Page 114 of Assassin: Part 1

“No piece of silicone is ever going to outdo the real thing, lisichka, and you know it. Even if you are trying to piss me off. And distract me from what we need to be talking about.” She scowls, and my smile widens. “As much as you hate it, I think it’s time we really talk about what our future is going to look like.”

The panic in her eyes is instant, and I have to fight back a laugh. Who knew a badass assassin feared around the world would be so damn terrified of the idea of being in a relationship.

One she wanted.

A less confident man would be insulted. I see it as a challenge, and I always win.

“Why do we need to go so deep into this? I just got here. It’s only been a little over twelve hours. Why can’t we just ease into things and⁠—”

“No.”

“What the hell do you mean no?” The towel starts to slip when she puts her hands on her hips, momentarily distracting me. “Stop that and pay the hell attention. You can’t just unilaterally decide these things, Ilya.”

“I believe I just did.” Her eyes glitter with anger, and I bite back a smile. She’s not the only one who is used to giving orders. Better she get used to it now.

It’s also not escaping me she’s no longer looking like she wants to run. Stab me, sure. And since I can already sense this is going to be a much larger argument, I get to my feet and walk out of the bathroom. Might as well get extra comfortable for the rest of this.

“You know what, this is not going to work,” Lane announces, stalking out after me, a bite to her tone.

Maybe I should be glad her knife is on the other side of the room with her clothes. She might just throw it at me.

“I agree, and that’s what we’re going to figure out tonight, lisichka.” I smirk at her. “See, I knew you’d come around to realizing it was the best option.” I bite back a grin when she groans. “And since I’m sure this is going to be a long discussion, I’ll call down for something to eat while we do. I’m starving and probably bordering on dehydration after you’ve drained me dry four times now.” I pick up my phone from the nightstand where I tossed it earlier and shoot a quick message to Oleg.

He’ll bitch about me using him as an errand boy, but he’ll do it, and I’ll know no one has tampered with it.

I’ll be keeping a very close eye on the woman in front of me who looks very close to losing her shit. She might actually poison me this time.

“I’m not doing this, Ilya. I’m not. All of this, this was a mistake. I can’t be here. I can’t be what you need or want, and we shouldn’t waste anymore of our time.” Her words sound so final, and she drops the towel, hunting for her clothes.

She probably expects me to argue, grab her, and beg her to stay and work this out. Instead, I watch her, waiting. She finds her clothes and snatches them up without looking at me.

“How old are you, Lane?”

She stills long enough that I know I have her attention again. “It’s not important since I’m going to be leaving.” She shakes out her shirt, ready to dress.

“I think it’s important that I know the age of my future wife, don’t you? I’m thirty-five, by the way.”

She’s silent as she slowly looks at me.

“I’m sure you already know that,” I continue, watching her, fully aware of just what kind of bomb I dropped. “Seems unfair that I know so little about you when you know so much about me. Though maybe there are a few things we can surprise each other with, hmmm?”

More silence. We stare at each other, the air thick, a mixture of tension and anticipation.

Realizing she’s not going to be the one to speak first, I shrug. “I mean, might make the vows awkward, but I’m sure we can fumble our way through things. People marry knowing far less about each other than that. We can figure it out over the years. Though we should probably figure out a date and⁠—”

“I’m not marrying you.” Her statement is final, harsh, and if I’m not mistaken, her skin has gone a little pale.

I really shouldn’t be enjoying her obvious panic and discomfort.

I arch a brow. “Are you worried about how people will react when they find out about us? I mean, you’re not eighteen or anything, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Would you shut the hell up about that?” she snaps. “I’m not a fucking teenager. I’m twenty-six. And I’m not fucking marrying you, Ilya. Are you insane? We don’t know each other and that’s not⁠—”

“I’m currently trying to do that, if you’ll shut the hell up for a second and listen,” I point out. Her eyes narrow. “And nine years difference isn’t too bad. I mean, you might be visiting me in the nursing home for a few years but⁠—”

“I’ll put you out of your misery long before then. And that might be sooner than that if you don’t stop talking. Jesus Christ, if I knew you were such a gabber, I’d have drugged you in the tub and left your brother to find you.” She yanks her shirt over her head.

“You mean the drugs my lab apparently haven’t perfected if they only knocked you out for two hours? We’ll figure it out. Besides, that could have resulted in me drowning, and you don’t want me dead.”