Page 47 of Ruins
I slide the box across the table.
Her eyes widen. “Santo, I—”
“It’s just a formality,” I cut in, too quickly. “To solidify our arrangement.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Her face falls. It’s just a flicker—so quick she almost hides it. But I see it. Ifeelit.
Then, just as swiftly, she replaces it with a small, practiced smile. A nod. “Thank you.”
She removes the ring from the box, her movements graceful, careful.
Before she can slip it on, I reach out, grasping her hand.
“Allow me.” My voice is softer now, stripped of the cold detachment I had tried to maintain.
She watches as I slide the ring onto her finger. To my surprise, it fits perfectly.
I glance up, searching for her gaze, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she stares at our hands, her teeth catching her bottom lip, lost in thought.
The sight stirs something deep, something dangerous. The urge to kiss her—to claim her, to wipe away that sadness lingering in her eyes—claws at me with unbearable intensity.
Instead, I force myself to let go, pulling my hand back as I close the box.
“That looks beautiful on you,” I murmur, the words slipping out unbidden.
Her eyes snap up to mine, startled. For a moment, I expect her to dismiss the compliment, to brush it off the way she did my blunder.
But slowly, carefully a smile spreads across her lips, radiant, breathtaking.
And just for a second, it feels like catching a glimpse ofparadise.
“It’s getting late,” I murmur, my voice low, reluctant.
“Yes, it is,” she replies, but there’s hesitation laced in her tone—an unspoken agreement. Neither of us is quite ready to leave this moment behind.
We rise, and Vincenzo appears with my jacket. I shrug it on, then reach for Vasilisa’s hand. My eyes catch on the ring now gracing her slender finger.
My mother’s ring.
It fits her so perfectly, so effortlessly, that the thought settles deep in my chest—as if it wasalwaysmeant to be hers.
Under a sky full of stars, I walk Vasilisa to my car. The night air is crisp, the twinkling lights above reflecting in her eyes, making them shine even brighter. She looks ethereal.
I open the door for her, guiding her inside. My fingers brush against hers—just a fleeting touch, nothing more—yet it sends something dark and possessive curling low in my gut.
I shut the door before I can dwell on it.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I take the wheel, the car cutting through the quiet streets toward her family’s estate.
A strange sense of contentment settles over me, unexpected but steady.
For the first time in years, the past doesn’t haunt me.
For the first time, my mind isn’t clouded by old ghosts or unfinished wars.
For the first time...
