Dirty Grovel: Chapter 29

The skies are carrot-orange, tinged with rust, an explosion of gilded yellows with no trace of a cloud in sight.

We’ve been on the ocean for a full day now and I haven’t exchanged more than a few words with Oleg. He confined himself to one of the cabins almost immediately after we set sail, leaving me to mind my own business.

Not alone, though.

Unlike our usual boating trips, we’re accompanied by a full crew, which means if I do decide to jump overboard, someone will definitely see and alert Oleg.

I’m perched on the bow, sitting cross-legged on the deck as the dried blood horizon fades into black. Stars blink to life as darkness steals up from behind us. I lie back and look for constellations.

I can’t find any, though. No kings, no princes, no angels, no scales of justice. I just see empty space and lights failing to illuminate huge stretches of it.

It’s lonely up there for the stars.

It’s lonely down here for me.

“There you are,” Oleg says, startling me upright. “I thought you might have gone to bed by now.”

“I probably should.” I rub the fatigue out of my eyes as best as I can, refusing to look at him. But as tired as my body is, my mind is crackling with endless thoughts. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says dismissively. “Just needed to coordinate a few things with the crew.”

“About Boris?”

He glances at me, his profile giving nothing away. “Boris is just one problem. I have a hundred more. There are several client briefings coming up and I haven’t prepared for any of them.”

“What do you need to do to prepare for them?”

“Proofread the documents, for one,” he explains curtly. “But I just don’t have the time or the patience for a job like that.”

“I could do it,” I suggest before I can think better of the offer.

I can sense his rejection in the curve of his eyebrows, the curl of his lips. Why the hell did I even offer?

Oh, right—because I thrive in misery. I take comfort in pain.

It was something Sydney said to me once, right after she started dating Paul. We were fighting about him and she threw those words in my face.

I thought she was just angry.

But now, I’m starting to wonder if she was exactly correct.

“It was just a thought,” I mutter. “A silly thought. I⁠—”

His eyes lock onto mine. “Okay.”

“What?”

“It would actually be a great help.”

“You’d let me proofread company documents?”

“You’re smart and capable. I’m sure you can do the job just as well as I can.” He shrugs. “If you want it, that is. Fair warning: it can be dull.”

“Have you forgotten that I’ve been cooped up in that big ass bungalow for weeks with nothing to do? It’ll be nice to feel useful again. I mean, as more than just a—” I gesture to my belly. “—a baby oven.”

I’m expecting a laugh. Instead, Oleg’s eyes tighten. His lips purse up ever so slightly in the perfect imitation of his mother.

“It was a joke,” I clarify, nudging him.

He doesn’t budge. “Except it isn’t a joke, is it?”

I sigh. “Okay, maybe not. But maybe we can find a way to laugh about it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because otherwise I’d be crying.” The deep furrow between his eyebrows only gets deeper. “It’s okay, you know. I’m starting to accept it.”

“Accept what, exactly?”

Grimacing, I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “The way things will be between us. The faux family we have to be.”

“You really think you can do that? Fake it?”

No.

I swallow, hoping he can’t see the fear that I can feel spreading across my face. “I can try. It won’t always be easy but like I said, if we can find a way to be friends, then maybe it can get easier.”

Oksana’s words have been tumbling around in my head all day. I wish I could unhear them, but since I can’t, I figure the best way to deal with it is to get out ahead of them.

“But I do have some… conditions.” I hate the way the word tastes. So legal, so clinical. “No, not conditions. More like… polite requests.”

He nods for me to continue.

“I can’t deal with you sleeping with other women while you’re sleeping with me. That rule from our old contract still applies.” He doesn’t respond, but I push on before I lose my nerve. “But, if you ever decide to… to move on… all you have to do is tell me.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

His face is unreadable, but I could swear there are hidden tensions rippling beneath the surface.

“It means that if you ever decide you want to sleep with some other women, I won’t stop you; I won’t make any demands of you. I’ll let you go. I just don’t want to be… one of many.”

He stares at me. His golden eyes are sheathed in darkness. They look black under the subtle moonlight.

“And does the same rule apply to you?” he asks darkly.

I frown. “I want the same rights as you have. Whether I use them or not is entirely up to me.”

His jaw tightens. For a moment, I wonder if it was a smart idea to bring up this topic while we’re sitting at the edge of a yacht.

“Wait here,” he says at last.

I watch him rise abruptly and disappear below deck, his white shirt bristling in the wind. The serene sense of calm I had a few minutes ago has completely disappeared.

Why is Oleg acting so weird? How are we supposed to be friends if he freaks out at the simplest conversation?

My heart is hammering painfully against my chest when Oleg reappears, something clutched tight in his right palm.

He gestures for me to join him at the edge of the railing. I lift myself off the floor and follow him.

It’s so much cooler at the edge. Windier, too. A storm cloud lurks in the far distance. Every so often, a piercing bolt of light illuminates the dark waters.

It’s easier to pay attention to that than the stoic man by my side.

“You’re not going to make me walk the plank, are you?”

Oleg manages a ghostly smile. “Remains to be seen.”

He raises his hand toward me, but I still can’t see what he’s holding. “Are we playing a game?” I ask. “Heads, I sleep in the cabin tonight? Tails, I sleep with the fishes?”

“You watch too many mafia movies.”

“It’s research.”

He laughs quietly, the first time I’ve heard that sound in days. “I’m trying to show you something here.”

“You’ll need to open your palm for that. I don’t have X-ray vision, unfortunately.”

He flips his hand and opens his palm. Sitting right in the center of it is my ring.

I never thought I’d see it again.

“I don’t understand,” I say, swallowing back my nerves at seeing the ring poised over the railing. One wrong move and it will disappear into the ocean, Titanic-style. “Is this supposed to be some sort of gesture?”

“What do you imagine I’m trying to convey?”

“I don’t know—fuck traditional marriage and all its trappings?” I suggest. “We’re writing our own rules?”

He shakes his head. “I believe that some rules—” His fingers fold around the ring. “—happen to work.” He turns to me, takes my hand, and holds up the ring. “This time, I hope you never feel the need to take it off.”

My chest feels tight again, but this time, the sensation is not unpleasant. “I don’t understand, Oleg.”

“I want you to wear it.”

“I gathered that much. My question is, Why?”

“Because I want you to marry me, Sutton Palmer. I want you to be my wife. Not in the unconventional sense. There will be no open relationship or marriage of convenience for us. There will be no ‘arrangement’ or faux family. I want this to be legitimate. I want it to be real.”

Goosebumps skitter along my skin and a chill twists through my gut.

“Careful, Oleg,” I whisper. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to think that you’re actually proposing to me.”

He smiles. “I know we got off to a rough start. I’ll take responsibility for that. I confused the situation. I confused you. But allow me to clear things up now. I want to marry you, Sutton. Not just for our child, but for myself, too. There are still a ton of things we need to work on and work out. But I’m willing to do the work.”

I’m in serious need of a pinch. Surely, I must be dreaming, right?

Because there’s no conceivable way that Oleg Pavlov is standing in front of me, proposing marriage like he means it.

My gaze drops from Oleg’s eyes to the ring between his fingers. Then my head twists from side to side.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I take a couple of steps back. “Looking for the hidden cameras. I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re bored and you’re having some fun with me.”

“If I wanted to have fun with you, princess, trust me—this is not how I would do it.”

Ignoring the blush on my cheeks, I scowl. “This isn’t funny, Oleg. I don’t understand the joke, but I don’t appreciate being made the butt of it.”

“This is no joke, Sutton⁠—”

“You expect me to believe that after everything we’ve been through, you honestly want to marry me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

He takes a step towards me, his fingers rising to my cheek, caressing it gently. “Because I realize that I want you in my life,” he murmurs. “As more than just a—what was it?—‘baby oven.’”

“Are you drunk?”

He grits his teeth. “Are you? Why is this so hard for you to believe?”

“Because not so long ago, you thought I was guilty of conspiring against you with my ex-boyfriend.”

“And I’ve since come to understand that you weren’t.”

My eyes practically bug out of my head. “Interesting that you made this big realization and I still haven’t gotten a sufficient apology.”

“Is this the way you usually deal with marriage proposals?”

“Only the ones made by arrogant assholes who think they can snap their fingers and I’ll just come running with my tongue hanging out and hearts in my eyes.”

“Save the tongue out for the honeymoon.”

I push at his chest, annoyed and nervous and completely breathless. “You’re an ass!”

“Is that a no?”

“Yes!” I shout, feeling the color drain from my face. “No! I mean… I have no fucking clue what I’m saying.”

“Maybe you should take a breath.”

“Maybe you should stop telling me what to do.”

“I’m not telling you anything, princess,” he says gently. “I’m asking you a question. One that you still haven’t answered.”

I stop short, eyes falling to the ring he’s still holding out to me. Is this real? Can I trust it? “It just doesn’t make sense…”

“That’s where we disagree. Ever since you came into my life, it feels like everything makes sense.” He inches a little closer and pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You want to know why I want to marry you? The answer is simple. When I look into my future, I see your face. I want you, Sutton Palmer. For life, if you’ll agree to it.”

“I… I…” I can feel the tears welling up in the face of his straight-faced declaration. “I don’t know what to say.”

He smiles, his eyes brightening so that I can see the gold flecks in them. “You’ll have the rest of our lives to decide what to say. For now, a simple ‘yes’ will do.”

I close my eyes, straining to listen to my own heartbeat, determined to trust my instincts.

This might just be the best decision of my life.

Or it might be the worst.

Either way, I decide that there’s only one honest answer my conscience and my heart are capable of giving him.

“Okay. Yes. Yes, Oleg Pavlov, I’ll marry you.”