A tear slipped down my cheek. “Je t’aime.”
Holding Ronan’s hand, I walked out of the restaurant and sucked in a deep breath, feeling lighter than I had in years.
I turned and hugged Ronan. “Thank you for doing that for me.”
“You’re welcome, kotyonok.” He tipped my chin up to see my eyes. “How did it go?”
“Well, we have a high chance of having psychopathic children, but other than that, great.”
He chuckled. “Good. They’ll have a better chance of surviving Kat.”
Realizing we were causing a traffic jam, I pulled away from him and started walking down the sidewalk, ignoring the car sitting at the curb.
“Where are you going?”
“Sightseeing. Then maybe shopping.” Happiness bloomed in my chest, and I did a cliché twirl. “Wherever Paris takes me.”
His eyes narrowed on the flare of my dress. “Better not take you to Barbès.”
I assumed that was an area with a bad reputation. And since Ronan had ignored me for eight hours, it was time for a little payback.
I paused and pursed my lips. “Barbès has a nice ring to it. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up there?” I shrugged with an impish smile and continued down the sidewalk.
Ronan released a frustrated growl, said something to Albert, and then followed me. “You’re narcissistic I don’t just kidnap you again.”
“I’m preparing my fake screams and, ‘No, please don’t!’ as we speak.”
He laughed. “I’m more concerned about what our children are going to inherit from you than your mother.”
“You really want kids?” I asked.
He ran a thumb across his bottom lip. “Da.”
“Lots of them?”
“However many you want.”
I raised a brow. “I want a whole houseful.”
“I can take your IUD out in this alley, and we can get started right now.”
I pretended to think about it. “Tempting. But I’m going to leave that to the professionals.” I cocked my head. “And I thought you were ‘saving yourself for marriage’?”
He cast me an intense, thoughtful look, but didn’t respond. I frowned at him, not understanding his behavior since the flight. Maybe he really had lost his mind.
I stopped to peer through a store window. It was a handmade boutique, and all the colors inside beckoned me.
“Hey, Ronan?”
“Yes, Mila?”
“I want to go in there.”
He chuckled. “Is this a trauma-induced statement?”
I turned to face him. “I just don’t want you to get bored while I go shopping.”
“You’re enough entertainment for me alone. It’s like watching a circus.”
I shoved his chest playfully and drifted into the store.
The retailer and owner was a knowledgeable Indian woman who wasn’t shy about telling me what would or wouldn’t look good on me. Ronan even shook his head with her when I came out of the dressing room in a peach-colored dress.
I bought three bags of dresses, shoes, and handmade jewelry. A long argument ensued at the cash register, which the owner found highly amusing. Ronan forced a black credit card on me. I may love him, but I didn’t want to spend his dirty money. In the end, he won—only because he told me I could donate all my earnings from modeling to save baby humpbacks if he paid for everything else. How he knew I had a love for the animals didn’t surprise me.
He literally pushed me into the next store. I looked at all the lingerie on the shelves and gave him an unimpressed expression.
“Why do I need to be here if you’re saving yourself for marriage?”
“Because we’re getting married today.”
I stared at him. Blinked. Then collected myself. “But we’re in Paris . . . Aren’t you chafing at the romanticism of it all?”
He laughed. “Nyet. We’ll have a traditional Russian wedding when we get home.”
That was all he was going to say about this extremely crazy idea?
“Ronan . . .”
The shadows in his eyes took over. He collared my throat and pulled me in, his rough voice in my ear. “The next time I fuck you, I need to know you’re mine. And I need you tonight.”
I exhaled beneath his intensity. I guessed that explained the “saving himself” spiel. Estelle’s words returned. Ronan wasn’t as simple as an ordinary repairman, but nothing else seemed to matter when he was near. I wanted him in every way I could have him. But what I wanted more was to give him what he needed.
“Okay.”
His eyes lit with satisfaction, then he kissed me on the lips and released me just as the salesclerk sauntered up to us.
“Puis-je vous aider à trouver quelque chose?” Can I help you find something?
“Quelque chose de sexy et de jaune. Et pas de soie,” Ronan said. Something sexy and yellow. And no silk.
Of course Ronan spoke French.
Thirty minutes later, I left with more lingerie than I could ever wear. Laden with bags, we walked down the street before Ronan forced me to stop in front of a jewelry store.
“I don’t want a ring,” I said.
“You’re wearing a ring,” he returned. “It doesn’t have to be a diamond. It could be another stone.”
“No stone is one hundred percent conflict free.”
“Why are you such a hippie?”
“Why are you such a mobster?”
He was already halfway into the store, so, reluctantly, I followed him inside. While Ronan was practically being assaulted by two saleswomen, I peered into the glass cases, perusing the rings.
I pointed to a man’s black wedding band. “Celui-là s’il-vous-plaît.” That one, please.
The man behind the counter pulled it out of the case.
Ronan appeared beside me. “I don’t think that’s quite your style, Mila.”
“It’s not. It’s for you.”
“I figured that. But you need to pick something for yourself, or I will.”
I gave him a brilliant smile. “I have a better idea than a ring.”
A stare-off ensued for at least thirty seconds before Ronan gave in, bought the ring I picked out, and followed me down the street.
I stopped in front of a tattoo parlor’s window.
“Nyet.” It was a hard “no.”
I frowned. “You don’t even know what I want yet.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want a tattoo, and it’s not happening.”
“You have a million, and I can’t have one?”
“Yes.”
With a sigh, I grabbed his hand and ran my finger over the inked raven. “I want this. On my ring finger.”
I thought he liked the idea, but I didn’t stick around to find out. I opened the door and waltzed in. Ronan took over from there. I didn’t have to say a word as he spoke with the tattoo artist and showed him what I wanted. He didn’t threaten the man, but his tone was enough to intimidate the artist into not messing up a single line.
When we walked out of the shop, I flashed my new tattoo at Ronan and asked, “Do you like it?”
His eyes were dark, but his words were soft. “Mne nravitsya.” I love it.