Page 46 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

Volkov-Fury Vow Renewal–Later That Night

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

What kind of sick, twisted, insensitive asshole came up with that line?

I mean, seriously.

I slam back another shot of ouzo and glare at the perfectly pastel sea of glowing, love-drenched women around me.

Lee-Lee—pregnant and radiant in her gauzy, ivory gown—is positively dripping in sapphires and happily-ever-after.

Aella’s glowing too, hand protectively over her just-showing bump.

Clementine’s wrangling two toddlers while pregnant with number three.

Shelly’s gushing about baby number one.

Michaela’s got two and a third probably cooking already.

And Lucy? Lucy is about to burst . Her man can’t keep his hands off her belly.

And me?

What do I have?

No man.

No baby.

No ring.

No plan.

Just a biological clock tick-tick- ticking away like a damn time bomb in my uterus, and all I get is a bouquet tossed in my direction like some kind of pity prize.

Marisa Tomei warned us.

I should’ve listened harder.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

I exhale, tip my head back, and let the ocean breeze hit my face as the beat of the music shifts.

The celebration rages on in soft lights and laughter and kisses and wine, and I’m standing here feeling like a spare part in a fairytale I wasn’t invited to star in.

“Why do you look so sad, Little One?”

The voice is deep. Smooth.

Tinged with mischief.

I glance up. Blink. And then blink again.

Dark eyes. Skin like sun-warmed cinnamon. A grin that could melt panties— and maybe already has.

Wait. I know this guy.

“What’s your name?” I ask, my head pleasantly fuzzy as I squint at him.

“Remy,” he says with a wink. “I’m Junior’s friend.”

Junior’s friend, huh?

I bite my lip.

Dangerous. Perfect.

The thing is—I have an idea.

It’s not the most wholesome idea I’ve ever had, but hey, I’m a Ramirez.

A Volkov.

Not everything in my life has been above board.

Sometimes we bend the rules.

Sometimes we break them.

And right now? I don’t want a love story. I want a legacy .

A baby.

My baby.

And I think Remy here might just have some world-class swimmers.

“So, Remy,” I purr, sliding in closer after we’ve shared a few more drinks and a couple laughs too many.

“Wanna see my room?”

His lips curl up like a devil granting wishes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And just like that, the story shifts.

Not a fairytale.

Not a romance.

But maybe?

Just maybe?

A beginning.

For me.