Page 130 of Captive Prize

Roman didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. But something in his entire body shifted. Like the storm changing course.

The rain around him slowed, but I barely noticed. The storm behind his eyes was far fiercer.

“You love me,” he said. His voice was low, wrecked, something close to a growl but barely a whisper. “And you think that’s a reason to leave me?”

I let out a bitter laugh.

Of course, he wouldn’t understand. Of course, I would have to spell it out for him, even though it killed me. Each word I said out loud was a stab to the heart.

“I wouldn’t make a good wife. You know this, Roman. I’m the enemy. I’m an outsider. You can’t keep me around your family. I don’t belong here, I don’t belong with you, and it doesn’t matter how much I want you, I will never belong here.”

He leaned in so closely I could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. “Who cares? If you don’t feel like you belong here, then we will go somewhere else. I’ve spent my entire life as an outsider. For you, I will happily spend the rest of it the same way.”

I clenched my fists. The truth coating my tongue like a sour film. “I can’t give you children.”

Roman was silent for a beat.

I wasn’t sure what I expected of him. Would he say he understood and then get back in the car and take me to theairport? Berate me for being broken and useless, like my father did when the doctor told him of my condition?

I braced myself, waiting for his dismissal, his rejection. He just took a long, slow exhale. Then he straightened up, his arms moving to my shoulders, and he pulled me from the car and into his arms, pressing me to his rain-soaked chest in a hug that was so warm, so soothing.

He still said nothing, just stood there and held me for a minute before his hand went back to my jaw.

Tilting it up again, he looked at me, meeting my eyes, showing me the truth and the vulnerability in his. “Do you really think that’s what this is about?”

He spoke softly, soothingly, almost gently.

I looked away, pulling my face out of his hand.

He just reached back for me, this time cupping the side of my face as he guided my eyes back to his.

“Zoya,” he said in a reverent tone. “I don’t give a damn about bloodlines, or heirs, or any other bullshit this world expects of me. I never have. Yes, the Ivanovs have traditions, but I don’t give a damn about traditions, or rules, or what anyone else thinks. Fuck other people’s expectations.”

His thumb brushed over my lips.

“You are my family,” he murmured. “You. Not some unborn child. Not some legacy.”

My breath hitched.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him with everything I had, but how?

His fingers tightened on the side of my face, his forehead nearly brushing mine. “You are my home, my little warrior. My war. My peace. The only damn thing in this world that makes sense to me.”

My vision blurred as more tears streamed down my face.

God, he meant it. He meant every single word, and it broke me.

I turned away from him, dropping back onto the car seat and pressing fingers to my temples. He didn’t know what he was saying.

He might mean it now, but what about in five years, ten years, when all of his cousins had enormous families with kids running around everywhere, and he didn’t? How could he be okay with just being an uncle and never a father?

“This is insane.”

Roman shifted back on his heels, waiting.

Because he already knew the truth I wasn’t strong enough to accept.

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