Dimitri POV
He kicked the door shut. The world outside would wait until morning. He had his two wives close to him, and Irina was locking the door while Ariana laid the table with the meal they'd carted from the kitchen. No servants. No fuss. Just them tonight. They didn't want anyone else interfering in their world for three.
They dove into the food, each one hungry for more than the roast beef and potatoes and stewed vegetables and Dimitri's favorite garlic bread, with a Tarte Tatin for dessert. But the food was necessary after their ordeal, the company even more so.
Each bite seemed like an experience and a gift. Dimitri wouldn't let himself think about all the ways that today could have gone south. The soreness in his ribs already served as a reminder. So did the blank slate of his memory.
