Not even once.
“Come here,” I said, the words leaving me before I could stop them.
Her breath hitched as I drew her into me. Her body fit against mine with a softness that contradicted every sharp edge inside my world. Her cheek pressed near my collarbone, her breathing unsteady but beginning to slow down.
She wasn’t fighting me. She wasn’t even pretending. But I could see that she was tired.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, the other settling at her back. And held her the way you hold something you aren’t ready to lose yet.
“You’re safe now,” I murmured into her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Her voice muffled against my chest. “I didn’t want you to find me like that.”
“Like what?”
“…terrified.”
“I’d rather find you terrified than not find you at all.”
She swallowed hard, the motion brushing against my shirt. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t say.”
A soft, trembling exhale escaped her mouth that sounded nothing like resistance and everything like surrender. She wasexhausted beyond pretension, her body constantly melting into mine. After a long moment in the quiet foyer, she pulled back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes were glassy, vulnerable, and I felt something inside me tilt dangerously.
“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why do you care this much about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You bought me from an auction, even when you clearly do not do this for fun, like the other sleazy men that were present there that night. You married to keep me safe. And when you found out I had run away from you, you came looking for me and saved me again rather than letting me die out there. Why?”
Because I feel like I’ve seen you before.
Because your eyes are refusing to leave me alone since the moment I saw you at the auction.
Because the thought of you disappearing into some cellar makes my blood run violent.
I didn’t say any of that.
Instead, I said, “You’re under my protection now. That’s enough.”
“I was under no one’s protection in Russia, and I was safe. I should have never come here,” the words were nothing but a mumble, but I heard them, my eyes widening at once.
“You were in Russia?” It came out sharper than I intended, making Ilana turn to look at me. Something in her expression shifted, and for a few seconds, I could see vulnerability that had been present moments ago replaced by confusion.
She blinked, startled. “Um… yes. I studied there for my degree in art history.”
“Your accent,” I said, watching her carefully. “You don’t sound Russian.”
“I’m not.” She said quickly. Way too quickly. I watched closely as she forced a small, shaky smile on her face. “I just went there as a tourist to study and managed to develop a good taste for art, history, and museums.”
She said it lightly, and I let it go. But a thin thread of curiosity threaded itself through my ribs.
Later.
