Epilogue Liesl
One Year Later
The morning light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Manhattan apartment as I stand at the window with my coffee, and feel something I at one point never thought I'd feel again.
Peace.
I'm back where I lived before Andrei, back in my comfortable, cozy apartment that's full of all the things I love. And sometimes, he comes here, too.
That's part of how we've been doing this. We go out on dates. Sometimes I go back to his place, sometimes he comes back to mine. We've tried to make the last year of dating as normal as possible, while I've figured out what I want my life to be.
My father went to prison, after the fallout of the Volkov situation.
As a result, all of my inheritance and trust fund was turned over to me, since his estate could no longer dole it out the way it had been before.
And I used a portion of it to launch a non profit, an organization dedicated to helping victims of kidnapping and human trafficking rebuild their lives.
Andrei has his empire. I have this. And he's contributed to it, too—a sort of penance, I think, for how our relationship started out.
But he's a silent partner. He's donated money, but he doesn't try to control it or insert himself into my decisions or demand to approve my choices.
And he's proud of me. I can see it in his eyes when I tell him about the women we've helped.
He's learned to let me breathe. And he's learned that I won't leave or vanish just because he gives me space, and something awful won't happen to me.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up and smile at the message.
Andrei: Dinner tonight? My place or yours?
Yours, I type back. I'll bring wine.
The response comes immediately. I'll cook.
I laugh softly. Andrei cooking is still a novelty. The ruthless Bratva pakhan who can dismantle an enemy organization, learned how to make pasta from scratch because he knows I love it.
I arrive at Andrei's later that evening with the promised bottle of wine, walking in without knocking.
I find him in the kitchen, the cook banished for the night, barefoot and wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
His muscled arms send a wave of desire through me as I watch him chopping up ingredients.
He looks up, and a smile spreads over his face.
"Ptitsa," he says. The endearment still makes my heart skip.
"Pakhan," I reply, teasing.
He crosses to me and kisses me. It's not desperate or rough like it used to be. It's sure, and confident. The kiss of a man who knows I'm his because I choose to be, not because he's holding me captive.
When we break apart, I'm breathless and smiling. "I missed you," he says softly.
"I saw you two days ago."
"I know." His hand comes up to cup my face. "Still missed you."
I lean into his touch. "I missed you too."
It's true. Even with my own space, my own life—I miss him when he's not around. Not in a desperate, dependent way, but in a way that feels natural, like missing sunshine when it's cloudy.
He takes the wine from my hands and pours us each a glass. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the air, and I see bread warming in the oven.
"You're getting good at this," I observe, hopping up onto the counter.
"I have good motivation." He moves between the stove and the counter, preparing a salad and pasta sauce. "How was your day?"
"Productive." I watch him work, admiring the way he moves. "We finalized the lease on the office space. And I had a meeting with a potential donor who wants to fund our first nonprofit house for a shelter."
He glances at me, pride evident in his expression. "That's incredible, Liesl."
"It is." I can't keep the excitement out of my voice. "We could have it operational in three months. A place where women can stay while they rebuild their lives. Job training, therapy, legal assistance—everything they need."
"You're going to change their lives."
"Well, I'm going to try." I give him a lopsided smile.
He sets down the spoon he's holding and comes to stand between my legs, his hands resting on my thighs.
"You already have. You changed mine." His thumbs stroke small circles through my jeans.
"You made me believe I could be more than what I was raised to be.
More than just the pakhan. You made me want to be better. "
"You were always capable of being better." I reach up and touch his face, feeling the familiar shape of his jaw under my palm. "You just needed someone to believe in you."
"I needed you." He leans in and kisses me again, slower this time. "I'll always need you."
"Good." I smile against his mouth. "Because you're stuck with me."
"The only prison sentence I'll never be afraid of."
I laugh and push at his chest. "Go finish cooking before you burn the sauce."
He goes back to the stove, and I watch him, feeling that sense of peace settle over me again.
We eat dinner at his dining table, talking about our days.
He tells me about a business deal he's negotiating, at least as much of it as he can—the legitimate part.
I don't want to know about the rest, and he respects that, just like I've learned to respect that there will always be an aspect of violence to him.
After dinner, we move to the couch with the rest of the wine.
I curl into his side, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me.
"I have something to ask you," he says after a while.
I tilt my head to look at him. "Okay."
"This weekend. Come away with me."
"Away where?"
"The Hamptons. I have a house there with a private beach. Just us."
"For how long?"
"Just the weekend. Friday to Sunday." He's watching my face carefully. "If you have plans, we can—"
"I don't have plans." I cut him off gently. "I'd love to go."
Something in his expression relaxes. "Good."
"Why do you look nervous?" I ask, studying him. "It's just a weekend trip."
"I'm not nervous."
"Liar." I poke his chest. "You're terrible at hiding it."
He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. "Maybe I just want everything to be perfect."
"It will be." I lean up and kiss him. "Because we'll be together."
—
Friday afternoon finds us driving out of the city in Andrei's car—not the armored SUV with guards, just his personal vehicle, although it still has bulletproof glass.
The beach house, when we get there, is stunning.
The sound of waves fills the air, and the late afternoon sun turns everything golden.
"This is beautiful," I breathe, standing on the deck and looking out at the water.
Andrei comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it? I love it." I lean back against him. "We should come here more often."
"We can come whenever you want." He presses a kiss to my temple. "It's yours as much as mine."
I turn in his arms to face him. "You know you don't have to give me things, right? I'm not here because of what you can provide."
"I know." His hands settle on my hips. "But I want to give you things anyway. I want to give you everything."
"You already have." I touch his face. "You gave me my freedom. Myself back. You let me be me so we could be together. That's what matters the most."
He kisses me, deep and thorough, and I lose myself in it—in him, and this moment of perfect peace.
When we break apart, he takes my hand. "Walk with me?"
We make our way down to the sand, and I slip off my shoes, letting my feet sink into the cool grains.
The ocean stretches out endlessly before us, and the sky is starting to turn pink and orange with the approaching sunset.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, hand in hand, the waves lapping at our feet.
I feel completely at peace. Completely myself.
"Liesl," Andrei says after a while, and something in his voice makes me look at him. He's nervous again. I can see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing's wrong." He stops walking and turns to face me. "I just—I need to ask you something."
My heart starts to beat faster. "Okay."
He takes both my hands in his, and I notice they're shaking slightly. Andrei, who faces down enemies without flinching, is shaking.
"A year ago," he begins, "I asked you to marry me in a hallway while you were wearing a pajamas and could barely stand."
I laugh despite my suddenly racing heart. "You did."
A smile tugs at his mouth. "You said maybe. You said you'd give us a chance."
"I did."
"We've had that chance." His pale blue eyes are intense on mine.
"This past year, watching you build your life, watching you become even more yourself—it's been the greatest privilege of my life.
Every day, I choose you. And every day, you choose me back.
That's more than I ever thought I'd have. More than I ever thought I deserved."
Tears are starting to blur my vision. "Andrei—"
"Let me finish." He squeezes my hands. "I know I asked you before. But that was different. That was in the middle of war and chaos and uncertainty." He lets go of one of my hands and reaches into his pocket. When his hand emerges, he's holding a small velvet box.
My breath catches.
"Liesl Baumann." He opens the box, revealing a ring that catches the fading sunlight—a simple, elegant oval diamond on a platinum band. "Will you marry me? Not because you're trapped or because you have no other choice, but because you want to. Because you choose this—because you choose me."
The tears spill over. I'm crying and smiling at the same time, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. "Yes." The word comes out choked. "Yes, I'll marry you."
Joy spreads across his face. He takes the ring from the box and slides it onto my finger.
It fits perfectly.
"I love you," he says, pulling me into his arms. "I love you so fucking much."
"I love you too." I'm crying into his shoulder now, overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment. "I choose you. I'll always choose you."