I pick up the card. Elegant script I recognize but haven't seen in months.
To Katya, the love of my life. Until we meet again. – A
Fee is still seated at the table, her crutches leaning against the chair like silent witnesses. She lifts her chin, eyes locking on mine, and her voice cuts clean.
"My favorite flowers aren't roses. They're peonies. And lilies. White. So next time I'll know which ones are meant for me."
She grips the crutches and pushes herself up with deliberate grace, like every movement is a declaration that she won't stay small. I close the distance before she can move away, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her against me.
"I canceled that standing order five months ago." I bend close, my mouth brushing her temple. "And there won't be another flower that isn't yours. I'll fill this penthouse with peonies and lilies. Every room, every corner. Until you never doubt again what belongs to you."
Her breath ghosts warm against my jaw, fingers sliding up to touch the ink scrawled across my throat, then higher, tracingmy jawline with a slow, devastating stroke. My blood heats instantly.
I think I've won her back at this moment. That maybe the roses haven't buried me under.
Then she smiles softly. "You're going to have to send them to Providence."
"Providence?"
She nods, her green eyes cutting straight through me. "I'm going with my sister."
Chapter 11
Precious Things
Fee:
Anton does what Anton always does: he shifts the entire axis of my world. His presence fills every corner of the room, and the heat radiating from his body should comfort me.
Instead, it burns. Because I can practically feel his fury beaming through that perfect control of his, and it's all directed at my news.
His voice sharpens instantly. "What?"
"I'm going with my sister to Providence. I talked to Cillian. He said everything was cleared. You personally cleared it with my father and my uncle."
I turn my body from his, but Anton's arm stays around my waist. His body is a wall of heat at my back, steady, immovable.
I feel it, a tiny shift in the muscle beneath his shirt, a heartbeat of tension. He's furious, holding it in by sheer force of will.
"Did Cillian call you?" The question sounds casual. It's not.
"No, I called him. I called Moira first, then Cillian, to ask about the situation and how he was doing."
His chest rises against my back. "How he was doing?" Each word is precise.
"Yes. He took a bullet protecting me. I care about people who risk their lives for me."
His next words hit the air like a blade. Clean. Final. "That changes now."
I twist in his hold until I'm facing him. "What changes?"
"You don't call other men anymore, Solnishko."
My mouth falls open. "Since when?"
The gray of his eyes has gone storm-dark, but his voice stays that dangerous kind of gentle. "Since you became mine."
Heat flashes through me, part indignation, part something else that makes my pulse stumble. "Anton, I've talked to my guards my entire life."
