Page 117 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

"You completely missed the point."

"I'm listening." His voice lowered slightly. "Still learning."

That stopped me. He was learning. Just in an expensively headache-inducing way.

The flowers were just the beginning.

A few mornings later, Makar sent a necklace and a dress suitable for an evening event. The necklace was elegant, the dress beautiful, even the size perfectly chosen.

I closed the box, about to tell him I couldn't accept it, when Varlam's people arrived. They didn't bring jewelry or clothes. Just a shop transfer agreement. I flipped to the last page and stared at my own name for a full ten seconds.

He'd bought me the entire store.

This counted as change. But the transfer agreement on his desk didn't make me feel touched at all.

I went to the company. In the office, Varlam leaned back in his chair, shirt collar loose, the chest wound still making his movements slower than usual. Hearing me enter, he set down his documents. Didn't question why I didn't knock, didn't call anyone to stop me.

"Take the store back." I stood in front of his desk, teeth clenched so hard they ached.

"You don't like running it?"

"I don't like you treating me like a project waiting to be acquired."

His gaze rested on my face. "You're not a project."

"Then stop courting me like a merger."

Varlam was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. I'll sell it."

The anger I'd prepared suddenly had nowhere to land.

"Just like that?"

"You told me not to decide for you." He leaned back, the wound making his brow furrow slightly. "You don't want it, I'll handle it."

He'd actually remembered what I said.

"You could ask what I like," I said.

Something lit in Varlam's eyes. "Ask now?"

"Next time." I felt somewhat helpless.

"I'll remember."

He was always more earnest about this than I expected.

And in fact, the competition was more intense than I'd imagined. Makar asked me to dinner first, then booked movie tickets. He sent me the time and place, said he wouldn't be late.

I was about to agree when Varlam's invitation filled my schedule first. Monday, he asked if I wanted to see a wedding venue. An old estate being renovated—he didn't decide its use for me, just asked me as a wedding planner how I'd bring that sleeping house back to life.

I talked for two full hours. He listened for two full hours. Didn't interrupt, didn't check his phone once.

Wednesday, he took me to a very small restaurant. No clearing out, no bodyguards lined up, just an ordinary table in the corner.

Friday, he invited me to see a play. He'd even gotten impossibly hard-to-find front row seats.

What really left me no time for Makar was Sunday's activity. Varlam named Sunday afternoons "family time for three." The first time I saw those words, I stared at my phone laughing for half a minute.