Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Victor
The first thing I am aware of is the fan on the ceiling going round and round. I recognize it as the ceiling of my room in the penthouse and not a hospital room. I’m instantly grateful to whoever made the decision to bring me home instead.
The second thing I am aware of is Alex.
She is sitting in a chair beside the bed, slumped over, arms crossed on the edge of the mattress, head down. The cut above her eye has been cleaned and closed with a small butterfly bandage. And there is a faint bruise along her jaw that I hadn’t noticed before.
I shift, causing the sheets to ripple, and she lifts her head to look at me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she says.
“Before you say anything,” I start.
“No,” she says. “I go first.”
I close my mouth.
“You were shot, and instead of letting David take you to the hospital and be seen, you ambushed a house of fully armed men.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Then after rescuing me, you proceeded to pass out on the staircase while I watched in utter panic, only moments after getting my daughter back. I hope you understand how furious I am with you.”
“I do,” I say.
“Good,” she says. “I am also—” she stops. Looks at her hands. Looks back at me. “I am very glad you’re awake,” she admits, her voice lower. “I never want to feel what I felt on those stores ever again, Victor. When I thought you were dying—”
“I’ll do my best.” I reach for her then, taking her hand softly as I sit up.
“That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”
“I know.” I pull her toward me, my shoulder argues extensively, but I ignore it. “Come here.”
She unfolds from the chair, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. I take her other hand and pull both hands to my lips. Placing a kiss on her knuckles, then locking eyes with her.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Victor–”
“Yarina.” Her name on my tongue feels right; she goes still. “Marry me.”
She just stares at me.
“Marry me.” I say again, “You are my equal, my wife, in every way. You are stubborn, difficult, and the most extraordinary person I have met in thirty-three years. And I don’t want anything to stand between us any longer.”
The silence stretches on.
“You have the worst possible timing,” she says finally, “you know that? You passed out on a set of stairs four hours ago, and now you’re asking me to marry you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You're currently being held together by David’s doctoring and pure spite you know.”
“I’m aware.” I tell her, “You’re avoiding my question.”
She looks at me for a long time, and I see the moment her brain stops trying to justify running and decides to stay.
“Yes,” she finally says. Then again, almost as if she doesn’t believe she said it aloud, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
I pull her into me, kissing her softly, and for the first time, she gives to me without resistance. She kisses me back with a warmth beyond what I thought she was capable of.
Just as my hands find their way beneath her shirt, the warmth of her soft skin against my palms sending heat up my arms, the door bursts open and Evie rushes in. Instantly, we put space between us, a blush across her face.
"You're okay," she says. Not a question. A conclusion, or maybe a reassurance.
She crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed on my other side and looks at me with serious eyes.
"David said it was bad," she says.
"David worries too much," I say.
“He was pretty calm actually, which he said means it was bad.”
I look at Alex, who is watching us from beside me with her hand still in mine, and the expression she gets when something is happening that she didn't entirely plan for and has decided she doesn't want to stop.
I look back at Evie.
"I have something to tell you," I say. “I am going to marry Alex, and this is going to be your home now. Both of yours. For as long as you want it." I pause. "I wanted you to hear it from me."
Evie looks at Alex. Alex looks at Evie. Something passes between them. An acceptance, a sort of mutual agreement.
At least I think so.
Then Evie looks back at me.
"Took you long enough.”
That makes both Alex and me laugh. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel genuinely happy. When the laughter subsides, I wrap an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them against my chest as I place a kiss on the top of their heads.
"Welcome home," I tell them. “Both of you.”