Page 143 of Sadistic

"Like the fact that you're actually here. That yesterday wasn't a dream." His hand stills. "That you chose this."

I sit up, holding the sheet to my chest even though he's seen my body a million times already. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"After the mall? After Bembe?" He shrugs. "I wasn't certain of anything."

"But you were so confident?—"

"I'm good at pretending." He pulls me against him. "But watching you walk down that aisle, knowing you could have run... Rev, I've never been more terrified in my life."

"The great Doran Volkolv, terrified?"

"Only of losing you."

We sit in silence, me tucked against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

It's oddly domestic for two people whose relationship started with borderline stalking and arranged marriage.

"We need to talk," I say eventually. "Actually talk, not just fuck our problems away."

"I know." He kisses the top of my head. "Breakfast first? The hotel sent up enough food for an army."

Twenty minutes later, we're on the suite's private balcony, wrapped in plush robes and working through an obscene spread of food.

The city sprawls below us, but we're high enough that it feels removed from reality.

"So," I say, spreading jam on a croissant. "Ground rules."

"Straight to business?"

"Would you prefer small talk about the weather?"

"Fair point." He leans back in his chair. "What kind of ground rules?"

"First, no more surveillance on me. I'm your wife, not your asset."

"Done."

I blink. "Just like that?"

"I trust you to tell me if you're in danger. And you'll have security when needed, but no more tracking your every move." He sips his coffee. "Next?"

"Major decisions get made together. Both of us, equal vote."

"Agreed."

"I'm serious, Doran. No more inviting cartel leaders to our events, no more deciding who's a threat without consulting me?—"

"I said agreed." He reaches across the table, takes my hand. "I heard you, Rev. Partners, not possessions."

"Why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming?"

"No 'but.' Just an 'and.'" He squeezes my fingers. "And you have to actually let me protect you when there's real danger. No running off to prove a point when someone's threatening to kill you."

"That's fair." I study our joined hands—his scarred from violence, mine still soft from a life that's been relatively protected. "What about living arrangements?"

"About that." He looks almost nervous. "I've already given the hotel notice on the penthouse."

"You what?"