Page 76 of His Stolen Bride

If you want honor, show up alone enough to speak.

I fold it, I seal it, I hand it off through a contact Mikhail arranged, and I don’t let my hand shake while I do it.

When I return, Mikhail is waiting in the hall outside my room, jacket on, hair neat, posture sharp. He looks like a man walking into a boardroom, then his eyes meet mine and they change in a way that hits me low in the stomach.

“You ready?” he asks.

“For a date,” I say, still wrapping my head around it.

“For playing normal,” he replies.

I glance down at myself. “I’m in jeans.”

His eyes flick over me, slow and direct, and I feel heat rise under my skin. “You’re fine,” he says, and his voice goes slightly rough on the last word.

Oisin barrels out of the sitting room with a train in his hand. “Where are you going?”

Mikhail crouches. “Adult dinner.”

Oisin frowns. “Without me?”

“Without you,” Mikhail confirms.

Oisin looks at me, betrayed. “Mama.”

I crouch too, and I smooth his hair back. “It’s just for a little while. Sofia’s here, and Enzo’s here, and you’ll do two stories.”

Oisin brightens at “two”, then he narrows his eyes at Mikhail. “You’ll come back?”

Mikhail holds his gaze. “Yes.”

Oisin nods once like he accepts the contract, then he points his train at Mikhail’s chest. “No loud.”

Mikhail’s mouth tightens, then he nods. “No loud.”

Oisin looks satisfied and runs back to Sofia, already shouting about trains and snacks, which is loud, yet he’s allowed it. I watch him go, then I look up at Mikhail.

He holds out his hand. “Come on.”

I hesitate, then I place my hand in his, and his fingers close around mine like he’s done waiting for permission in small ways. We walk through the house with eyes on us, staff pretending not to stare, guards pretending not to listen, and Mikhail doesn’t rush. He sets the pace like the whole place belongs to him.

It does.

The car ride is quiet for the first ten minutes, and I spend those minutes trying not to stare at the way his sleeves hug his forearms and the way the gray at his temples makes him look even more dangerous. Then he breaks the silence like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“You’re watching me,” he says.

“I’m checking your mood,” I answer.

He glances at me. “Lie better.”

I huff out a laugh, and he turns his eyes forward again like that’s all he wanted.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. He lets the car take a few turns, he lets me watch familiar streets start to appear, then he says, “You’ll know.”

My stomach tightens as recognition hits, and it hits hard enough that I sit straighter.