Page 72 of Gilded Shackles
"You scared her today."
I knew she'd bring it up again. She's like a dog with a bone when she thinks she's right.
"She's really trying," Elle says. "With Pasha. With all of us."
I stare at the ceiling. "You're too trusting."
"And you're too suspicious." She rests on one elbow, facing me. "She's not plotting world domination. She just wants to know her son."
"She had eight years to know him. She chose to spend that time elsewhere."
Elle is quiet for a moment. "People make mistakes. Huge ones. That doesn't mean they don't deserve a second chance."
"She will never have my forgiveness," I say, and let her see the full truth of it. "Never. But for Pasha's sake and yours, I'm tolerating her presence."
She sighs, rolling onto her back. "You know, for a man who's supposedly reformed, you still have a lot of work to do."
I can't help the smirk. "And yet you married me."
"Don't remind me," she mutters, but there's a ghost of a smile hiding in her tone.
After a while, Elle falls asleep first. Tangled in the sheets, breathing steadily. I watch her for a moment, the edges of my anger softening.
Viktor's voice echoes in my head:You love your wife.
Yeah. I do. Against every ounce of reason I've ever had.
Which is exactly why I'll do whatever it takes to keep her and Pasha safe.
21
ELLE
"Coming!" I yell, switching off the blow-dryer, though my hair's still dripping wet. They probably didn't hear me, because they knock again like they're trying to wake the dead.
"Hold on!" I fling open the door, expecting maybe the housekeeper or, if the universe really loves me, Nikolai.
Yeah, no. Not that lucky.
Natalia slips in, quick and quiet, shutting the door behind her like she's smuggling state secrets. Hair up, face calm, but her eyes? Mischief.
"I got it," she whispers, holding out a small paper bag.
My brain short-circuits. "Got what?"
Then she gives me the look. The one that saysyou know damn well what.
Oh. Ohhh.
The pregnancy test. The one we discussed after my near-death experience with a tuna sandwich.
Well, butter my toast and call me fertile. It's happening.
"That was fast," I say, my voice a petrified squeak.
"Pharmacy was practically empty." She hands me the bag, looking far too excited. "No one saw me. Paid cash."
"Fair." I take it gingerly, like it's made of uranium. "Thank you. Really."
