Page 63 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

It’s always safe to assume they discuss everything, I consider as I settle in at the table.

I feel like I’m a million miles away from Pavel, yet he sits next to me as he often does for dinner. My heart quivers with hope.

I hope she’s his voice of reason.

***

When tea is served, Viktoria leaves the room. It’s probably for the best.

Though she’ll hear about it later from one of us.

I almost laugh at the absurdity of this situation. How much has Viktoria mediated for us without both of us being in the same room?

Pavel gives me a curious look. It’s then I realize part of a smile has inched its way into my blank expression.

I wipe it away as I bow my head. “I’m trying to keep off the feeling of being categorized entirely as your wife—as apakhan’swife.”

He frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“If that’s my only option in this world, then what does that mean for my future?”

“You know you’re more than that to me.”

A weak smile appears. It’s better than nothing, I suppose. Better than being indifferent.

“But not to your Bratva, Pavel.” It’s all still so painful. “Not to your brigadiers or to our enemies. They just see me in conjunction with you.”

He breaks eye contact. It’s an odd power trip to have during such a vulnerable moment, but it exists, and I relish it for what it’s worth. Just like in the office and the basement, I’m the host of something so much more than a mere title.

Yet it’s different from both those situations.

And I can’t quite put my finger on why.

“I want to be my own person,” I whisper.

He nods. “You want to come into your skin.”

“Precisely that, Pavel.” My smile turns confident. “I want to set my own goals and achieve them. I want to create things, to make things happen.” I sigh while glancing toward the living room. “I want to take control of my life.”

“Because Jonas never gave you the chance.”

When I look at him, I see my husband looking back at me.

Not a ruthless ruler or a cold-blooded killer.

My husband.

He’s seeing me for who I am. “I was always there to serve him. Now that I have more options, I want to explore them.”

“You want to help people,” he whispers.

For a second, something passes over his vision. He meets my gaze and asks, “How did the interview go?”

Tears threaten to surface.He remembers.I blink rapidly to keep myself from crying. “It went very well.”

A ghost of a smile grows on his lips as he bows his head. It’s a sign of respect.

For me.

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