Page 70 of The Russian's Bought Bride

I look back at her properly and immediately make the mistake of lingering too long.

With the short absence of her while she was with Vera, it hits me all over again just how beautiful she looks tonight.

Since the moment I saw her picture in Arthur’s file, I recognized that Dani’s beauty felt softer and realer somehow. It sneaks up on me when I least expect it, and it certainly doesn’t do my self-control any favors.

She catches me looking, and she lifts a brow at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

A smile threatens at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. This is very dangerous territory.

So instead of getting too lost in the sight of her more agreeable expression, I lean back against the booth seat and gesture toward her mostly empty glass.

“Want another drink?”

The offer clearly surprises her, and she takes a beat to consider it, probably because a few weeks ago, I was emotionally constipated enough to treat our interactions like I was carrying out orders.

Still, after a moment, she nods. “Okay, sure.”

I signal the waitress over, and the drinks arrive quickly after that. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension between us eases without disappearing entirely, but it feels warmer than hostile tonight.

Dani curls her fingers around her glass thoughtfully while glancing toward the stage below. “Your cousins seem surprisingly normal.”

“They’d probably find that insulting,” I muse, well aware of how they embrace their edges where others might try to hide them.

“I’m serious,” she says, smiling faintly. “I expected…I don’t know. More terrifying, villainous mafia energy or something.”

I snicker quietly to myself. “Don’t sound so disappointed. You got that from Roman already.”

“Fair enough.”

Studying her quietly for a second, my curiosity and paranoia get the best of me. “What did Vera tell you?”

A knowing look crosses her face immediately, and she looks far too satisfied, like Dani already knows she has something on me. “That you’re difficult.”

“She’s dramatic.”

“She also said you disappeared for three days once because Roman scolded you.”

That absolute traitor…

“That’s exaggerated. I told at least one person I was taking a few days off,” I defend myself, well aware that it’s a complete lie.

“So you did disappear,” she points out. “I’m assuming that person wasn’t a sibling.”

I take a slow sip of whiskey instead of answering, watching as her smile widens slightly.

That expression of hers hits me harder than expected, and it’s like the air has been punched out of my chest.

Christ…I’m in trouble.

The realization settles deeper the longer the evening stretches on, because somehow, talking to Danielle is becoming far easier.

Most people outside of my family annoy me, and if I can avoid getting trapped in an unwanted conversation, I’ll do everything in my power to achieve exactly that. But with Dani, it doesn’t feel like I’m itching to get away.

Instead, we drift through conversation naturally after that, speaking about things I normally keep buried beneath layers of habit and the usual defenses.