“My father sends his regards along with the basket of…delicacies.” He winks at Donatelli, whose eyes widen.
Yulian wasn’t supposed to be here.
Of course he wasn’t.
This is as far away from their backyard as possible. It’s like if I were to show up at an important restaurant opening in Chicago uninvited.
It’s wrong.
Everythingabout Yulian is wrong.
“Hon?”
I’m jerked back to my table as Danika frowns. I release her hand as slowly as possible, realizing I’ve probably been tightening it in my grip the entire time.
“Yes?” I smile and have to physically stop my gaze from straying behind her, to where a huge complication has dropped in like a bomb.
“Can you order me tiramisu for dessert? I’ll go to the ladies’ room real quick.”
“Will do,” I say absentmindedly as she stands up.
Danika rounds the table so that she’s standing beside me and drops a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best. Love you.”
“Love you, too…” The last bit gets stuck in my throat because I’m being targeted.
It’s not with weapons or anything similar, but a set of contrasting eyes that are zeroing in on me—Yulian’s.
His gaze is sharp enough to cut; all of his grins have vanished and so has his easygoing demeanor. He’s sitting upright in his chair, his body warring with tension as he stares.
No.
Glares.
What the…
As Danika sashays away, he stands up. I sit taller in my chair, holding his gaze with a glare of my own as I communicate.
Stay the hell away from me.
I still despise Yulian Dimitriev, maybe even more than before he took a bullet for me.
After the cave, I downright loathe the guy.
I hate him with every fiber of my being.
So I’ve always been glad we’ve never had to cross paths again, considering the major fallout that happened between our fathers following the attack.
But deep down, a part of me knew we’d eventuallyhaveto meet again.
In theory, it’s better that this is happening in my territory so that I have complete control over the situation.
Now, if my muscles would stop tightening with every step he takes toward me, that would be terrific.
I could just stand up, walk away, and not talk to him, but that would be no different from running away, and I don’t do that.
Not anymore.
Yulian stops by my table, his fingers resting on the white cloth, and I catch a hint of a tattoo that looks like a wing on the slope of his thumb and sliding to the inside of his wrist.
