“Fine.”
“Liar.” Her eyes narrow. “You winced when we got out of the car earlier. I saw it.”
“It's nothing I can't handle.”
“I'm sure.” She shakes her head. “Men and their pride. Would it kill you to admit you're in pain?”
“Possibly.”
That earns me a genuine laugh, and against my better judgment, I find myself almost smiling in response.
Up close, her presence washes over me. She’s wearing a deep blue dress that clings to her generous curves, and though she leads me, she often turns around to check on me with a bright smile and those doe-eyed, gorgeous blue eyes that reel me right in. That dimpled smile and those eyes—just one look, and I melt.
That’s the power she holds over me. Just simple contact, and I’m sucked into her orbit. It’s because she holds my hand that I forget how frustrating her brothers were moments ago.
I can’t help but stare at her as she dazzles through the crowd, often stopping momentarily to kiss someone on the cheek or give a friendly wave. As always, the crowd parts for her.
She has a magnetic energy around her, and watching her now, I’m taken back to the night after the ambush. Lilibeth had insisted on knowing what happened that night after she took care of me.
I remember the haze of pain I’d been in from all the injuries. I was tired and exhausted, and the memory of revealing what happened with Nikandr resurfaces like a shadow. I told her about Nikandr. I told hereverything.
What made me speak to her that way, considering she was largely the root of Nikandr’s pain and the final blow thatsent him running? What was it about her? Granted, I was a little out of it, and my mind was a jumbled mess. But more than that, I think I wanted to see her reaction. I wanted to throw his name into the conversation in surprise, to see how she reacted to the curveball I sent her way. I expected her to show one of two things: Guilty or regretful.
Because the woman my brother described as his lover, the one who had betrayed and hurt him, should have shown some sign of guilt when I spoke of Nikandr's struggles. Some flicker of regret or shame. But all I saw in her eyes was genuine concern and understanding. There was no hint of the duplicity I had expected. She made space for my struggles in her heart with such grace that I remember feeling lighter as I spoke to her.
She smiles and squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present as she introduces me to some friends. I smile, shake hands, and greet them, letting her drive the conversation.
I sneak away for a few moments and bring her back some champagne. She takes it from me and gives me a small kiss on my cheek as a thank you, not caring that she’s in the middle of a conversation. That’s what she does. She notices, she shows up, she knows where her priorities lie.
I watch as she talks to these friends of hers. Catches them up on her life, asks questions about theirs. Once again, her genuine warmth shows up.
From the nearly two months I’ve been with her, I’ve not once had reason to believe she’s cunning or anything more than she lets on. Her intentions are always clear in her actions and words, her face like an open book.
She can’t be that good an actress to make me believe it’s all a front, can she? If that is the case, then I must say she must be exhausted. She would have slipped up once or twice. Butaround me, when she’s angry, I know it. When she’s worried, I know it. When she’s happy, I know it.
No. It’s not an act. She is warm. She is sweet. She is kind.
“Agafon?” She turns to me and pulls me aside to a corner, bidding her friends goodbye. “I …I think I have something in my eye.” She winces as she looks at me while batting her eyelashes.
“Shit,” I say, suddenly losing my train of thought. “Let me have a look.”
I lean in, my eyes focused on hers as I gently tilt her chin to get a better look. Being so close to her, seeing so deep into those gorgeous eyes of green and blue, clouds my senses as I brush my thumb under her eye, searching for the root of her discomfort. She blinks, her lashes fluttering against my fingers, sending a shiver down my spine.
“There,” I say softly, indicating for her to close her eyes before I pull out a handkerchief and delicately wipe the corner of her eye, removing the fallen lash that had lodged itself in there, hitting her eye. Her breath hitches slightly at the contact, and for a moment, the world around us fades away.
When all done, I gently kiss her eye and move away. “Feel better?”
“Oh my god.” She gushes and gives me that bright smile of hers. “Thank you so much!”
“Don’t worry.” I shake my head.
“Actually.” She looks behind me. “While we’re here, I might as well freshen up.”
“Sure, go right ahead,” I say. She leaves, but I suddenly notice the glass in her hand and tug at her. She turns with a question in her eyes, and I wink as I pull it away.
“I’ll take that,” I offer.
“Thank you!” She bends on her knees with cute urgency and rushes away. I watch her disappear behind the partition grille, through to where the restrooms are, and decide without question that she hasn’t played me. She’s shown me exactly who she is in every authentic form. Her concern and understanding when we spoke of Nikandr came from her heart.
