Traded for a Scar, I Carried His Heir and Took His Table novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: The Plan

Levan's POV

Ketevan read the message standing at the sink in her towel.

I could not see the screen from where I stood, and I did not need to.

I watched her thumb stop moving.

She set the phone face down on the counter and looked at me for a long moment.

"Do you have something to tell me?" she said.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she said, and nodded, and went to bed.

She gave me the whole night, and she slept with her back against my chest while I lay awake listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

The horn sat in its box on the kitchen table.

I had bought it from a dealer on Brighton Beach Avenue, an old man who kept them in a glass case.

It was a ram's horn, polished dark, with a silver rim chased in a vine pattern and a silver foot.

I had held it six inches from my eye in the shop and traced the vine with my thumb.

It was the one thing I had been able to see clearly all week.

I had meant to carry it into the Janelidze hall on April eighteenth.

I had a speech.

I had worked on it for six weeks in the car, in the shower, at the warehouse with the door shut.

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