Page 160 of Betrayal and Vows

She looks at me and then Anton. “You know you will likely die, right?”

It wasn’t the typical send off, but I suppose I appreciate her honesty.

“We know,” I reply. “And we’re ready.”

She says nothing as she walks out the door.

I’m nauseous. We’ve been waiting for this moment and now that it’s here, I’m freaking out. I know the danger. But the danger here is just as bad.

Anton looks at me, his hands going to my shoulders. He gently squeezes. “Lena?—”

“Don’t. Don’t try to tell me this is dangerous. Don’t tell me you’ll sacrifice yourself so I can run. Just don’t. We’re going. That’s it.”

I see the slightest crook of a smile. My man wants me to be brave. He’s proud of me. I can see it in his eyes. I know he’s a proud, strong man. I know he must protect me with his life.

But the feeling is mutual.

If we die, we die together.

"Lena, once we get on that plane—once we land in Spain—there's no going back. Are you sure about this?"

I think about my old life. The marble floors and crystal chandeliers. The suffocating rules and endless expectations. The marriage to a monster that would have destroyed me piece by piece.

Then I look at Anton. Really look at him. The scar above his eyebrow. The way he holds himself like he's ready for battle. The gentleness in his eyes when he looks at me that no one else gets to see.

That fierce protectiveness that makes me feel invincible.

"I've never been more sure of anything," I tell him.

He kisses me then, fierce and desperate. "I love you."

"I love you too. Always. Forever. From this life to the next. You are mine, Anton."

Anton seems to relax a bit. I open a can of soup for our lunch while he checks around outside.

I’ve already accepted I will never see Russia again. I know there is a good chance I’ll never see my mother, Kira, or Anastasia again.

But I’ll have Anton.

That thought will carry me through.

Suddenly, I hear Anton speaking to someone.

I reach for the branch just as the door opens.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s the woman who brought us to this place a week ago.

I assume she’s here to say goodbye. Not that it’s needed.

She holds up a basket.

I smile. “Thank you.”

Anton’s expression worries me.

Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just a food delivery.

“What is it?” I ask.