Page 46 of Broken Vows

I fell in love with him then more than I thought possible.

I’ve held on to those words for the past decade and secretly hoped that was why his grandfather picked me out of all the women in the world to marry his grandson.

He knew Mikhail was stubborn and that he wouldn’t marry despite the heftiness of his inheritance, but I’m clueless as to why that would place me at the top of his ledger of approved wives.

My confusion is evident in my unusually lenient words.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, even with the words tasting bitter.

I’m not an apologetic person, but I am standing firm on the boundary I set last night. Wynne needs tests, and my mother needs treatment. I also haven’t dismissed my theory that his grandfather chose me for this project for a reason.

Furthermore, our next goodbye could be permanent.

That hurts even to admit, and it isn’t something I am ready to face just yet. Our banter isn’t as playful as it was years ago, but I’d rather fight with Mikhail than not have him in my life for another ten years.

Remembrance of that has me adding more to my apology.

“My snarkiness was unwarranted. I just…” My words trail off when I struggle to explain myself.

My snappy attitude attracted Mikhail to me. I was shooting down the advances of a preppy trust-fund boy who struggled to take no for an answer, when Mikhail stepped forward to help. I told him I was fine before I popped my knee into the future rapist’s groin and had him tossed out of the bar by a burly bouncer.

Mikhail didn’t move his hands from his crotch once over the next three weeks. Not even when I finally accepted his invitation to dance.

You can imagine how awkward that made his dance moves.

The fact that he was up to the challenge of taming a wild woman who didn’t need a man made him that much more endearing.

I guess we’ve done more than age during our time apart.

Mikhail’s expression doesn’t alter, but he lifts his chin before lowering his eyes to the spread of food in front of us.

Tension runs rife for the next ten minutes. I squirm more than I did the prior ten, and I’m not the only one noticing.

Mikhail watches me under hooded lids before he eventually murmurs, “Need something firmer to rock against, Ember?”

An I-have-no-clue-what-you’re-talking-about lie sits on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how hard I try to fire it off, it refuses to relinquish it.

Fibs haven’t gotten me anywhere fast, so I switch tactics.

Mikhail sucks in a quick breath when I dip my chin.

His shock makes me smile.

“That’s why you called me Ember, wasn’t it? I was forever sparked.”

“That... and…” I die a thousand deaths waiting for him to answer. The near coronary is worthwhile when he murmurs, “Because you were the only thing capable of making me burn again.”

My heart launches into my throat when I recall a famous Russian saying. To make the ember burn again is a metaphor for bringing someone back from near death.

Mikhail called me Ember the first time I told him I loved him. I jokingly referred to him as Coal because it takes longer to heat, but once it reaches its desired temperature, it can maintain it longer than anything else.

I assumed that was how our love was. Unfading.

I’d never been more wrong.

I take advantage of Chef’s return to the kitchen by tilting my head back and peering at Mikhail. He watches me with so much heat in his eyes, and his gaze speaks words I don’t expect to fall from his mouth anytime in the next century.

I’m still the ember capable of making him burn again. I just have to earn the right.