.” She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Dmitri, if that’s your idea of romantic, you’re using a playbook that’s about a hundred years out of date.” Keira shook her head and muttered, “Romantic.”
“Call me old fashioned.”
“Start with that stunt again, and the only thing I’ll be calling you is plain old old.” Her lips twitched in a little smile, but it died almost immediately. “But it’s a moot point. Your terms were pretty damn clear from the start, so don’t worry about me getting any ideas.”
Several beats passed while he tried to figure out what she meant. Dmitri walked back through their interchange, and his chest clenched when he realized the source of her comment. He’d told her time and again not to expect romance from him—or love, for that matter. The way she very pointedly picked up her menu and read slowly actually stung. She was giving him a chance to back off without any awkward moments. To retreat. It was the smart thing to do. He didn’t know if he was capable of the kind of loving Keira deserved. He…felt things for her. Strong things. But they hadn’t been together long enough to know whether his feelings were anything other than lust—or infatuation.
Surely it couldn’t be love.
And yet…he wasn’t willing to shut the door on that conversation the same way he had in the past. Not completely. “Perhaps I was too hasty to take romance off the table.”
Keira went so still, it was as if she’d melded with one of the shadows. “What do you mean by that?”
He wasn’t a man who normally fumbled for words, but he didn’t want to say something to damage the fragile moment they had growing between them. “When I first decided to marry you, I didn’t quite fathom what it would be like to be with you. There are quite a few things I never planned on or anticipated when it comes to you, Keira. I enjoy spending time with you. I find it fascinating the way your mind works—it’s as twisty as mine is.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “And I will spend the rest of my life counting down the time until I can have you coming on my cock next.”
“Okay.”
He wasn’t deterred by the panic blossoming in her hazel eyes. He’d just changed the game on her without warning—panic was a natural reaction. “I think we’d both enjoy adding a bit of romance to the mix.”
She opened her mouth, seemed to reconsider what she’d been about to say, and closed it. Keira frowned. “Seducing me is just another game.”
If he said yes, she would dismiss it out of hand—and rightfully so. What they had wasn’t a goddamn game, even if neither of them had been willing to admit as much up to this point. Asking her to be the one to take that first step with no guarantee of his returning her feelings was cruel, especially after the hits she’d rolled with time and again. Dmitri squeezed her hand where it was laced with his on his thigh. “Nyet, moya koroleva. What I have with you isn’t a game. It’s as real as anything.”
The hope written across her face kindled an identical feeling in him. Her smile was a little shaky, but it was genuine. “You want to date me.”
“I want to romance you.”
Her smile widened. “And how, exactly, does a gentleman-murderer romance his wife?”
If he could love any woman, it would be this one. Nothing seemed able to break her, and she came back swinging every time something—or someone—knocked her down. Today hadn’t been easy on her, and if he hadn’t had her clinging to his hand less than an hour ago in that art shop, he wouldn’t know that she’d been on the verge of cracking as she stood down her demons. And still she managed to flirt with him.
Dmitri reached down and hooked the bottom of her chair with his hand and dragged it closer to him. “It begins with an intimate dinner in a small restaurant.”
“Does it, now?” She made a show of looking around. “Seems like you have that box firmly checked.”
“What the point of a good plan of attack if it’s not realized?”
She leaned in until her hair brushed his arm. “What’s the next play?”
It was only then that he realized she’d changed something about her clothing from the last time he’d seen her. The blazer had hid it from him before, but with her current angle, he could clearly see that she’d taken off her bra, and the lace of her top did nothing to conceal her.
He went rock hard even as he narrowed his eyes. “Moya koroleva, you have a habit of leaving off a necessary part of your wardrobe whenever it suits you.”
“Hmm?” She ran her finger down the edge of her blazer, pulling it away from her body so her hard nipples flashed at him. “I got a little warm, so I took off my bra.”
He adjusted her blazer, letting the backs of his fingers caress her through the lace. “It’s November.”
“Is it?” Keira fanned herself. “So hot.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“That right there is a ten-dollar word.” She arched her back a little, pressing her breast against his touch. “I suppose now isn’t the time to tell you that I’m not wearing panties, either?”