“I love you too.” The words come even easier today—because they’re true. I do love Peter.
I love him even though he still terrifies me.
He grins and leads me to a bench. “Here.” He pulls me down to sit and takes out his phone, swiping across the screen a few times before handing it to me. “These are the listings I’ve found,” he says, looking at me with a warm silver gaze. “Let me know which houses you like, and we can go see them.”
I flip through the pictures as the buoyant feeling intensifies.
Is this what true happiness feels like?
“Let’s walk and talk,” I tell him when I’m done looking through the photos, and he gladly agrees, clasping my hand in a firm grip as we wander through the park and discuss the pros and cons of the different houses.
“You don’t think four bedrooms is too small?” he asks, gazing down at me with a questioning smile, and I shake my head.
“Why would I think that?”
“Well…” He stops and faces me. “Have you considered how many kids you’d like to have?”
My stomach dives. Here it is—the topic we’ve been avoiding since Cyprus, when Peter admitted he was trying to impregnate me and I crashed a car trying to escape. I was expecting it to come up at some point—we haven’t been using condoms since Peter’s return and he outright told my parents he’d like us to start a family soon. Still, my heart pounds in my chest, and my palm grows sweaty in Peter’s grasp as I try to imagine what it would be like to have a child with him.
With the merciless killer who obsessively loves me.
Taking a breath, I reach deep for my courage. Peter is no longer a criminal, no longer a fugitive, and I’m his wife, not his captive. He gave up his vengeance so we could have this—a real life together.
Walks in the park, children, and all.
“I’ve been picturing three,” I say steadily, holding his gaze. “But I think I could also be happy with one. What about you?”
A tender smile blooms on his darkly handsome face. “Definitely at least two—assuming all goes well with the first.” He places his big palm on my stomach. “Do you think there’s a chance…?”
I laugh, stepping away. “Are you kidding me? It’s way too soon to tell. You came back less than a week ago. If I knew I was pregnant, that would be problematic.”
“Very,” he agrees, catching my hand and squeezing it possessively. We resume walking, and he gives me a sidelong glance. “I take it you’re okay with this?”
“With a baby now, you mean?”
He nods, and I take a deep breath, looking ahead at a group of skateboarding teens. “I guess. I’d still like to wait a little, but I know this means a lot to you.”
He doesn’t answer, and when I look at him, I see that his expression has darkened, his jaw tight as he stares straight ahead. The buoyant feeling evaporates as I realize I’ve inadvertently reminded him of the tragedy in his past.
“I’m sorry.” I raise our clasped hands to press his fist against my chest. “I didn’t mean to remind you of your family.”
His gaze meets mine, and some of the raw agony in it recedes. “It’s okay, ptichka.” His voice is husky as he lifts our joined hands higher to drop a tender kiss on my knuckles. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. Pasha and Tamila will always live in my memories, but you are my family now.”
My heart squeezes into an aching ball. He’s right. I am his family—and he is mine. Because the wedding happened so fast, I didn’t have a chance to truly think about that, to articulate that reality in my mind.
We’re married.
Truly married.
I can no longer think of George as my husband because Peter holds that title now—just as he can’t think of Tamila as his wife.
“And you’re right,” he continues as I process that realization. “Family is important to me. I want us to have a child, and I want it soon. However…” He hesitates, then says quietly, “If you want to wait, I won’t force the issue.”
I stop and gape at him. “Really? Why not?”
A quicksilver smile flashes across his face. “Do you want me to?”
“No! I just…” I shake my head, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “I don’t understand. I thought that was part of it, you know, marriage and all. You forced the wedding, so…”
All traces of humor leave his gaze. “You nearly died, my love. In Cyprus, when you thought that I would force a child on you, you tried to escape and nearly died.”
I bite my lip. “That was different. We were different.”
“Yes. But childbirth in general can be dangerous. Even with all the medical advances today, a woman risks her health, if not her life. And if anything happened to you because I insisted…” He stops, his jaw clenching as he looks away.