The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

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.

I rose to my toes and kissed him, so in love it felt like I would drown, though I knew he would never let go of my hand. When I pulled back, a glimmer of light in the shadows of Ronan’s eyes was gray. It was only a flicker before it was gone. But it meant everything.

He ran his thumb across my lips. “Ty byla sozdana dlya menya.” You were made for me.

I believed it with everything in me.

“Dazhe ocean ne mog razdelit’ nas,” I breathed beneath the possessive pressure of his thumb on my lips. Even the sea couldn’t keep us apart.

He smiled. “Not even hell, kotyonok.”

That night, I got married in Paris with a raven on my finger. Though, in my heart, I knew this man had never been my Nevermore.