Page 117 of Cruel Kiss

I take his hand and I lead him upstairs.

We don't turn off the lights. I want to see him and I want him to see me. There's nothing left to hide behind now, no lies, no night-stuff-in-the-dark, no gone-by-morning. All that's left is us.

We make love slowly, as if there's all the time in the world. That's a lie, but I'll accept it for tonight. He kisses me from head to toe and lets me do the same to him.

Clothes are shed until there's nothing between us, nothing at all. I hold onto him and he holds onto me and we move together in the lamplight like two people who have decided, in spite of every receipt either of us owns, to tell the truth and stay.

When it's over, we don't move apart. He pulls the sheets up over both of us and puts his arm under my head. I lay my cheek on his chest over the old scars and listen to his heart do the thing the machine in the ICU wouldn't trust Navi to do on his own.

"You're going to come home," I tell his heartbeat.

"Yes," he says.

"Say it."

"I'm going to come home to you, Calista Meadows." His hand moves slow up and down my back. "And then I'm going to sit on your steps and tell you the worst thing about me, and you're going to decide what to do with it. That's the deal."

"Nice to know you were listening."

Down the hall, a small foot pads to the bathroom and back. We both go still until the house settles again. Then he laughs, and I feel it move through his chest under my cheek, and I close my eyes—not to hide from anything, just because I'm tired and safe and here.

The letter is downstairs in the briefcase. The skhodka will be here before we know it. Nothing is settled. Nothing is certain.

But I love Ronan Akov, and he loves me.

Tonight, that's the only piece of data that matters.

34

RONAN

I begin the day I might die by making pancakes.

It's the last thing I expected to be doing on the morning that might be my last, but here I am, at Cali's stove, flipping batter one-handed while the coffee machine hisses behind me. I slept maybe two hours. She slept even less. But the kids don't know any of that, and I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can.

Isabella is at the table with Doctor Fuzz's shoebox. The chrysalis inside hasn't moved in days and she's starting to worry, no matter how many times I reassure her. Hayden is drawing something with far too many teeth. If I squint and ignore everything outside of these walls, I could almost pretend it's a normal morning, a normal man making breakfast for his normal family.

I don't let myself go that far. But I peek at that possibility for just a moment before I tuck it away.

"Minnie ears," Isabella reminds me, in case I've forgotten in the night.

"You wound me with your doubt," I tell her. Then I pour two small circles on top of the big one with a flourish, which makes her giggle, even though I'm pretty sure she has no idea what I meant.

I set it in front of her. She inspects it with the utmost seriousness. Then she nods, satisfied, and picks up her fork.

Hayden gets his three small ones. Cali gets hers, buttered, with syrup on the side because she'll say she doesn't want it and then steal from Isabella's plate.

Cali comes down in her bathrobe, her hair still wet. She looks at me over the kids' heads with an expression I've never had a word for, so I don't try. I hand her the coffee I've had waiting for her.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"You never have to thank me for that."

Isabella swallows a mouthful of pancake and looks up at me. Batter on her chin. Fork in her fist.

"See you tonight?" she asks.

Cali and I both freeze. The kids don't know there's a room across the water with my life stacked on a table in it. They only know I'm here now.