Chapter 45
Yes
Roman
While the vacation with Isla ended on a serious note, it was a trip I’d never forget. My Isla, my Angel, my woman, spent every second with me after such an intense separation.
Back in New York, she unlocked the door to her apartment and beckoned me in, her smile unusually shy. “Um…” She bit her lip, fidgeting with my collar. “So, what are your plans now?”
I wanted her to ask me to stay even though I had zero plans to go back to L.A. anytime soon. I wanted—no—I needed to spend every second with her to bury the memories of the pain I’d lived through during our time apart.
My smile gave it all away as I gazed down at her, the timid Isla an adorable sight. “Will you stay? With me? For a bit? I don't want you to go, and I can't leave..."
I lifted her up onto the windowsill, my answer ready. "Yes. I can be like your stay-at-home husband and cook dinner for you while you're out in the world."
She giggled, fixing a strand of my hair. Making her happy was my favorite pastime.
"I think you may want to take some cooking lessons. I'm not sure I can survive only on toast and peanut butter." Isla wrapped her arms around my neck, leaning in for a kiss. God. This girl had me wrapped around her little pinky.
I’d do anything—anything she asked.
Tenderly, slowly, her lips pressed against mine, the feeling never getting old. On the contrary, every kiss ensnared my heart even more, if that was even possible. I breathed her in as I slid my tongue against hers, her little whimper activating that part of my brain that turned me into a savage.
She pulled away to slide further into the windowsill, and right at that moment, I caught a glimpse of a car parked outside. The same car I noticed when we were leaving for our vacation.
The driver’s window was slightly open, cigarette smoke billowing out of the small crack. Isla caught my stare and turned to look too. The window slowly slid closed right at that moment.
This wasn't Kirill's men. This wasn't my men. But it was definitely someone's.
"Have you ever seen this car before?" I asked her while a thousand possibilities swirled in my head but landed on just one: Sergei. But I’d known him long enough to know one thing: he didn’t have the balls to spy on me. And why the fuck would he? He knew exactly where I was.
Isla shook her head to say no, both of us observing the car drive away.
The photos we received in St. Barts were back in their envelopes, in my suitcase.
I pored over them for a long time that night.
The quality was impeccable, the shots were timed perfectly, and the zoom was significant.
Not taken by an amateur. And this professional photographer seemed to have stayed with us the entire time—the photos were taken over all the days we were there.
The writing made no fucking sense, but three phrases caught my attention more than others.
Filthy rich fucktoy referred to Isla, obviously. Who knew that she was filthy rich? I asked her about it; she was adamant that she told no one about her inheritance…but many people could have guessed.
Her lawyer knew. Her friends would have caught on when her living arrangements changed so abruptly. They wouldn’t have known the extent, but they would have guessed that she inherited a hefty sum.
Fucked full of secrets was another mysterious one. What secrets? What did secrets have to do with her? They could have written anything, but they chose that word specifically.
And the last one really stumped me. Daddy’s girl? No one knew she called me that—she’d only said it in the bedroom. So how did they have this information?
My security detail was tasked with locating any single person who might have witnessed anyone with a camera in the vicinity of where we stayed. Although it was doubtful, considering my own security team noticed nothing the entire time.
The more I thought about it, the more I was sure it wasn’t Sergei. If he had gone down a spiral and decided to target her, why would it be when we were together? She was way more vulnerable when she was alone, even if she was under twenty-four-hour vigilance.
No. This felt…foreign. And I really didn't like that. I would stay with Isla for at least the foreseeable future.
While Isla had the time off for Christmas break, we spent it furnishing her apartment and simply living together. No stress, no breakups, no drama, just pure household bliss. Almost like that time when she first ended up in my house, but now, it was a thousand times better.
Isla did throw a housewarming party right before New Year's and invited her university friends. The night was a blast, and I was attuned to her laughter the entire time.
But once again, the evening highlighted how much older I was than her. Her friends all looked like kids even though some were almost thirty. But it wasn’t so much the age; it was how our professions and lifestyles clashed.
I was, and would forever be, an outcast. Not mainstream, not accepted, feared, and despised. Especially in America, my background added even more negativity to my whole existence.
The engagement ring was completed, and I only had to pick it up and pop the question…but doubt crept into my mind. Not about Isla, God, never about her, but about dragging her into my dark world. The same thoughts returned—I was not good for her.
But I breathed through it, knowing that it was too fucking late to save her from myself. I’d drag her into hell with me and make the place a heaven fit for my Angel.
I was slightly put at ease when the days rolled on calmly, without any disruptions.
My men never reported anything suspicious, and that car never showed up again.
Hey, maybe it was Rodriguez playing a cruel joke on me.
He wanted those contracts, wanted me to take a step away, and maybe he thought the photos would put me on edge enough to scale back.
The wording on the photos was right up his alley. As the idea sank in, though, I was sure I’d shoot his balls off if it turned out to be him.
New Year’s Eve arrived with a majestic snowstorm, just like back in Russia, and…everything was ready. Isla decided to trudge back home from dinner in the snow, her tipsy laughter and uneven walk a hilarious sight.
But I was shaking with anticipation of asking her, finally.
I ushered her up the steps of her building while she complained in the incredibly dimly lit staircase.
"Where on earth are you taking me?!" She hiccupped and promptly misstepped, almost faceplanting in front of me. I caught her right in time.
"You’re a very dangerous drunk, Isla. How are you going to drink champagne at our wedding?" I threw out a risky joke, but she responded with more drunk laughter.
"You're going to have to pour me ginger ale or something. Or kerfir. Ker-frir? What’s that gross Russian drink? Kfe-rir?” she mumbled absolute nonsense, and at this point, I picked her up, noticing she was making no progress up the steps on her own.
“Baby…you only had two glasses of wine and a shot of tequila.” I reminded her, my heart hammering in my throat with every step I took closer to the rooftop.
I kicked the door open and stepped outside, Isla’s lips glued to my cheeks and neck, plastering sloppy kisses all over me.
But then her eyes caught the warm glow, and she looked up in awe, noticing the thousands of twinkly lights I’d set up.
I had ransacked my brain for many, many hours, thinking of how to propose, but it always came back to this—private, innocent, genuine, one of a kind. Just like her.
With shaking hands, I set her down on the snowy rooftop, letting her take in the atmosphere. I wanted to create a moment that was stopped in time, just for us, nothing and no one else around.
"Wow, what—what is this?" She wondered out loud as she took in the surroundings and slowly walked around. "Did you—did you do thi..." But she trailed off as soon as she turned.
I was already down on one knee.
Her eyes wide, she froze mid-turn, immediately sobering up.
At that moment, I realized I didn't think this through because I had no fucking clue what to say.
Angel Isla stood in front of me, tears sparkling in her eyes and snow covering her brown hair, and I just stared at her, frantically thinking of how to start this.
"Isla?” Oh no, it wasn’t supposed to sound like a question. “I—wow,” I said more stupid things. “I’m nervous…what if you say no?" I was in complete disbelief at my own blabbering!
I breathed in and out, hoping that the freezing air would kick-start some logical thoughts, but my exhale sounded like a nervous laugh instead.
"I'm listening." She nodded, encouraging me with her pure smile. She took a step closer, giving me her full attention. Fuck, why was this so much harder than blowing out brains or breaking fingers?!
I pulled myself together and concentrated on the pure angel in front of me. "Isla. I recognize that this is probably very fast, but to be honest, I was ready to do this in the summer.” I spoke carefully, acutely aware of how my tongue moved.
“Angel. I love you. More than anything in life, I want to always be with you.”
The sight of her so close to me—the unforgettable smile that graced her face, and the little tremble rippling through her—finally put me at ease. “I want to make you happy, and I also want to…um…fuck you in the laundry room while our kids watch cartoons."
A small laugh burst out of her, lighting up my world once more.
"I don't care about anything else, baby. Just us. Just our future. You and me, forever. Will you marry me?" Fuck, I’d finally said it, breaking out in small shakes while waiting for her answer.