Page 149 of The Wrong Monster

“Six months.”

“Six months?”

“That’s what I’m offering. Six months of dating. You continue working.”

Her eyebrows rise as she scoffs. “Absolutely. I never intended to stop.”

“I would never ask you to.”

Matty studies me, her hands going still. Then she reaches up and brushes her fingertips along my jaw.

“You’re actually okay with that? With all of this?”

“I cannot take a competent lawyer like you away from society.” That earns the smallest smile. “And you’ll find, Matilda, that you could ask me for anything. And I’d move the planets to get it for you, Zvezda.”

She laughs, and the sound settles somewhere deep inside my chest.

“Then yes.”

I go completely still.

“Yes?”

“Yes, Vasily. I love you. And I’ll marry you.”

I rise just enough to reach her, my hands still on her thighs, and she bends toward me. Our kiss is nothing like the others; no hunger, no secret yearning, no challenge. Just a promise.

When we break apart, there’s something else in her eyes that makes me pause. A sliver of regret.

“What is it?” The question comes out as a rumble, nervous; she wouldn’t take it back so quickly?

“Isla.”

Unsure where she’s going with that, I ask, “What about her?”

“She gets to know who you really are. Eventually.” When I hesitate, Matty adds in the same tone I heard her use in the courtroom, “It’s non-negotiable, Vasily. I’m willing to create a life with you and compromise with the fact that we come from two very different worlds, but I need someone else to know. I need to tell her eventually.”

“Eventually,” I agree carefully after a moment’s consideration.

Because she’s right, I can’t keep a woman like Matilda Pierce to myself, and I won’t isolate her from the people she loves.

Not when I feel like I’ve finally been given something worth keeping.

Chapter 39

Matilda

By mid-December, I know what dating Vasily looks like when I can leave.

The first time I went back to New York, he called to ask when he could visit. Asked. I made him wait until Friday because I had a hearing, and he arrived with dinner after I got home. He complained about the traffic, inspected my terrible kitchen knives, and listened while I talked about a case I was allowed to discuss.

We’ve argued. We’ve rearranged weekends. Once, I canceled a trip north to finish a brief, and nobody appeared at my door to collect me. He came down the following week instead.

When I return to the lake house now, I pack my own bag. He meets me at the door like he has been waiting all day, which he usually denies. Those ordinary, repeated choices have made the future feel less like a leap and more like a place I can build.

Isla knows who he is now. Telling her took a long evening, several uncomfortable questions, and a promise that I would stop using work as an excuse to disappear on her. She still worries. She also calls him by his name, asks me whether I’m happy, and expects an honest answer.

I sit across from Damon Hale, one of the firm’s senior partners, with my hands folded neatly over the curve of my stomach. He studies me for a moment before leaning back in his chair.