Page 80 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

Kiera is standing at the counter with a fork in one hand and a guilty expression on her face. In front of her is a plate with a large slice of chocolate cake, the kind the chef makes for special occasions.

She freezes when she sees me, her eyes going wide. "I was just… I couldn't sleep and I thought…"

I can't help it. I laugh.

The sound surprises both of us. I don't laugh often, and certainly not in the middle of the night when I'm supposed to be dealing with serious Bratva business. But there's something about catching her sneaking cake like a kid who's been told not to eat dessert before bed that strikes me as genuinely funny.

"Don't let me stop you," I say, moving into the kitchen and heading for the refrigerator.

"I wasn't… I mean, I was, but…" She trails off, then laughs too. "Okay, fine. I was sneaking cake. Are you going to tell on me?"

"To who? The cake police?" I pull out sandwich fixings and set them on the counter. "Besides, I'm doing the same thing."

"You're making a sandwich. That's different."

"Food is food." I start assembling turkey and cheese on bread. "Want one?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Sure. Why not."

We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I make two sandwiches while she cuts another slice of cake and puts it on a second plate. Then we sit at the small kitchen table, the one the staff uses for their meals, and eat together.

"I couldn't sleep either," she says after a while. "Too much on my mind."

"Jack?"

"Among other things." She takes a bite of cake, then looks at me. "Do you really think he'll stop if I ask him to?"

I consider lying, but what's the point? "No. But I think you have a better chance of reaching him than I do."

"That's not very reassuring."

"It's honest."

She nods slowly, accepting that. "Tell me something about yourself."

The request catches me off guard. "What?"

"Tell me something about yourself. Something real. Not Pakhan stuff or business stuff. Just… you."

I take a bite of my sandwich, buying time to think. "Why?"

"Because we're getting married in less than a month and I barely know you." She sets down her fork. "I know you're powerful and dangerous, and you run a criminal empire. I know you're good in bed, and you have a nice house, and you like to be in control. But I don't know anything about you as a person."

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Anything. What was your childhood like? Do you have siblings? What's your favorite color?" She laughs. "God, I don't even know your favorite color."

"Blue," I say automatically. Then I pause, realizing I've never actually thought about it before. "Dark blue. Like the ocean at night."

"See? That's something." She smiles, and it transforms her face. "My turn. I grew up in a house full of boys after my parents died. Kevin raised me because he was the oldest and he felt responsible. I learned to fight dirty because that was the only way to survive with four brothers."

"That explains a lot."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't back down. Even when you probably should." I finish my sandwich and lean back in my chair. "Most people are afraid of me. You just get angry."

"Should I be afraid of you?"