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What the actual fuck am I saying? What was in those drinks?
His dark, rich chuckle sends a shiver down my spine, confirming my suspicion that my comeback line was as lame as it sounded to my own ears. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
My head feels as if it’s three times the normal size, and the throbbing pain in my arm has begun to fade a little.
“Fine,” I say. Then I wonder if I said that out loud. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he asks, getting that adorably confused look he gets when he’s thinking about something, like a curious puppy. For one tiny minute, his guard drops, and he’s utterly disarming.
“When I talked to you.” I stifle a giggle. “Did I say that out loud?”
Oh, God, here we go. I should not have had those drinks, especially not on an empty stomach.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” For some reason, I find his confusion hilarious. I burst out with another giggle and cover my mouth with my hand.
“Nothing.”
“Are you drunk?” He shakes his head.
“Oh, honey,” I say on another giggle. “I’m fucking plastered. I can’t hold my liquor atall.”
“Jesus.” He stands up, towering over me, and I can’t help a feeling of dread and anticipation. This guy is going to be myhusband,my protector, and my biggest fucking challenge. And somehow, I have to make sure I navigate this new reality without betraying him to Carlos and without losing myself in the process.
This will be impossible.
“Look at me,” he snaps.
I open my eyes as wide as I can and stare up at him, my head swaying lazily.
“Mmm?” His face swims in front of me.
“Have you eaten anything?”
I shake my head. “Somewhere between being captured by our enemies and then dragged to the LSD headquarters, questioned, then dragged to this plane and attacked I forget to eat my three square meals.” I shrug. “Oopsie.”
He rolls his eyes and signals to the flight attendant. “Orange juice, two ice cubes. Something sweet. And a chicken sandwich, no mayo.”
I turn my head away when tears prick my eyes. Of course he remembers exactly what I like. It feels like a lifetime ago I was detained for questioning, and he was the one in charge of me… but in reality, it was only a week ago.
The flight attendant hands us our food, and we eat in silence. I watch him discreetly.
I’ll kill the man you love.
I have to look away.
What have I done to give an onlooker like my brother the impression that I love Ollie Romanov? I think back to my captivity with him.
The way we talked for endless hours, and I told him all about my childhood. He talked about his trips to various countries as the international consultant for the Romanov Bratva, and I asked questions, intrigued. Ollie is a quiet man to others, but he opened up to me.
My brother hit me where it hurts. He knows I’m vulnerable when it comes to Ollie Romanov. I wish I wasn’t so easy to read.
My head feels light, and my arm aches as I finish my sandwich and eye a chocolate chip cookie.
Ollie glances at me, his eyes softening. “Is your arm still bothering you?”
“Only when I use it,” I reply, my words slightly slurred. “Which is all the time because it’s… one of my most favorite limbs.” I glance down at the bandage. “You doctored it up damn well though. How’d you get so good at that?”
He shrugs. “I was the Bratva’s medic before Mikhail took over. We all tried out different positions. I wanted to go into medicine when I was a kid.” He takes a long sip of a bottle of soda. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down and swallow hard. He lifts the second half of his sandwich and takes a large bite, chewsmethodically, and swallows. “I study things and aim to become an expert.” He shrugs. “It’s sort of my thing.”
