Page 162 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

Forty-Two

KAYLANI

Ihadn’t spoken a single word to my father since climbing into the limo. He’d tried multiple times to engage me in conversation once we were on the plane, but I simply got up and moved to the back.

It didn’t help that he had one of his goons take my phone like I was a naughty toddler in time-out.

Our destination remained a mystery, but wherever we were headed, it wasn’t with Goran, and that was all that mattered.

As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, I grabbed my purse and followed the line of men in suits. The jet doors opened to sunlight so bright it felt violent. I lifted my arm to shield my eyes despite my dark sunglasses and caught sight of the sign above the private airfield hangar.

Mallorca. We were in Spain.

The island was stunning, and nothing like Vegas. The air carried salt and citrus instead of desert dust and the constant hum of activity. The Mediterranean stretched endlessly beyond the runway, glittering like something meant to entice.

Descending the stairs, I held my head high, not caring that I was in jeans, running shoes, and a hoodie that said, “Ride a horse save a cowboy.” It was nearly ninety degrees outside, and I knew that looking deliberately casual annoyed my father, so I kept it on anyway.

Dimitri was just ahead of me, and I had never been more tempted to push someone down a flight of stairs.

Guards moved around us like a swarm of wasps. Always there. Always irritating.

I had never been a fan of my father’s security team. Sven was the only exception. I’d caught him glancing my way more than once, his eyes quietly apologizing.

If this was to be my cage, then Dimitri would watch me walk into it like I owned the place.

A black convoy waited beyond the tarmac. Every car gleamed in the sun, polished like gems and absurdly expensive.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. If this wasn’t a wagging of cocks, I didn’t know what was.

Julian stood beside the center vehicle.

White linen shirt. Tailored trousers. Sunglasses. He looked like an advertisement for wealth and leisure, trying hard for casual as he leaned against the Lamborghini. Harmless at first glance. But only if you didn’t look close enough.

I always looked closely. Alex had taught me that valuable lesson.

Julian removed his sunglasses and extended his hand to my father, though the smile on his face never reached his eyes.

“Mr. Mikhailov, so good to see you.”

“Call me Dimitri. We’re going to be family after all.”

The urge to vomit all over them was tough to ignore.

Julian turned, his gaze sliding over me from head to toe.

“Mallorca suits you,” he said smoothly, kissing the air beside my cheek instead of touching me. “You look…rested.”

“Are you implying that I looked tired the last time I saw you?”

He paused for a beat.

“No, of course not. I just meant you look radiant today.”

“Thanks. I’m sure it’s the blackmail, the arrest, and being forced into this marriage that’s giving me such a natural glow.”

A few of the guards snorted before disguising it with coughs.

“Kaylani,” Father growled.