Page 112 of Maksim
I follow her gaze. Anya is staring at Tanner, but when she feels us looking at her, she comes to us and drops to her knees. Elira sits up and puts her arm around her, painful as it may be, and I do the same.
We lock eyes, each of us exchanging the guilt we feel.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. We’re alive, all of us. We’re going to be okay.
I love you, she mouths to me, then smiles like my expression amuses her.
I love you too.
We sit for a few more minutes before loading up in the back of Alik’s car and driving far away from the house Henrietta rented for the occasion.
When we’re back home and Elira is stitched up—courtesy of Zinovy—I sit down next to her on my bed, my heart in my throat. After everything, I didn’t know I was capable of more fear.
“Tomorrow, I will get you your plane to Albania,” I say to Elira, taking her hand. “If you can wait until then.”
She stares up at the ceiling like she’s lost in her head. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
I clear my throat. “Oh?”
“I’m anxious to see my family and prefer not to wait another day.”
I nod my understanding and start to get up to make the call, my anxiety about her never coming back a fist in my chest.
“And before you offer, I don’t want you to come with me. You’ll be far too busy here.”
I pause, my gut roiling as I sit back down and stare at her. “I’m not too busy to go with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Busy with what?”
Finally, she looks at me. “You need to convince the rest of your brothers to embrace Anthony. Albanian weddings are a big deal, and I’m not letting some petty feud gain more attention than my very expensive dress.”
I don’t realize my eyes are narrowed until they soften, and my mouth opens.
Her lips quirk.
“What?” I ask because I’m at a loss for words.
Her face starts to fall, but before it can, I open my mouth again.
“I mean, I… Are you saying you want to get married?”
She shrugs shyly. “We’ve been fake married for a while now. I just thought… I mean…”
“Elira Martin.”
She closes her mouth as I take her hand.
This isn’t how I would’ve done this. I would’ve bought a ring. I would’ve reserved the nicest table at the finest restaurant in Vegas. I would’ve done … more.
But somehow, this is better. If we waited another day, it would never be the same.
“Will you marry me?”
She bites her lip as if she’s trying to fight a smile when she nods, and then she reaches over to the nightstand and pulls a diamond ring from the drawer. It isn’t the same one as before. This one is…
Jesus Christ.