Page 11 of His Stolen Bride

Her eyes move over me, and she doesn’t try to hide it, and I don’t like that, either.

“You’re still not letting me call my mother,” she says.

“You saw her,” I reply. “She’s safe.”

“For now,” Alina says, and she sets the glass down. “That’s how you like it. For now.”

I step inside and close the door behind me, and the click of it feels too final in a room this quiet. I keep my distance because I’m not here for what I want. I’m here for what I need.

“You agreed to marry me,” I say.

“I did,” she answers, and she doesn’t look away. “I’m not doing it because I want you.”

“I’m not doing it because I want you, either,” I tell her, and the truth tastes sharp because my body doesn’t agree.

Her brows lift. “Then why do you look at me like that?”

I let out a short breath, and I don’t give her the satisfaction of denying it. “Because you’re standing in my house after my brother died, and you’re not afraid enough.”

Her mouth tightens. “I’m afraid.”

“No,” I say, and my voice drops without my trying. “You’re careful. You’re angry. You’re planning. Fear isn’t driving you.”

Her throat moves as she swallows, and her gaze dips for a fraction of a second, then returns to mine.

“You’re watching me,” she says.

“I watch everything,” I reply.

“That’s not an answer,” she says, then she steps closer, and my body responds immediately and brutally. She stops when she’s still out of reach, and she holds my gaze like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Do you hate me?”

I should say yes. It would be simple.

“I hate what you represent,” I say instead, and it’s the closest thing to honesty I’m willing to give her.

Her lips part again, and she looks like she wants to push further, but she chooses control again.

“When is the wedding?” she asks.

“A week,” I tell her. “It has to look deliberate.”

“It’s not,” she says.

“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”

She nods once, and she turns slightly as if she’s dismissing me, then she looks back. “Am I allowed outside before then?”

“You can walk the garden,” I say. “With guards.”

She gives a short laugh. “So no.”

“It’s yes,” I correct. “You just don’t like the terms.”

Her eyes sharpen. “If I run, you’ll hurt my mother.”

“If you run,” I say, and I keep my voice calm because I refuse to let her hear how much I mean it, “you’ll force me to solve the problem quickly. Don’t force that.”

Her breath catches, and she looks away for the first time since I entered.