Florrie
The walk back to Leon's house is quiet, but it's not uncomfortable.
My mind is still spinning from dinner, from meeting everyone, from the weight of Yury's words settling over me like a blanket I can't quite shake off.
Anyone who suggests otherwise is an enemy.
That's what he said about me being part of the family now.
Leon's hand finds mine and he threads our fingers together. The gesture is simple, grounding, and I squeeze back without thinking about it.
"You did well tonight," he says quietly.
"Did I?" I let out a shaky laugh. "I felt like I was walking through a minefield."
"You were." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "But you didn't step on anything explosive. That's what matters."
I think about Sophia's warm welcome, Charlotte's sympathetic smile, Avros's cautious questions. Even Yury, intimidating as he was, seemed to accept me by the end of the night. Or at least accept that Leon had made his choice and they were going to support it.
"They're going to expect things from me," I say, more to myself than to him. "Sophia mentioned helping with family events. Charlotte talked about estate activities. There are... responsibilities."
"Yes." He doesn't sugarcoat it. "Being a Dubovich wife isn't just a title. It's a role."
"A role I never interviewed for."
"No." He glances at me. "But you're here anyway. And from what I saw tonight, you're going to be good at it."
The certainty in his voice makes something warm bloom in my chest. He believes that. Really believes I can do this.
"I need to tell my parents," I say suddenly.
Leon goes still. "About us?"
"About everything." I turn to face him. "They're going to wonder why I'm not responding to texts. Why I'm suddenly... married. Living in a different place. With a different life."
"What are you going to tell them?"
Good question.
I try to imagine that phone call. Hi Mom, hi Dad.
Remember how I went on a date Friday night?
Well, funny story. I accidentally walked into an illegal arms deal and this Russian mobster saved my life by claiming me as his wife and now we're actually married and I'm probably going to have his baby soon. How's Florida?
Yeah. That's not going to work.
"I'll tell them the truth," I say slowly. "Most of it, anyway. That I met you, that it happened fast, that I'm happy."
"Are you?" The question is quiet. "Happy?"
The answer isn't as simple as I thought.
"I don't know if happy is the right word," I admit. "But I'm not... unhappy. Is that weird?"
"No." His mouth curves slightly. "It's honest."
We finally go inside. The house is warm, quiet, untouched since we left. Leon locks the door behind us and I find myself drifting to the living room, sinking onto the couch.
He follows, sitting beside me.
"What about work?" he asks. "Monday's coming."
Work.
Morrison & Associates. My cramped cubicle, my never-ending stack of case files, my boss who barely remembers my name despite the fact that I've worked there for a year now.
The paralegal job I took because it was safe. Because it paid the bills. Because it was what I was supposed to do with my law degree that I never actually wanted.
"I should call them," I say. "Tell them... what? That I'm quitting? That I need time off?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know." I drop my head back against the couch. "A week ago, I would have said I wanted to keep my job. It's stable, it's fine. But now..."
"Now?"
"Now it feels like going back would be going backward." I turn my head to look at him. "Is that crazy? I've been there since finishing college. I have benefits. A 401k. It's responsible."
"Fuck responsible." The words are blunt, surprising. "Do you want to go back?"
Do I?
I think about the fluorescent lights. The boring work. The commute. The way I felt invisible every single day.
"No," I admit. "I don't want to go back."
"Then don't."
"But I need to do something." I sit up, energy suddenly coursing through me. "I can't just... exist. I need purpose. Work. Something that's mine."
"Then find it." He shifts closer. "You don't have to figure it out right now. Take time. Figure out what you actually want to do instead of what you think you should do."
The permission in those words makes my throat tight.
"What if I don't know what I want?" I ask, suddenly feeling adrift.
"Then we'll figure it out together."
Together.
The word is heavy with meaning.
I think about the marriage certificate I signed tonight. About the way Yury called me family. About the responsibilities Sophia mentioned and the expectations everyone has.
"They're going to want a real wedding eventually, aren't they?" I ask. "Something public. Photos. Announcements."
"Probably." Leon doesn't sound thrilled about it either. "Yury will expect it. The family will expect it. But only if you want it."
"Do you?"
He considers this. "I've never thought about weddings. Never planned to have one. But if it makes this more real for you, if it gives you something that feels like yours instead of just... circumstance, then yes."
I shake my head slowly. "I don't need a wedding. I don't need the dress or the flowers or the ceremony." I reach for his hand again. "What happened between us today, this morning... that felt more real than any wedding could."
His eyes darken at the memory. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." My cheeks heat but I don't look away. "I chose you. You chose me. We don't need a church or witnesses to make that mean something."
"Good." He pulls me into his lap in one smooth motion, settling me against his chest. "Because I'm not good at romantic gestures. I can protect you, provide for you, worship your body until you can't remember your own name. But I struggle with the soppy stuff."
I laugh, the sound surprising me. "What if I want flowers sometimes?"
"Then I'll buy you flowers." He says it like it's obvious. "Just not because tradition says I should. I’ll buy you flowers because you want them."
That distinction matters more than it probably should.
We sit like that for a while, his arms around me, my head on his shoulder. The house is silent except for our breathing, the occasional creak of old wood settling.
"I'll call my parents tomorrow," I decide. "Tell them I met someone. That it's serious. They'll be surprised, but..." I shrug. "They've been trying to get me to date for years. They'll probably just be relieved."
"And work?"
"I'll email my boss Monday morning. Resign with immediate effect. Professional. Clean." I lift my head to meet his eyes. "Then I'll figure out what comes next."
"What do you think comes next?"
"I don't know." The honesty feels good. "Maybe I'll take some time. Explore the estate. Get to know Sophia and Charlotte better. Maybe I'll look into something completely different. Something I actually care about."
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet." I trace one of the tattoos on his chest through his shirt. "But I have time to figure it out, right? This isn't... you're not going to kick me out once I'm jobless or something?"
It's meant to be a joke, but something flickers across his face.
"Florrie." His hand cups my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You're not a means to an end. You're not just here to fulfill the mandate. What we did today, what we're building... that's real."
"Even though it started as a lie?"
"Especially because it started as a lie." His thumb strokes my cheek. "Because we're choosing to make it true."
He's right. We are choosing this. Every conversation, every touch, every decision we make together, that's us choosing each other despite how we started.
"Okay," I whisper.
Then he's kissing me, deep and claiming, like he's sealing the promise we just made to each other. And I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring all my uncertainty and hope and unexpected trust into it.