Victor - Her Ruthless Husband (Ruthless Triad 3)

“Stick to the beach path,” he signs. “There’s a grocery store on the left, about two miles up the road. You can't miss it.”

I look down at the bike, and I notice that my old lock is also inside the basket. Yet another sign from above that maybe Victor and I can fix everything he broke.

I'll ask him why when I get back, I decide at that moment. I'll make him a beautiful dinner, and we’ll finally have that long talk he should've allowed ten years ago when I woke up in the back of his Bentley.

But first, I have to exercise my freedom. I have to finish administering this last test.

He holds the door open for me, and I wheel the bike toward the path he told me to take. But before I get on it, I look over my shoulder.

He’s still standing at the open gate. He waves. And I wave back.

No power dynamic. It’s just like when we were kids and had to part.

Jumbled feelings pop off in my chest as I hop on my bike, nostalgic and bittersweet. But happy too. I felt crazy coming here for thinking I could test out this restored version of Victor and prove to myself one way or the other if my re-budding feelings should be acknowledged or even pursued. But now I feel…

Excited. And hopeful. Like we’re two teenagers in Japan who just confessed to liking each other.

It's a beautiful ride to the grocery store.

There aren’t as many people as you'd expect to see on a beach, even though it’s a Friday. I’m guessing school must have restarted in Westerhaven.

It's crazy that I'll have to think about things like that in less than a year. Plan all of my free time around one tiny being who I already love more than myself. A part of me—okay, a lot of me, doesn’t want to do that alone.

But can I trust Victor to be a good father? To be a good husband?

There are a few parents out on the beach with strollers. And though I'm waiting until our big talk tonight to decide if I should tell Victor about the baby, I can't help but imagine myself doing the same. Walking out in the sun with a baby who is half of me and half of Victor.

And I don’t hate the idea. Like, not at all. Operation Good as New 3.0 might not be a bust after all.

It doesn't take long to get to the grocery store. It has a fancy French name that I don’t dare to try to pronounce. It’s pretty and petite inside, like a twee boutique specializing in food.

It's so lovely that I can't find a few of the things on my list. They have four different kinds of French mustards I’ve never heard of, but not one bottle of hot sauce.

That’s okay. I grew up with my mom’s stories about how she had to figure out substitutions for so many things when she came here from Korea. And I do what she would've done. Grab all of the base ingredients to make a hot sauce myself.

Mom will be proud when I tell her about this…well, until she finds out that I’m pregnant outside of a real marriage. Another pro for giving Victor a third chance. She loves him almost as much as my father hates him. However, my father’s valid antipathy is another entry on the con list. Along with the gut feeling that I still can’t trust my fake ex-husband, even if he keeps promising he’s totally de-monstered now and back to being the guy he was in Japan.

I'm conflicted and emotional as I go through the checkout line, then stuff all of my purchased items in my huge Aggretsuko purse.

The thought of cooking for Victor for the first time since Operation Good As New 2.0 has me all sorts of nervous. I hope he likes what I dish up. Obviously, telling him we’re expecting a baby is the most important part of tonight’s dinner, but making sure it’s delicious feels essential all the same. I just want everything to be perfect.

So I'm a little irritated when I come outside to the bike rack and find a guy checking out my bright cycle. I’d forgotten how much attention it gets when I'm out and about. But I really don't feel like having a conversation about my bike today.

Too bad.

“This your bike?” he asks. And the guy is of Asian descent and dressed in a windbreaker for a popular sliced bread corporation. So he’s probably a delivery guy.

“Yep,” I answer, keeping my tone terse as I start to unlock it.

“Wow, gorgeous!” he enthuses. “Did you paint it yourself?”

“Yep.”

“You do commissions?” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “I got a bike in my van that I’d love to get done up just like this. Maybe you could take a look at it? I’ll pay.”