Page 231 of Dance of Defiance
I grin, reaching across the table of the Michelin restaurant to stab at the last of the delicioussachertortecake we just shared for dessert.
“Sure am.”
He blushes.
“What?” I grin. “Ashamed to have your name tattooed on my body?”
He smiles widely. “Of course not. Just...maybe…a little honored, and not sure how to thank you?”
“I can definitely think of a way you canthank meback at the hotel. Or, you know…” I nod across the restaurant. “The bathroom in, say…one minute?”
Roman chuckles, shaking his head. “Let's skip the ultra-romantic bathroom fuck for now. I want to show you something.” He rolls his eyes as I grin widely. “Notmy dick.” His face flames as he looks down. “I mean, notright this second.”
Back in New York, it’s somewhat difficult for us to go out, just us two. I mean, the man is the head of one of the most powerfulBratva families in the world. There are tons of guards who shadow us when we go out.
Here…well, there are still guards. But only two, and they’reverygood at giving us space.
We leave the restaurant. When I notice our car isn't waiting for us, I turn to see Roman smiling.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“You’re the boss,pakhan.”
He rolls his eyes and takes my hand, and we start to walk through the Old City toward the Danube. It’s dark out, all the lights along the river glittering and gleaming.
“My name on your arm,” he muses as we start to walk over the beautiful oldFloridsdorfer Brückebridge that crosses the river.
“Right?” I sigh. “Guess that means we're getting serious. I mean, more serious than the whole living together and sharing a bed every night thing.”
I’ve thanked Vaughn profusely for the lavish loft, but I’ve returned it to him. I’ve got another bed where I’d rather spend my nights now.
Roman is oddly quiet as we get to the middle of the bridge. He stops walking, tugging on my hand and turning me to face him.
“I was actually hoping we might make it evenmoreserious,” he murmurs.
I’m not really sure what the fucker is doing when he drops to one knee in front of me.
“Are you okay?” I ask in alarm. “Was it dinner, or?—”
“Val, can you shut the fuck up?” he sighs, pulling a box out of his jacket pocket. “I’m trying to propose to you.”
I go still, blinking rapidly, my mouth falling open as I stare at the silver band sitting in the velvet box he’s just opened.
“Wait…wait…” I drag my eyes up to his. “What the fuck is happening?”
Becausethiscannot be happening. There’s still a part of me inside, even after all these months of pure bliss with this motherfucker, that whispers in my ear in the dead of night sometimes that I don’t deserve any of this.
Happiness. Or love. Orhim.
But as I look at the ring, and the man holding it, and the promise in his eyes, the last vestiges of that voice begin to fade and scatter, blowing away like dust.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Val,” he says quietly.
“Asking?”
His eyes gleam. Fuck, Ilovethis new edge he’s got since becomingpakhan.
“Telling,” he growls. “You’re marrying me.”
