Page 56 of Lethal Saint

“Like my wife,” I agreed, pulling out of the parking space and glancing over to judge if she liked the ring. It wasn’t a simple design, because my girl deserved the best and gaudiest of beautiful things. Set in a teardrop, a one carat white diamond was haloed by round yellow diamonds. “Since I didn’t get a chance to give you an engagement ring, consider this a belated one.”

Her eyes were very big when she looked at me; I shot her quick glances as I drove out of the car park and into the hellish nightmare of London at six p.m. Did she like it? Did she hate it? Her eyes were glossy, and I couldn’t tell if it was happiness or just surprise.

“I love it,” she choked out. “I love the flowers too.”

Relief loosened the band of anxiety around my chest and I smiled.

“But you don’t have to buy me any more gifts, Damien. You’ve done more than enough for me, and I can’t reciprocate.”

I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel. “You’ve given me the greatest gift, Vasya. I don’t remember the last time I felt at peace, but when I’m around you, it’s like all the chaos in the world stops. Calms. You might have noticed I’m a control freak.”

“You like things to be in straight lines,” she replied.

She paid attention to me, noticed me. My stomach fluttered.

“Exactly. Sometimes the world feels too…messy. And I hate it. Violence is usually the only thing that calms me when it gets out of hand—I like the methodical nature of it, the predictability of people’s actions. But you calm me, too. And I love spending time with you, seeing what makes you smile or laugh or roll your eyes. That’s the best damn gift you could ever get me.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her voice choked when she finally said, “Oh. I didn’t realise.”

“And if I’m being honest,” I said, swallowing a vicious curse when some dick in an Audi cut in front of us, “I don’t like being alone. I haven’t felt lonely since the night we met. That’s another gift you’ve given me. Gifts don’t have to be expensive or excessive.”

“Like yours,” she drawled.

I shot her a shameless smirk. “Since we’re on the subject of my gifts, how do you like the car?”

“It’s lovely. Andcomfy.I could fall into these seats. Is there a seat warmer?”

“There is,” I agreed, smiling broadly. “I’m glad you like it, my queen.”

“Oh no,” she whispered, shaking her head.“Damien,”she growled, the tone that was becoming a drug to me. Husky, disapproving, fond and exasperated, all at once.

“What?” I asked innocently, giving her my bestI didn’t do anything wronglook.

“You didn’t buy a car for me.”

“Did I not? Strange. I remember doing exactly that.”

She groaned.

I grinned.

Waited.

Drove us around a corner into another nightmare of gridlock proportions.

“It is pretty,” she admitted softly. “And it smells so good. I’ve always wanted to drive. Butno more gifts,Damien Marshall.”

“Not a damn chance, Vasilisa Marshall.”

She rolled her eyes, and warmth spread through my chest. Why did it feel so good to bicker like this? I fucking loved it. I was the happiest I’d ever been, and all because she groaned and rolled her eyes at me.

“Fine, but nothing over the top,” she warned, hugging the box of flowers to her chest.

“Define over the top. That phrase is unfamiliar to me. And I have another surprise for you tomorrow. Two, technically, but they’re part of the same gift.”

“Damien.”

“Keep saying my name like that and I’m going to come in my pants. It’s rude to walk into a restaurant with stained trousers, Vasya.”

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