“Can I help with anything?”

  Paddy gestures toward the refrigerator with his elbow. “There’s some fresh fruit in there that I haven’t had a chance to cut up yet. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything. There’s also some whipped cream. That seems to be what a lot of the recipes I looked at showed you can top it with.”

  I open the fridge, and there’s a bounty of fruits from raspberries to blueberries. There are strawberries and blackberries, as well as a kiwi. He wasn’t lying. I grab it all, then hull the strawberries and cut up the kiwi. I put all the berries into separate bowls and put them on the table, which is already set.

  By the time I’m finished, Paddy is lifting the last blini out of the skillet. He adds it to the pile he’s already plated and brings it over to add to the array of dishes. “Have a seat. I’m just going to refill my coffee.”

  I sit and glance around. This is the first time I’ve used my brand-new dining room table. Every other morning, I’ve just stood in the kitchen and leaned against the counter while I ate my bowl of cereal. This is nice, having a meal in here. It feels familiar. Like the family dinners I had with Mila and Pierce.

  Instead of sitting across the table, Paddy sits in the chair beside me. “Dig in.”

  I reach for the blinis and put a couple on my plate. When I pass the fork, our fingers brush. My gaze darts up to meet his. It’s more disconcerting than I could imagine sitting next to my half-naked husband. I swallow and quickly release the utensil to reach for some of the fruit. Once I’ve covered my blini with all the toppings I want, I try to focus on eating.

  Except, my gaze keeps drifting to Paddy’s bare chest and stomach. I visually trace the lines outlining each and every one of his abdominal muscles. One, two, three, four, five, six. His entire six-pack is on display. Heat settles deep in my belly. I glance up to find him staring at me with a bemused smile. My whole face flushes.

  I scramble for something to say. “What kind of symbol is your tattoo?”

  It’s some kind of knotted and twisted triangle shape. Paddy’s eyes go to the design inked on his inner forearm. “This is a Celtic knot. Or Trinity knot. Depends on who you ask.”

  “Does it have any special meaning?” I’m fascinated by how bright green it is. It seems very Irish.

  He smirks. “Again, it depends on who you ask. It’s a religious symbol to some, representing The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. To others, it represents the elements earth, air, and water. It also can represent life, death, and rebirth.”

  I glance up at him. “What does it mean for you?”

  Paddy shrugs. “Maybe a little bit of all of it. But mostly, it represents the last.”

  I study him. Life. Death. Rebirth. That’s pretty powerful. “I like it. The whole idea of living one way, but maybe it’s not the way you’re supposed to live. So you, metaphorically of course, die so you can come back as someone different. Someone better.”

  Something about the concept really resonates with me. Maybe that’s what this marriage is. My rebirth. A way for me to become a different person than I’ve been. Someone who isn’t afraid of kisses. Or more. The longer I think about it, the bigger the idea becomes. Maybe there’s another after that hasn’t happened yet.

  “Do you think I could get one?” I ask.

  Paddy’s eyes widen. “A tattoo?”

  “Yes, but that tattoo,” I emphasize.

  He observes me a moment. I try to contain my excitement, but it’s bubbling up and over the surface.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s traditionally Irish, but you did marry into an Irish family,” he says. “Let me know when you want it, and I’ll set up an appointment with our artist.”

  So many possibilities start racing through my mind. When do I want it? Where do I want it? With a smile on my face, I go back to eating breakfast. It’s as though Paddy’s and my kiss last night changed everything.

  Chapter 31

  Paddy

  * * *

  I stand at the entrance of the breezeway and look out over the backyard and the garden Anya’s so proud of. She’s been out here since right after breakfast, watering and tending to her flowers. My gaze lands on her. She’s kneeling on the ground with a pair of pruning shears, working on a small bush. The satchel of gardening tools from my mother is close by her side.

  The floppy hat she wears guards her pale skin from the sun barely peeking out behind the clouds. Her long-sleeved shirt billows with the slight breeze, hiding her figure. She appears even more relaxed than she had last night at the pub. Happier, as well. I could stand here all day and just watch her. But I came out to the garden with a purpose.

  I shift the bundle in my arms and stride across the green grass that reminds me of Ireland. There isn’t nearly enough greenery in Brooklyn, so when I come across some, it makes me appreciate it that much more.

  Anya’s head lifts at my approach. Her wide smile hits me right in the gut.

  “Hi,” she calls out.

  “Hello, yourself.” I come to a halt beside her and hold up the basket I’m carrying. “I brought snacks.”

  “That’s so nice of you.”

  I set it down, open it, and pull out the blanket folded on top. Once I’ve shaken it out, I spread it over the ground and gesture for her to join me.

  “Oh, it’s a picnic,” Anya exclaims happily as she positions herself on one side of it. She removes her gloves and sets them beside her. “I can’t remember the last time I went on one.”

  “Well, today, I brought it to you.” I take a seat next to her and start digging more things out of the basket. “I’ve got some meat and cheese, along with crackers and some leftover fruit.”

  I set out the plates and then lay all the offerings on them. “I also brought a little bubbly for us to celebrate.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  I grab the bottle and yank out the cork. Anya jumps and giggles at the pop.

  “Our marriage,” I say, filling up a flute and passing to her. “For you.”

  She takes it from my hand, and I make sure my fingers brush across hers. She blushed so prettily yesterday during breakfast when it happened by accident. This is intentional. I want her as aware of me as I am of her. The flush that crosses her cheeks tells me it’s working.

  I pour myself a glass and hold it up. Anya clinks hers against mine.

  “Slainté,” I cheer.

  There’s something about the ambiance surrounding us that lends to what I’ve coined Operation: Seduction. I’ve never been on a picnic with a woman before. It’s always felt too intimate. Too romantic. It has that feeling of expectation. Sitting here, I understand how people would feel that way.

  While Anya nibbles on the food, I start the conversation. “So, tell me what it is about flowers that you love so much?”

  She pauses with a cracker halfway to her mouth before slowly lowering it. “I already told you that it was mostly just Mila and me growing up. She did her best to make sure that I had everything I needed, but she was still practically a kid herself.” Her gaze wanders and grows distant as though remembering the past. She shakes it off, and her eyes meet mine again. “She was late picking me up from school one day. Not that it matters, but I can’t even remember the reason. One of the teachers let me stay with her while I waited. On her desk was the most beautiful flower I’d ever seen. Just looking at it made me feel better. I don’t even know why. There was just something so…happy about it.”

  Anya glances away with an abashed grin. “It probably sounds silly.”

  I reach out and lay my hand on her knee. “Not at all. It makes complete sense. I mean, take you for instance. You’re beautiful, and I always feel better looking at you.”

  Her eyes widen and then, to my surprise, she bursts into laughter. I remove my hand and sit back to stare at her. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” Anya says between giggles. Moments later, she finally manages to stop them, but her lips are still curved in a smile. One more escapes before she smothers it.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” I’m a little offended, and confused, by what amused her.

  “Do you ever sometimes laugh at inappropriate times?” It must be a rhetorical question because she continues. “I don’t remember ever having someone so obviously flirt with me. You just took me by surprise. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

  I chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Was I that obvious, then?”

  Anya’s lips quirk. “Just a little. It was sweet.”

  Sweet? No woman has ever called my flirting sweet before. My pride is a bit stung. “I’ll try to be less obvious with my flirtation next time. But you were saying? About your love of flowers? It started from that one belonging to your teacher, then?”

  She nods and takes a sip of her champagne. “It did. I didn’t have a lot to be happy about growing up, so I found happiness wherever I could. Mila and I used to pass an empty lot on the walk between our apartment and my school. The teacher gave me a few packs of seedlings, and my sister and I started a small garden in the corner of it. Flowers grew, and they created so much beauty in the dirty ugliness surrounding them.”

  No wonder she loves them so much.

  “What about you?” Anya asks. “I know you play your video game, which was completely fascinating by the way, but what else do you enjoy? Any other hobbies?”

  “Guns are my only other real interest.” I’m curious about her reaction.

  “Anything specific? Or just guns in general?”

  “When you take them apart, they’re like a puzzle you have to put back together. It’s how it all fits and then works again that appeals to me, I guess.” I shrug, not sure how to explain it. “There’s a calmness to the process. It quiets all the thoughts in my head. I do all my best thinking when I’ve got a gun pulled apart, and I’m cleaning all the individual pieces. Then, I get to reassemble it.”

  “That’s kind of how I feel about sewing,” Anya admits. “You have this thing with different pieces: fabric, thread, buttons, zippers, lace, or whatever else. Separately, they don’t really do anything. But once you put it all together, you’ve created something with purpose and function.”

  I sit back, awed over the simplistic way she described exactly how I feel. Jack’s always felt it was a waste of my time. Nathan gets too frustrated and annoyed because he can never put a weapon together exactly right so it works properly again. No one else has gotten what it is about the task that makes me enjoy it.

  Unable to help myself, I move closer to Anya until my hip presses against hers. She turns in my direction and stops breathing for a second and then begins again.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” I announce with zero finesse.

  “Oh—” her lips part on a word, and I claim them with mine. I sweep my tongue inside, tasting the sweetness that is Anya mixed with the fruit flavor of the champagne she’s been sipping. The heady combination could make any man drunk.

  She meets every flick of my tongue with a tentative one of her own. Her small, innocent gasps make me rock-hard. Slowly, I caution myself. The last thing I want to do is scare her. So, instead of deepening the kiss further like I want to, I keep it simple. Safe.

  I tease and tempt instead of take. The kiss is merely a preview of the pleasure I can give Anya, if only she would ask. Except after several minutes, a thought filters through my mind. Maybe she doesn’t know how to ask.

  Needing a moment, I reluctantly pull my lips from hers, but only a fraction. Just enough that our breaths intertwine as I try to recover from the blistering, heated kiss that affected me far more than I want to admit. Still needing to touch her, I rest my forehead against hers, knocking her hat backwards.

  Anya’s eyes flutter open. Unlike last night, there’s no fear in them. Only shocked arousal. I’d love nothing more than to lie her down and caress every inch of her body. My fists clench at my side with the strength of will it takes me to resist.

  “Was that too obvious, as well?” I ask teasingly.

  She huffs out a small laugh. “Maybe a little. Although, I think there’s something to be said about being obvious.”

  “You think?”

  Anya nods. “I think you should be obvious more often.”

  “If you say so,” I murmur, my lips already moving over hers again.

  We continue exchanging kisses, each one more exploratory than the last, but none going deeper. They’re sweet. Gentle. All the things I’ve never had to be before with a woman. They’ve all been experienced and knew what they wanted. They were…easy to get in bed. Nothing about this marriage to Anya has been easy so far.

  I find myself enjoying the challenge.

  Chapter 32

  Anya

  * * *

  I’m slowly going insane. Which is probably Paddy’s intention. Every chance he gets, he’s kissing me. Not that I’m complaining. I love all his kisses. The quick ones in the morning before breakfast. The ones he surprises me with when he shows up unexpectedly in the early afternoon as I come in from the garden. I especially love the long, lingering ones he gives me outside my bedroom door before I head in to go to sleep.

  The town car Pierce sent me pulls up in front of his and Mila’s house. Fabrizio exits the vehicle and circles around it to open my door for me. I send him a “thank you” and make my way up the sidewalk and the porch steps. It’s quiet inside. I glance at my watch. Mila must be putting Milana down for a nap, so I carefully cross the entryway and make myself comfortable on the couch while I wait for her.

  I’m scrolling through my phone, looking at one of only two text messages Paddy has ever sent me, when she finally steps into the room.

  “Hey.” I stand and give her a hug. I’ve missed her.

  “Hi, there. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you,” she says as though hearing my thoughts.

  “Me, too.”

  She waves me back to the couch. “So, tell me how married life is going. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

  My face flushes.

  “That good, huh?” she asks with a small laugh.

  “It’s going well, I think.” A bit of an understatement, maybe. I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to best approach the subject. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  It’s taken me days to gather the courage for this discussion. It’s not going to be easy. Not for either of us.

  “That sounds kind of serious,” she says.

  I take a deep breath and plunge ahead. “How were you able to…you know, after what happened to you?”

  This is one of the many conversations we’ve generally avoided over the last five years. At least, after the first and only time we ever talked about it.

  “I know we’re both experts at not talking about the things that happened to us. I’ve always hated doing it,” I say firmly. “With how far down I buried everything, I sometimes think that maybe it never really happened, you know? Except there are reminders that it did. Physical, mental, and emotional.”

  Mila sighs and clenches her hands in her lap. “I guess I don’t discuss it because I know how much it hurts you to do so. And you’ve been hurt far too much that I never want to be the one to cause you any more harm.”

  An ugly voice inside me whispers that by avoiding the topic, she already has, but I quiet the thing. “So, how did you?”

  “This is going to sound like a cop out, and I don’t mean it to, but the answer is…I just did,” Mila finally says. “I had no other choice, really. Until Pierce. Then it was different.”

  My initial reaction is to snap at her that it’s not that easy for some of us, but I reel in my anger. I’m a different person than I was before. Anger is the reason for all the bad shit that happened to me. I won’t let it continue. This is my rebirth. “Why didn’t you have a choice?” I ask.

  Mila reaches out and covers my hands. Hers are cold. Shaking. My gaze jerks up to meet hers. For the first time—maybe ever—there’s an emotion there that I’ve refused to acknowledge. How had I never seen the pain and fear? My sister has always been the stronger of the two of us. But maybe that’s because she’s had to be.

  “I’ve never wanted to burden you with this because nothing can change our pasts. I wouldn’t want to change mine because everything I’ve done in the last nine years has led me here. To Pierce. To Milana. To the best friendship I’ve ever had with my sister.” Mila’s voice cracks, and tears spring to her eyes.

  I sniff back my own, but they manage to fall down my cheeks anyway.

  “After Maksim’s abuse, I had to keep going. For you. Because there was no one else. Certainly not our mother,” she says bitterly. “I know you had a hard time after Mikhail killed her. Especially when you learned he was your father. God, when you went to look for him and disappeared? My whole world stopped turning. I knew I would do anything to find you. Anything.”

  Oh, god. My chest is so tight, it hurts to breathe. Everything is my fault.

  “No, Anyusha, it’s not.” Mila grips my hands harder.

  Had I said that out loud? “It is, though,” I cry.

  “Don’t ever think that. The blame belongs entirely to Mikhail and that bastard son of his. Nothing that happened to either of us is your fault,” she insists and wraps her arms around me.

  Like she did when I was little, Mila rocks me and sings. It reminds me of the night Pierce rescued me and the song she sang then. It was the first night that hope had started to return.

  “I’m sorry I hurt myself,” I finally confess in a harsh whisper. “I know you haven’t forgiven me for it.”

  She pulls back, palms my cheeks, trying and failing to wipe away my falling tears, and lifts my head so we’re eye-to-eye. Hers are filled with disbelief. “Is that what you think? That I’m angry about that?”

  I nod.

  “Oh, Anyusha, I’m so sorry,” Mila cries out and wraps her arms around me again. “I wish I would have known that’s what you thought. What you’ve seen isn’t anger. It’s guilt for not seeing how much you were hurting. That I didn’t know you were in so much pain. It breaks my heart that all you wanted was to make it go away. That I didn’t try harder to figure out how to help you deal with everything. I really thought Theresa was the answer. If anyone needs forgiving, it’s me.”