Dirty Grovel: Chapter 51

First, there was the princess bride.

Then there was the runaway bride.

Now, there’s me.

A wannabe princess with a stowaway in her belly and an engagement ring that her friend refused to take back.

I’m no bride.

I’m definitely not a princess.

But I’ve got the runaway part down perfectly.

Just when I thought I’d met someone I could be myself with, just when I thought I could put down roots and get comfortable—reality intervenes to let me know exactly who I am.

Not the heroine of my own story.

But the pathetic secondary character who disappears into obscurity because the writers didn’t give enough of a shit to actually finish the story arc.

There’s something beautiful and cathartic about being back in Nassau. This is where Oleg and I hit our stride, found common ground, maybe even fell in love a little harder.

But the fact is, Nassau was never reality. It was a beautiful dream. One that I deluded myself into believing was real.

There are memories hiding behind every corner. Nostalgia clings to me like sandspurs, trying to talk me out of the plan forming in the back of my head.

I can’t stay in Nassau forever. This has to be a temporary respite. A place for me to gather my wits and earn some money before I take my child and disappear into some distant corner of the planet where Oleg won’t think to look for me.

I don’t even plan on telling Jesse where I’m going.

The only way this will work is if no one knows.

That includes my sister, who I’ve spoken to a grand total of once since she entered Alice Matlin Psychiatric Institute.

Maybe it’s better that way. As long as we cling to one another, it’ll be harder to let go of the toxic patterns we built together as children in order to survive.

The skies are bleeding grey, clouds unfurling above my head like faceless monsters. I can see a crack of lightning in the far distance, illuminating a black patch of sky.

But despite how dark and stormy it looks, I get only a smattering of rain, as though the skies can’t commit to anger.

My pregnancy app pings suddenly. I look down to find a personal note in the journal section of the app.

Hi baby. I’m thinking of you. And your mama.

I stop short, staring at the words as though they have the power to destroy me. They just might, given how quickly they’ve turned me from quiet resolve to hesitant fear.

“He’s just manipulating me,” I tell myself firmly. “Hoping that I’ll freak out and come back to him…”

I close the app and keep walking further down the dock. I’m very aware that if the skies decide to open up and send a gale my way, there’s no place to hide.

But I’m happy to take a little rain.

After everything I’ve been through, getting wet doesn’t scare me in the slightest.

I walk to the very edges of the marina. It’s probably going to take me an hour to walk back.

But whatever. I need this time.

Mostly to convince myself that I haven’t made a terrible mis⁠—

I gasp to a halt as I turn around.

He appears like a mirage on the boardwalk. All muscle and danger and quiet dignity. He’s scanning the beach like a predator seeking prey.

And then he spots me.

He freezes. The harsh square of his jaw relaxes. His eyes soften. His features become less severe. It’s so damn beautiful to see that the fear clinging to my body disintegrates instantly.

My heart stutters traitorously in my chest as we float to one another.

I stop a couple of feet away from him, marveling at how handsome he looks, framed by thunder clouds and luxury yachts. Zeus in white linen.

“Who ratted me out?” I ask. “Was it Faye or Jesse?”

Oleg sighs. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. Next time, I’ll know whom to leave out of my escape plan.”

“Why do you need an escape plan at all?”

I look out towards the horizon. It’s lost behind a canvas of dark blues, grays, and blacks. “That’s our future, Oleg.” I point towards the storm in the distance. “We’re never going to see blue skies if we’re together.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

I wrap my arms around my body, trying not to let emotion get the better of me. “Your mother helped,” I say in a small voice.

“Christ,” he mutters. “Listening to my mother is a surefire way of ending up miserable, Sutton. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Except she does,” I insist. “She’s been a Bratva wife. She’s been a Bratva mother. She’s hosted the parties, planned the events, orchestrated the funerals, and perfected the weddings. She knows what to wear, who to be seen with, and how to charm them. You’re better off marrying someone she chooses.”

Oleg’s lips curl into a sneer. “Fuck,” he growls. “She got to you.”

“She must have got to you, too,” I point out. “Why else would you have stood there last night and said nothing while she…” I manage to speak clearly and confidently right up until that point. Then I start to stumble. “… Sh-she said those things about me.”

“You heard?”

“It was hard not to.”

“I hit a low point… but it had nothing to do with you.”

I give him a suspicious look. “Come on, Oleg—it must have had something to do with me. I showed up to your uncle’s funeral in a pink dress.”

He snorts. “You think I give a shit about what you wear or where you wear it?”

“There are rules in your world.”

He grabs my hand suddenly, pulling me to him until I’m flush against his chest. “Fuck the rules,” he hisses. “I don’t give a shit about the damn rules anymore. The only thing I give a shit about is you.”

My heart is back to thundering against my chest. It’s the dangerous kind of thundering, too.

The kind that spells hope.

“Oleg—”

“I didn’t defend you with Oksana, because I realized it doesn’t matter what she thinks of you. Or of us. I chose you. I still choose you. And I will keep choosing you every day for the rest of our lives.”

I’m excruciatingly close to ugly crying all over the boardwalk. My head is a mess of uncertainty and regret and desire.

It would be so easy to lean into his big, strong chest and forget everything else.

But that would mean forgetting a lot.

“They’re beautiful words, Oleg. But don’t you think we’re being idealistic? Naïve? Your mother has a point—I don’t fit into your world and I probably never will.”

“One thing means none of that matters: I love you, Sutton Palmer.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Y-you’ve never said that before.”

He grabs my face, his thumbs caressing my jawline from either side. The only thing I can see are his eyes, the molten gold swirling.

There’s nothing else but him.

“I love you,” he says again, his breath tickling my face, his voice rough with emotion. “I loved you that night. The night before. And every night that led us here.”

His thumbs swipe away my tears. All I want to do is fold into his embrace and forget everything else.

Didn’t I have a mile-long list of reasons why I should be disappearing?

Didn’t I have enough reservations to drown me in regret if I pursued a relationship with Oleg?

Didn’t I promise myself that I wouldn’t be pulled back into his gravity simply because he batted those eyes my way?

“Y-you’re… confusing me…” I pull away from him, trying to get out from under his gaze.

Those eyes have the power to make a woman do extremely foolish things. Things like going back to Palm Beach, planning a wedding, and getting married.

“What are you confused about, princess?”

My heart shudders. “There’s too much…” I shake my head. “I need space… to think.”

“While you’re thinking, how about we take the yacht out tomorrow?” he suggests.

And just like that, tomorrow beckons like a siren song.

“Okay,” I agree, before I’ve even weighed the pros and cons.

Cons: the list goes on and on and on, into infinity.

Pros: I have only one, and it’s simple.

I desperately want to.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says with a smile that has the power to change lives and minds.

“See you tomorrow.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. His lips linger for a moment before he pulls back, the gold in his eyes dancing for a moment.

“Try not to run away on me again, princess.”