Chapter 14 #2
Behind him, I see Roman watching us. Not intruding. Not speaking. But something in his expression shifts, like he is witnessing a piece of me he hadn’t been allowed to see before.
Papa pulls back slightly, keeping his hands on my shoulders. “You are not currency,” he says quietly. “Not to me. Not to this family.”
My eyes sting. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
He almost smiles. Almost. “You live,” he says. “You choose. And we stand behind you.”
Roman steps closer then, not interrupting, but present. Steady. Papa notices. His gaze flicks between us. And this time, when he looks at Roman, it is not with strategy. It is with understanding.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice still unsteady from everything he just gave back to me. From everything he just released.
Papa’s hands remain on my shoulders. The words sit in my chest like a live wire.
If I don’t say them now, I never will. “Then what I want,” I continue, forcing myself not to look at Roman yet, because if I do I might lose my nerve, “is to stay here.” My throat tightens.
“With Roman,” I finish softly. “If he wants me.”
I finally turn to find that Roman hasn’t moved. Not a step. But something in him has. His shoulders go rigid first. Then his jaw. Then his eyes, dark and unreadable for one terrible second.
“If?” he repeats quietly.
Heat floods my face. “I’m not assuming.”
He closes the distance in three long strides. His hands settle on my waist. “You think this is something I would hesitate over?” he asks, low enough that the words feel like they slide under my skin instead of through the air.
My pulse jumps. “You didn’t say—”
Dmitri exhales slowly behind him. Mikhail watches like he’s observing a negotiation he already knows the outcome of. Papa says nothing.
Roman’s grip tightens slightly. “I have wanted you since the moment I pulled you out of that warehouse,” he says quietly. The memory flashes between us. His hands pulling me free. The fury in his eyes. The way he held me like he was afraid I would disappear.
“That was adrenaline,” I whisper.
“No.” His jaw shifts. “It wasn’t.”
My breath catches. “And last night?” I ask, softer.
His gaze darkens, not with heat this time, but something deeper. “Last night was me being done pretending.” My stomach tightens. “You think I held you like that because I was confused?” he asks. “You think I woke up with you in my arms this morning and thought it was temporary?”
The memory hits hard. His chest under my cheek. His hand splayed over my back. The way he didn’t let go even in sleep.
“You didn’t say anything,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “You were promised to another man twelve hours ago. We haven’t really had a chance to talk since,” He smirks.
“I am not anymore.”
His eyes darken at that. “No,” he agrees. “You are not.”
His forehead lowers slightly, not touching, just close enough that I feel the heat of him. “So don’t say ‘if he wants me’ like I’ve been undecided,” he murmurs. “I have been waiting.”
“For what?” I murmur, my heart thudding so hard I’m sure he can feel it through his hands.
“For you to choose me,” he answers. There’s no hesitation in him now. No restraint. Just truth laid bare between us.
I don’t look away. “I choose you,” I say, and this time I let myself smile.
Something shifts in his face. Not surprise. Not triumph.
“Oh God,” Dmitri mutters loudly. “I’m getting out of here. I cannot stand around and watch my baby sister be like this.”
“Be like what?” I shoot back.
“Soft,” he says, already heading toward the door. “It’s disturbing.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Mikhail rises more gracefully, smoothing his jacket. “I second that. This is rapidly becoming unbearable.” He glances at Papa. “Lunch?”
Papa watches us for another quiet moment. His gaze lingers on Roman’s hands at my waist, then on my face. He looks satisfied. “Yes,” he says at last.
Dmitri is already halfway out. “Good. Before they start staring at each other again.”
“I can hear you,” I call after him.
“That’s the point.”
Mikhail gestures toward the door. “Come, Dmitri. Let them have their moment.”
Papa steps closer instead. He cups my cheek again, the gesture gentler this time. Familiar. Warm. “I love you, moy solnyshko.” My little sun.
My throat tightens all over again. “I love you too, Papa.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, then finally turns to follow my brothers.
At the doorway, Dmitri pauses. “Roman.”
Roman doesn’t remove his hands from me. “Yes?”
“If you hurt her,” Dmitri says flatly, “I will forget we are family.”
Roman’s expression doesn’t shift. “You won’t need to,” he replies.
Dmitri studies him for one long second. Then nods. The door closes behind them and the room goes quiet. I look up at Roman slowly. “Well,” I say, breathless and suddenly very aware of how close he is, “that went better than expected.”
His thumb traces a slow line along my waist. “You chose me,” he says, like he’s still processing it.
“I did.”
He leans closer, his forehead finally brushing mine. “Good,” he murmurs again.