Page 52

52

SUTTON

It’s the fairy tale I’ve always dreamed of.

Except instead of a horse, the prince shows up in a vintage convertible with the top down.

And the prince in question is of the mafia persuasion.

Swallowing my nerves, I walk towards the car just as Oleg gets out, his hair carefully wind strewn, his shirt open at the chest just enough to reveal the first layer of taut muscle.

“You brought lunch,” he notes, eyeing the picnic basket I’m lugging around.

“Jesse’s the one who did the heavy lifting,” I explain, handing it off to him. “Word to the wise, I’d be careful about the lunch she packed for you. She isn’t exactly your biggest fan at the moment.”

His lips purse into a sly smile. “I take it you didn’t give her my explanation, then?”

“I thought I’d wait and see how today turned out.”

He chuckles. “Caution can be very attractive on a woman,” he says, holding the passenger side door open for me.

“That’s not gonna work, you know.”

He stops short, hand stilling on the door. “What’s not gonna work?”

“This.” I point to his smile. “The whole charming, gentlemanly, sexy routine you’ve got going. I’m not falling for it.”

“I’ll admit, I’m definitely trying to be charming. Gentlemanly? Sure. But as for putting on the sexy?” He wags his eyebrows at me. “That’s one hundred percent natural.”

The blush creeps up my cheeks like wildfire. I try to hide it behind my eye roll.

“You’re still doing it,” I accuse. “Being charming.”

“Sorry. I can’t just turn it on and off like a faucet.”

“Huh. You certainly managed the last couple of months.”

He snorts. “Touché.”

He gets behind the wheel, looking as though he was born to drive a convertible. Casually, he runs a hand through his hair and I wonder if he knows what that small, simple gesture does to me.

I’m seconds away from thawing completely.

All it will take is another casual smile. A brush of our hands. Wouldn’t hurt to have another declaration of his love for me, either.

I barely slept last night for excitement. His “ I love you ” kept repeating over and over again in my head until I’d worked myself right out of sleep.

Not to mention I’d worked up other parts of myself, too.

But despite what I want, what my body wants, I know I have to temper my desires and listen to reason.

As much as this feels right, that doesn’t mean it is.

If I’ve learned one thing in the last year, it’s that my instincts can’t be trusted. It’s given me a rough blueprint to work towards.

It goes a little something like this:

In any difficult situation, just ask a Palmer woman what she would do.

Then do the exact opposite.

“Did you sleep?” Oleg asks, puncturing the tense silence.

“Erm… not really.”

“Busy planning another exit route, huh?”

I almost smile. “Would you blame me?” I ask, giving him a throwaway glance. “Especially after what I heard?”

“No, I wouldn’t blame you. But I would hope that I could change your mind.”

“My mind is easily changed when it comes to you,” I mutter. “That’s the problem.”

“Is it a problem, though?”

Sighing, I brush away the hair fluttering into my face. “We’re too different, Oleg. We come from two completely separate worlds. I would embarrass you. You would get impatient with me. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“That’s Oksana talking, not you.”

“Maybe I agree with her.”

“That would be a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because you are not Oksana Pavlova,” he growls. “Thank fuck for that. She lives in the past with her ghosts. She lives by the rules. She will always think of what other people think before she thinks about how she feels or what she wants. She’s cold and practical and calculated. She believes in a transactional world where you’re measured by your reputation, your possessions, your status.”

“And me?”

“You…” His gaze softens, a smile playing across his lips. “You believe in fairy tales.”

The vessel waiting for us at the harbor isn’t the usual Pavlov extravagance.

Much like Oleg’s convertible, this beauty’s all vintage class. Small, sleek, and far more intimate, with teak sides that catch the sun like they’re made of pure gold.

Oleg helps me onboard. This is the first time that I’ve felt as though I’m on water. The other yachts are so damn large that they might as well be on dry land for all the bobbing about they do.

“What do you think?” Oleg asks as he takes me through to the bow.

“It’s not your usual ride.”

He chuckles. “It’s been a pet project of mine for many years now. I don’t take her out often, but when I do, she beats yacht sailing every time.”

“Does she have a name?”

Oleg clears his throat, looking out towards the ocean. “ The Oriana Elise. ”

My heart goes still in my chest.

“Come on,” he says before I can utter another word. “You’re going to learn to sail a real boat today.”

“Me?!”

Laughing, he grabs my hand and tows me towards the cockpit.

The lesson unfolds under clear skies. The doom and gloom of yesterday seems to have passed with only the promise of a storm.

I wonder what that might mean. What kind of omen it could be.

Oleg’s teaching is as confident as the man delivering it. He stands at my back, guiding me every step of the way, his fingers brushing my arm, his breath on the back of my neck, his lips tickling my ear.

It’s so easy to fall for this—the beautiful man showering me with his attention, the dark grain under my fingers, the control I feel as the boat moves like it’s reading my mind.

It’s so easy to fall into awe, to marvel at the whole damn fairy tale of it all.

Once we’ve cleared land and there’s nothing but wild ocean surrounding us, Oleg shows me how to drop anchor.

We go out onto the bow, where the sun is sparkling down on us, illuminating the burnished deck with a rainbow of colors. Oleg lays down the picnic blanket and I pull out the food Jesse prepared.

She’s outdone herself with mince pies, sausage rolls, roast beef sandwiches, and even some duck liver pate with homemade saltine crackers.

But as delicious as everything looks, I’m not hungry. The only appetite I have right now is for the man sitting opposite me, spread out across the blanket, with his arms behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles.

A gorgeous Adonis of a man who I’m convinced I can’t have.

Lord, give me strength.

But I can already sense my resolve waning. Happiness blooms like a drug in my veins, as addictive and as irresistible as the first hit after a lifetime of sobriety.

I have to be strong.

I have to tell him.

We don’t have a future. We’re just pretending right now.

And even if we did love each other, is that love strong enough to endure a lifetime of differences?

I can only be sure of myself in this instance. I know what I’m capable of.

But him? Him, I’m not so sure about.

I just have to tell him where I stand and resist his attempts to charm me.

I’m about to open my mouth and tell him exactly that, but he beats me to the punch.

“I have something to tell you.”

That sends a shudder down my spine. “What is it?”

He sits up and turns in my direction, those golden eyes of his blazing. “It’s about your sister.”

Immediately, the panic races up my throat. I feel as though I’m going to gag on it. Oleg must see the panic in my eyes, because he leans forward and grabs my hand.

“Don’t worry, Sutton: Your sister’s fine. She’s going to be free soon enough. The charges against her were dropped by the D.A.’s office.”

My jaw drops. “W-what?”

Oleg nods. “Yesterday, I was paid a visit from Detective Cooper. She told me that Anton was the one responsible for the break-in at Boris’s home. He was the one that beat him to a bloody pulp. Probably acting on the Martineks’ orders, not that Detective Cooper is aware of that part. At least, she didn’t say as much to me.”

“Okay,” I murmur, trying to connect the dots. “I’m still having trouble figuring out how that gets Sydney off the hook.”

“Because the D.A. had to launch a full-scale investigation into Anton and his dealings the last year or two. They came across evidence that supported our defense that Sydney was abused at Anton’s hands.”

I frown. “E-evidence…? What kind of evidence?”

“Video tapes.”

“Oh my God,” I gasp, hand settling over my heart. “So… she’s not even going to stand trial?”

“The D.A. isn’t going to want the bad press. And putting a battered and abused woman on trial for snapping and killing her abuser is going to come off really bad in the public eye. Especially with the team of lawyers I’d put together. They’re satisfied to have Sydney complete her term at Alice Matlin and be done with this whole ordeal.”

My heart soars. I’m on the verge of throwing myself right into Oleg’s arms.

“Sydney won’t be going to jail,” I breathe, reveling in those sweet words.

“I would never have let that happen, Sutton,” Oleg assures me confidently. “I would have done whatever I needed to do to make sure she never saw the inside of a prison.”

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. “Oleg… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I promised I would take care of you and I intend to keep that promise. That extends to anyone you care about. I know you may not always like how I go about it, but I’m never going to stop making good on that promise.”

A tear slips down my cheek. “I’m sorry I got so mad at you… I was?—”

“Scared for your sister,” he finishes for me. “You were scared and panicked and desperate. You needed to let off steam and I was your punching bag.”

I wince. “Yes…”

“Look at me, princess,” he murmurs. I force my eyes to his. “Whatever you dish out, I can take. I can handle it, baby. I can handle you.”

Is this what paradise feels like? Because this has to be the closest thing to heaven that’s possible to achieve on earth.

I was so worried he’d disarm me with charm. But it was never his charisma I had to be wary of. It was his sincerity, his honesty, his loyalty.

In the face of all of that… how can I resist?

“I love you, Oleg,” I say, the admission leaving my body in a torrid gasp. “So much that it terrifies me.”

“Is that why you ran?”

“Partly, yes,” I acknowledge somberly. “But partly because I am worried that I won’t be enough for you in the end.”

He slides closer to me, drawing my hand into his lap. “I’m possessive of my empire, my company, my home. But never in my life have I been possessive of a woman. Until you. That’s how I know you’re enough, Sutton Palmer. You will always be enough.”

Okay.

This is paradise.

It has to be.

My hand finds his chest, the diamond on my finger catching the light like a fallen star. We lean into each other and I give myself over to the ache in my gut.

I can’t fight this anymore. I’m only human after all.

Who am I to turn my nose up at paradise?

And then?—

BOOM.

The world shatters into fire and force and fucking chaos.

I’m thrown. Forward. Backward. I have no notion of where or which direction. All I know is that I’m free-falling.

One moment, I’m breathing air, and the next, I’m swallowing saltwater, pain painting my body in shades of agony I’ve never felt before.

I try to move but my movements are swallowed up by the sea. Every time I thrash, I lose more breath to the icy-cold water.

Darkness claws at my last vestiges of vision. I can feel unconsciousness come for me. It’s a welcome distraction from the screeching pain tearing through my limbs.

I have no notion of where I am. I have no notion of where Oleg is. There’s a moment of fear and panic in the not-knowing.

And then darkness steals its way deeper into my consciousness.

The abyss is here. Reaching. Consuming.

But I have to fight it off.

Because giving up means death.

Even paradise has teeth, I think to myself, trying hard to hold onto the feeling I had just before my world exploded. Maybe if I can recapture that feeling, I can find enough strength left in me to fight a little harder.

I take a deep breath. I kick my legs harder. I pray.

But when I do cry out, it’s not a prayer I’m saying.

It’s his name.

Oleg.