Page 119 of His Stolen Bride

By the end, the room isn’t friendly.

It’s aligned.

That’s all I require.

On the way out, the Italian lingers and looks at Alina, polite smile, predatory eyes.

“You’re very composed,” he says. “It suits you.”

Alina’s tone stays neutral. “I didn’t ask what suits me.”

He chuckles like he likes resistance.

I step closer, voice low. “Watch your mouth.”

His smile stays in place, but his eyes sharpen. “Or?”

“Or you’ll learn what the river does with men who forget their place,” I say.

He nods once and leaves.

Alina exhales only when the door shuts.

“You didn’t have to say that,” she murmurs.

“Yes,” I reply. “I did.”

She looks at me, a question in her eyes.

I answer it anyway. “I’m not letting anyone talk to you the way he did.”

Alina’s throat moves when she swallows. “Okay.”

We walk back to the car.

No one touches her. No one dares.

The city watches from behind glass and stone.

In the car, she sits close enough that her knee brushes mine.

She doesn’t move away.

Neither do I.

When we return to the estate, Oisin runs down the hall and slams into Alina like he’s been waiting all day to confirm she came back.

She catches him easily.

“You’re late,” he accuses.

Alina kisses his hair. “I’m not late. You’re dramatic.”

He looks up at her, offended. “Papa says that too.”

Alina’s gaze flicks to me.

I shrug. “He’s accurate.”