Page 71 of The Russian's Bought Bride

We touch on Vegas, my brothers, and more childhood stories I haven’t thought about in years, and should probably keep to myself to avoid more future blackmail. At one point, she laughs so hard at one of Ivan’s old schemes involving a stolen motorcycle and an incredibly angry priest that she nearly spills her drink.

The sound catches me off guard enough that I just stare at her for a second, lost in the way that joyful sound makes my heart feel simultaneously light and heavy at the same time.

I’m not used to this. Sitting across from someone and wanting to keep talking long after the obligation runs out, or voluntarily opening doors inside myself that I usually keep welded shut, regardless of what it costs.

Somewhere between the second drink and the low jazz music drifting through the lounge, Dani asks quietly in the more intimate space, “Were you always this close with your family?”

The question sobers me slightly, and I glance down at the amber liquid in my glass before answering.

“Pretty much. We didn’t really have a choice.”

Her expression softens faintly, as if she might know where this is going.

Before I can stop myself, I add, “My mother died when I was young.”

The very thing I seldom tell anyone else sits between us, and I almost regret saying it immediately.

I don’t talk about my mother. Ever. That has been a closed-off portion of my thoughts and memories for as long as I can remember, and I don’t know why I let it slip.

But Danielle just watches me quietly, waiting for me to say what I need to say, so I continue.

“Back in Russia,” I begin, choosing my words with careful consideration. “She had been sick for some time after she gave birth to my sister Elena, and there were complications after surgery. The doctors ignored symptoms they shouldn’t have, and by the time anyone realized how bad it was, it was too late.”

Danielle’s face changes instantly, flooding with understanding and pain, but she lets me continue without interruption.

The movement feels stiff now, but I take a deep breath and continue anyway. “Roman practically raised the rest of us after that.”

It explains more than I mean for it to; why Roman is the way he is, why loyalty means everything in our family, and why medical negligence stirs up something ugly inside me every single time.

Danielle reaches across the table before she seems to fully think better of it, and her fingertips brush lightly against my hand. The contact is brief but gentle, and it conveys more of her genuine empathy than she’ll ever know.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

I look down at her hand against mine, then back at her, and for one terrifying moment, I want to tell her everything. Every ugly detail, all my long-buried fears, and every reason I can’t seem to let her go.

Instead, I just turn my hand slightly beneath hers until our fingers lace together, giving her every chance in the world to pull away, but she doesn’t.

By the time we finally leave the lounge, the uncertainty between us has softened into something warmer and far too appealing.

Vegas glows around us as we step outside, the desert air still vaguely warm despite the late hour. The city pulses endlessly beneath bright lights and casino signs while distant music spills from rooftops somewhere along the Strip, and it’s guaranteed that every building is full of tourists with nothing better to do.

Danielle walks close beside me toward the SUV waiting at the curb, and the realization that she chose to do that stays with me the entire drive home.

The privacy divider is already raised in the backseat, separating us from the driver, and somewhere between thealcohol humming lightly beneath my skin and the intimacy of the evening, my restraint starts fraying too thin.

Dani sits beside me rather than across from me, close enough that I can smell her perfume and feel every small movement of brushing heat against my skin.

I shouldn’t touch her while my head is already crowded with too many emotions I don’t fully know how to handle, yet it’s almost like this raw vulnerability I’m feeling has brought us closer in a new way, and it makes me want more.

But she turns slightly toward me, her knee brushing mine accidentally, and whatever discipline I had left nearly snaps in half.

“You’re staring again,” she murmurs, eyes softer and so damn captivating. It’s almost like I’ve never seen a woman before.

“Can you blame me?”

Her cheeks flush faintly, and that alone nearly undoes me.

Christ.