Page 73 of Blood Oath Christmas
But instead of leaving, she lingers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Something's bothering her.
"What else?" I ask.
She bites her lower lip—a habit that never fails to make me want to do the same. "I'm just… worried about testifying next week."
There's something in her tone, a hesitation that doesn't ring true. I've become an expert at reading people's lies over the years, and my wife is definitely not telling me the whole truth. My mind flashes back to last week when I heard voices in her room, but she insisted no one was there.
"The prosecution team will prepare you," I assure her, though I file away my suspicions for later. "You'll be fine."
She nods, but the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. Before I can probe further, she changes the subject.
"There's something else. I miss jogging." She looks almost embarrassed by the admission. "I know it sounds silly, but I used to run almost every morning. It helped me think, clear my head."
Irritation flashes through me, not at her, but at myself. How did I forget something so basic about her routine? I've been so focused on keeping her safe that I overlooked what she needs to feel human.
"It doesn't sound silly," I tell her. "I jog too."
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You do?"
"Every morning at six. Usually alone." I study her face, noting the genuine interest there. "Would you like to join me tomorrow?"
"On the estate grounds?"
"Of course. With security." I can already see Viktor's disapproving frown, but some risks are worth taking. "We'll stay within the perimeter."
The smile that spreads across her face is radiant. "I'd love that."
"Good. Meet me in the foyer at six.”
She nods eagerly and heads for the door, but pauses with her hand on the handle. "Konstantin?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For understanding."
After she leaves, I return to my desk, but concentration is impossible. The way she looked at me when I agreed to let her study again, the genuine gratitude in her voice, it does things to me that have nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with the growing connection between us.
But the nagging worry remains. She's hiding something, and in my world, secrets can be deadly.
The next morning arrives gray and bitter cold. I'm already dressed in running gear when Ivy appears in the foyer, looking like a winter goddess in black leggings, a fitted thermal top, and a bright blue jacket that matches her eyes.
"Ready?" I ask, trying not to stare at how the athletic wear showcases every curve of her body.
"More than ready."
We step outside into the crisp morning air, our breath forming clouds as we begin a slow warm-up jog. Two of my soldiers fall into step behind us at a respectful distance—close enough to respond to threats, far enough to give us privacy.
The rhythm of our feet on the packed snow path is soothing, and I watch Ivy from the corner of my eye. She moves with natural grace, her breathing steady despite the cold. This was clearly a regular part of her routine before everything changed.
We run in comfortable silence for a while, following the winding path that circles the estate. The property is beautiful in winter, all pristine snow and bare trees reaching toward the gray sky. But I'm more interested in watching my wife rediscover this piece of herself.
After about two miles circling the estate, we reach the old gazebo that sits on a small hill overlooking the frozen pond. I slow to a stop.
"Break?" I suggest.
She nods, breathing harder now but not winded. We climb the steps into the gazebo, and I turn to the soldiers trailing us.
"Give us some space. Stay within sight but out of earshot."
