"But what?" Sage presses, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "The man hasn't taken his eyes off you for more than five minutes."
"I think I'm just getting my hopes up. What if I'm confusing courtesy with interest, obligation with attraction? What if he's just being polite because of our families, and I'm sitting here with these ridiculous hopes?"
Before Sage can answer, the DJ's voice crackles over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, this will be the last dance for our beautiful couple. Mr. and Mrs. Sokolov, the floor is yours."
Maks appears beside us like he materialized from the shadows, his pale blue eyes soft with adoration as he looks at his new wife.
I step back, giving them space. "Go be happy," I whisper, pulling Sage into a fierce hug. "I love you, sister."
"I love you, too," she whispers back, squeezing tight.
I turn to Maks, standing on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Take care of my sister, or I'll hunt you down myself."
His killer smile makes an appearance. "Wouldn't dream of disappointing you, Fee."
I retreat to the edge of the dance floor as other couples join them, the fairy lights twinkling overhead like something from a dream. The old stone chapel ruins provide the perfect romantic backdrop, and watching Sage in Maks' arms makes my chest tight with longing.
"Ready to head out whenever you are, Ms. Quinn."
I turn to find Cillian at my elbow, his blue eyes fixed on me. He's been my shadow for six months now, ever since Dad assigned him to my detail. Loyal, competent, and completely dedicated to keeping me safe.
"Thanks, Cillian. Maybe after they leave." I want to soak in every second of Sage's happiness.
He nods but doesn't move away, positioning himself between me and the rest of the reception. It takes me a moment to realize Cillian's blocking Anton's line of sight; Cillian's broad shoulders obstruct his view of me.
Is that on purpose? Or just a coincidence?
I study Cillian's profile. He's handsome in that clean-cut Irish way, with dark hair and sharp features. Professional but warm enough that I've always felt comfortable around him.
Maybe it's just a guard instinct, keeping himself between me and everyone else.
Anton hasn't asked me to dance. Not once all night.
Time to accept reality. I imagined all of it.
Every lingering glance. Every careful conversation. Every moment I thought I caught something deeper than polite interest in those storm-gray eyes.
These men flirt like they breathe, effortlessly, with everyone. I've watched them charm women into puddles with nothing but a smile and that devastating Russian accent. Why would I be different?
Quinn princess. Untouchable. The kind of woman smart men don't fuck around with because it might literally get them killed.
Anton's probably got a woman in every city anyway. A man like that? He doesn't stay lonely.
The fairy-tale romance swirling around me suddenly feels like mockery. Sage found her happily-ever-after, and here I am, standing behind my bodyguard like he's a shield, hiding from a man who was never really looking at me anyway.
I should find someone else to dance with. Someone who actually wants me.
But God, Anton is intriguing.
I shift slightly to the left, using the excuse of adjusting my clutch to peek around Cillian's broad frame.
Anton cuts through the crowd with that predatory grace of his, weaving between dancing couples with single-minded purpose.
He's coming this way.
My heart betrays me instantly—pulse spiking, breath catching, that stupid flutter I can never control around him.
Don't read into this, my brain warns. He's just being polite. Saying goodbye.
