Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  But she already has that. We’re together. We’re a team. A unit. Family in all but name.

  Before I can respond, she adds, “What they have is so tight and strong, it feels permanent.”

  “Divorces are easy to get,” I point out.

  Angelika shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s in their future. You can tell with some couples, you know? They’ve made the ultimate commitment to each other, and they aren’t going to break it.”

  Sudden clarity slams into me. She wants commitment, something that can reassure her. She lost her parents when she was a mere eighteen, and after that—for eight years—she was on the run. Although the last two years have been different, adjusting can be hard. Sort of similar to how people struggle to adjust to normalcy after a long battle with terror, whether it’s personal or something broader like a war.

  “You’re one of my Five,” I tell her.

  Confusion clouds her whiskey eyes. “Five what?”

  “The five people whose safety I put above all else. It used to be four, but now it includes you.”

  “Um. Thank you…?” Angelika looks at me uncertainly. “Who else is in the group?” she asks. Does she think it only has women?

  “Lyosha, Lizochka, Thomas and—unfortunately—Dominic.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders relax.

  “And just to be clear, you’re number one out of the Five.”

  She blinks, then opens and closes her mouth a few times, like she’s struggling to find the right words. “But… Lyosha’s your son.”

  “He’s a big boy, and he’s capable of taking care of himself. You, on the other hand, are too innocent and sweet. Besides, a man should always guard his greatest treasure with the utmost care.”

  Now it isn’t just her cheeks that are flushed. Her neck’s rosy as well, her eyes shining.

  My fawn is so lovely.

  “Would Lyosha be upset to know he’s not your number one?” she asks quietly. “For all we know, he might not approve of our relationship.”

  For God’s sake. I can’t decide if I should laugh or groan with frustration. “He’s my child, not my lord and master.”

  “But… I thought that was the biggest reason you didn’t want to take our relationship further than…” She shrugs. “You know, us living together.”

  “I want to wait until your graduation.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a milestone. A big one.” And one she’s pursued for quite a while, so I want her to enjoy reaching it without any major distractions. The weight of the small velvet box in my pocket feels especially intrusive right now. I’ve been carrying it since she started at UCLA. I continue, “Besides, before we commit, you might want to know about my past, something I’ve never shared with anybody.” And it isn’t something I can share, not even with her. It’s classified and safer for her to stay ignorant of. Still, not knowing might bother her. Most of the women in my past weren’t happy with my “secretive” nature.

  “Actually, I don’t,” she says. “You can do things most assistants can’t, even if they’re in charge of security. So I figured you were, like, a Russian SEAL or something and did some things you can never talk about without getting dragged into some dungeon hellhole jail that nobody knows exists.”

  Well, well, well. There goes…my concern…

  “Anything else you’re worried about?” she asks.

  Her matter-of-fact tone unsettles me for some reason. It’s worse than the first time I was put on a termination mission. Still, she’s looking at me expectantly, so I go to the next possible area of concern. “An engagement is a big step, and can be exhausting. You’re busy with going to school full-time and working at the foundation. Knowing you, you’re going to want to plan the wedding if we get engaged, and I don’t want you to overextend yourself when you should be having fun in college with your peers. I doubt you’d want me to plan our wedding.”

  Her eyes sparkle brighter as she leans forward on the table. I want to grab her and kiss her. Instead, I take a swallow of my vodka, giving time to let my words sink in.

  “I’m really good at juggling things.” Her voice is lighter than a cloud. “I used to work three jobs, remember?”

  “But none of them were full-time,” I say. She spends a lot of her time studying, keeping up excellent grades. Economics and math aren’t exactly the easiest majors, either.

  “If you wait too long, I might meet somebody,” she says in a teasing tone. “Then what?”

  “Hopefully he’ll have a few spare lives lying around.” I smile. Lethally. Possessively.

  She raises both eyebrows. “What if you meet somebody?” She says it lightly, but there’s an undercurrent of worry. Ah, my little fawn.

  My smile grows wider. “I hope you become extremely jealous and kill her. I’ll even give you the code to enter the armory.”

  Laughing, she shakes her head. “You’re impossible. But really, why wait? I wasted so much of my life running from Roy. I don’t want to waste more. I want to jam-pack it with all the joy and happiness I can. And you’re the greatest of those joys, Tolyan.” She reaches out and takes my big, rough hand in her small, soft one and threads our fingers together.

  I bring her hand to my lips and kiss the back gently. “Are you sure?”

  “Couldn’t be surer. I want us to be family, each other’s anchor and root. I want my forever with you.”

  “In that case, I’ll adjust my timeline.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the velvet box that I’ve been carrying for so long.

  Her hand flies to her mouth as I open the lid and show her a gorgeous diamond sitting on an elegant platinum band. “Oh my God! How long have you had it?”

  “Since you entered UCLA,” I tell her. “Will you make me the happiest man alive, Angelika Wilks?”

  Her breath shudders, and she looks at me with all the love in the world. Tears glitter in her eyes.

  I kiss the back of her hand again. “Will you marry me, little fawn?”

  She nods hard. Once. Twice. Then she drags in air. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck, and we share the most beautiful kiss, full of love and a bright future.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Angelika

  –three years later

  “Let me help you with that,” Lyosha says, taking a huge platter of shrimp cocktail from my hands.

  Thank God. I shoot him a grateful smile. The smell coming from the shrimp cocktail seems just awful. Tolyan said it was fine, and the dogs are taking a great interest in the proceedings. So I know it’s just me.

  And I’m probably not going to have a bite of it, even though I love shrimp cocktail. It’s unfair, but what can I do? Ever since our first-anniversary getaway to the most gorgeous beach in Mexico, my stomach’s been weird. Maybe I ate something that disagreed with me there. But how can it last for six weeks? It’s like some slow-acting stomach bug.

  Lyosha sets the table, while I stand with the loyal Tchaikovsky, Mussorgsky and Stravinsky, their muzzles beginning to go gray now. Lyosha’s home for a week in the summer before he has to go back to an internship. He’s getting his law degree from Harvard. The kid’s smart. I’m proud of him. And I’m so glad he’s taken Tolyan and my marriage well.

  He told me he’s fine with anything that makes his dad happy. “The ol’ man deserves a little joy after raising me by himself, you know?”

  We sit at the table for a late lunch. I go for a mild cheese and potato soup, since my stomach can’t seem to handle anything else.

  But something about the way it smells sends the acid surging up. I cover my mouth with my hand, doing my best not to ruin the meal, and rush to the bathroom. The gentle scent of the lavender soap calms me down.

  “Are you all right?” Tolyan says from the other side of the door.

  “I’m fine.” I rinse my mouth and come out.

  Tolyan isn’t the only one standing there. It’s Lyosha and the dogs, too.

  Lyosha’
s studying me carefully. “Are you pregnant?”

  “What?” I say, my mind going blank.

  Tolyan gives him a piercing look.

  “I’m not saying you are, but you know. There’s a girl in my class who recently got pregnant, and she’s the same way. Can’t handle the smell of coffee now, so none of us bring any to the lectures.”

  Now that I think about it, I haven’t had my period since Tolyan and I came back from our trip. I didn’t realize because I was too worried and annoyed with my stomach issues.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  “Congrats!” Lyosha grins. “Guess I’m going to be a big brother.”

  Tolyan looks at me like he just got slapped. Then he wraps his arms around me tenderly, a hand over my still-flat belly. “A baby. Ours.”

  I nod, grinning at him. “I should check to be sure, but…”

  He hugs me tightly. Lyosha leads the dogs away with a small smile and a wave.

  “Are you happy?” Tolyan asks.

  “Yes.” I look up at him and see his eyes shine. “You?”

  “Couldn’t be happier. You are the greatest blessing of my life.”

  “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  ——

  Thank you for reading Beauty and the Assassin! I hope you enjoyed Tolyan and Angelika’s story.

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  Want to read about Elizabeth and Dominic? Then grab The Billionaire’s Claim: Obsession [US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia].

  About The Billionaire’s Claim: Obsession

  Elizabeth Pryce-Reed.

  An angel. A virgin. My first love.

  I fell for her hard and fast ten years ago...and paid the price on a night of shattering betrayal.

  So I built a billion-dollar empire out of vengeance...

  And now I’m coming for her.

  Excerpt

  Dominic

  A fifth of a second.

  Apparently that’s all it takes to fall in love with someone, according to some overpaid researchers.

  I don’t buy it, even though my professor failed to appreciate my skepticism. I considered asking why she was still single if that was true, but I need to maintain a good GPA to keep my scholarships, so I kept my mouth shut.

  Four hours later and working at a bar near UCLA, I still don’t buy the bullshit. I’d bet the night’s tip ninety-nine percent of the young couples in the bar knew each other for a while before deciding to hook up, unless it’s a one-night-stand deal.

  I wipe the counter in front of me, picking up crumpled bills. A fair number of undergraduate and graduate students drink at the bar, and most tip decently. I like working here because the owner’s cool and flexible.

  “I have a kid of my own in college,” he said. “Berkeley.” He beamed proudly. “I’m treating you kids the way I want mine treated.”

  The door to the bar opens, and a green-eyed brunette walks in. She’s pretty, but nothing extraordinary. This is L.A. Girls that cute are a dime a dozen, no matter how expertly she flips her hair over her shoulder. The only thing that stands out about her is the expensive designer clothes and shoes.

  Another girl follows—obviously the brunette’s friend. Now she’s gorgeous—bright red hair and sharp eyes set in a classically beautiful face. A skintight black dress hugs her, and knee-high boots with stiletto heels elongate her legs.

  If the researchers were right, I would fall in love. Like, this instant.

  But I feel nothing except male appreciation for a fine-looking female. Would it be nice to get to know her a bit, maybe buy her a drink? Sure. Things might progress from there.

  But that isn’t love. No.

  The brunette mutters something to someone for a moment, and then, before the door shuts, pulls a blonde in, causing her lustrous golden hair to tumble over her face and shoulders in big, loose waves.

  Sudden heat lances through me. I suck in a breath, as though the fresh air could cool the flame.

  The blonde has the kind of body that could resuscitate a medieval saint. A fitted red shirt stretches across full breasts, then stops an inch above a yellow belt, showing a bit of her taut stomach and a sweet little belly button I’d love to lick on my way south. A dark leather skirt molds to her gently flaring hips and rounded ass, and her long, shapely legs end in a pair of strappy silver sandals.

  Saying something to the brunette I can’t make out from this distance, the blonde shoves a hand into her hair, pushing it back from her face.

  Jesus. God must’ve been in love when he made her.

  She has a face to match the body. Clear, flawless skin covers delicately carved cheekbones and a small, straight nose. Her lips are soft and full, as lusciously red as a bing cherry. Then she turns her head and looks me straight in the eyes.

  My brain quits. The air inside my lungs stills. Time seems to stop, then stretch, like a slow-mo segment from a movie.

  Her gaze is mesmerizing, elevating her from gorgeous to irresistible. Long, thick lashes frame her large eyes, which are the color of a winter storm. There’s a sharp intellect and a hint of steel behind them. The makeup around them is in the style my younger sister calls “smoky.” On some it looks ridiculous, like the woman’s face got too greasy or sweaty. But on her it’s electric hot, turning her eyes so dark and enthralling that I feel like I could dive into her soul through them.

  If I were the poetic type, I’d call her an angel. Not the type that hands out warm and fuzzy stuff to people, but the type that makes Lucifer piss himself.

  I finally acknowledge it. The researchers are right.

  A fifth of a second is all it takes.

  * * *

  Elizabeth

  I run my gaze over the bar. It’s near UCLA, so it’s probably nice enough and clean enough, but not the kind of place I would’ve chosen.

  Marcella, however, was adamant we go to this particular bar today. She also insisted we dress nice, but not too expensive.

  “We want to blend in. Otherwise we may not be able to get any martinis.”

  I don’t know how that’s relevant to being able to buy drinks. That’s what fake IDs are for. But since Vanessa didn’t object, I went along with the venue and the clothes. My cousin and I can humor Marcella for a night…even if I’m rapidly coming to regret that decision.

  “So when are you leaving for Italy?” Marcella says as she opens the door to the bar. Her dark hair glints as the light from inside hits her.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Vanessa answers for me as she follows Marcella in. Her freshly dyed hair looks startling against her black dress. Like arterial blood—or an apple, the magic kind that could make anybody hungry at first sight. Vanessa is an exact replica of her mother, who’s still one of the most beautiful women ever.

  “The day after tomorrow!” Marcella whines.

  I frown. What’s she upset about? I’m the one who should be annoyed. I have to spend my eighteenth birthday tomorrow in L.A. because my overbearing grandmother insisted. If I had it my way, I’d be on a plane to Tuscany already.

  “Don’t tell me Ryder’s leaving too.”

  My brother is too pretty even to my eyes, and has an army of girls stalking him and generally making nuisances of themselves. Their shameless fawning has only made him more insufferable, but what can I say? He hit the genetic jackpot.

  And Marcella’s one of the worst. She has a major crush on Ryder. I can deal with that, as long as she doesn’t go the TMI route and tell me what she wants to do to him. He is my brother, after all.

  “Then I won’t, and for your information, we’ve been here for three endless weeks.” I find myself hesitating at the door. Maybe I’m being silly, but I don’t want to go through the threshold and into the bar. “Come on. Let’s hit some other place.”

  “Where?” Vanessa says, at the same time Marcella says, “No other place has
a bartender as hot as this one.”

  “I thought you liked Ryder…”

  “I do, but he keeps avoiding me. Come on.” Marcella tugs at my wrist. When I don’t budge, she pulls hard.

  Ugh.

  I almost lose my balance and stumble inside, my hair spilling forward to cover my vision. I push it back roughly. “Hey! You don’t have to get physical.”

  “You weren’t moving,” Marcella says, as though that’s a valid defense.

  I look at Vanessa, hoping my aspiring attorney cousin will tell Marcella that that won’t pass muster in court, but she merely gives me that “hey, she’s your friend” shrug.

  Sighing, I glance around. “Let’s find a table.”

  “Counter,” Marcella almost yells in her excitement.

  Vanessa starts to say something. I lose the track of their conversation as the fine hair at my nape bristles—not unpleasantly—and my gaze lands on the sole bartender on the other side of the counter.

  Everything fades away except him.

  I’ve met handsome men, hot men, aristocratic men, charming men on both sides of the Atlantic. My family alone has four brothers and four cousins who make women stupid with their looks. Having grown up around such male beauty, I’ve always considered myself immune—able to appreciate it without turning into some kind of infatuated drooler.

  But the bartender…

  Everything about him is absurd.

  The absurd perfection of his bone structure. The absurd blue of his eyes. The absurd firmness of his lips. The absurd muscularity of his big, strong body.

  When our gazes collide, I feel like every cell in my body is waking up after a lifetime of slumber. My heart beats a little bit faster, a little bit harder. Blood flows a little quicker, a little hotter.

  Is this sexual attraction?

  I shake my head inwardly. I’ve felt attraction to guys before. But nothing like this. This man shines like a brilliant gemstone, like the heavens opened up and a halo appeared around him.

  Then I remember what Grandpa used to say.

  “When I first met your grandmother, I knew she was the one.”

  “How?” I asked. An exceptional artist, Grandpa has a propensity for exaggeration and dramatic flair.