Page 27 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I laughed under my breath—a humorless sound—and looked down at my feet.

“I’ve ridden in arenas with thousands watching. I’ve negotiated contracts that older men thought I couldn’t read. I can handle dinner. But it feels different this time. Now that we’re married, I just…it feels like betrayal. I don’t want to do this.”

He took another step, and I held up my hand to stop him. If he touched me, I would crack. Goran’s jaw flexed, but he obeyed. That might have been the cruelest thing of all.

I smoothed my dress, grounding myself in the familiar motions of armor, habit, and control. I wasn’t fragile, and I refused to be seen as such.

“I will try not to provoke my father. I won’t flirt with them. I’ll ask smart questions, and I’ll listen to what they say and what they try not to say. I’ll remember everything,” I said as if I were reading from a set of battle plans.

Goran didn’t respond. He just calmly stared. I wanted to yell at him for remaining the perfect soldier, which was ridiculous.

“I’m not walking into this like prey.” I rolled my shoulders, meeting his eyes. “I’m not offering myself up. I will survive. That’s it. I want you to know that.”

His eyes softened enough for me to glimpse the emotion he kept buried under his mask.

“I know. That’s what terrifies me.”

A knock sounded, and the moment broke. I quickly plastered the rest of my perfect, princess armor into place.

Goran turned and opened the door. To my surprise, my brother Ronan stood on the other side. He looked at Goran, then at me. If he suspected anything inappropriate, he didn’t say.

“Ronan, I wasn’t expecting you to attend dinner this evening.”

I stepped forward to greet him.

“Last-minute decision. I thought you might want an escort.”

Ronan held out the crook of his elbow for me to take.

Keeping my eyes off my husband, I took the offering. But I couldn’t ignore the weight of Goran’s stare. It was like a deadly, alluring caress, promising to burn me as he followed a step behind.

GORAN

I’d gotten used to this world. I knew that I would never really be part of it, no matter how close Nathaniel and I were. No matter how many years I worked for him. I was and always would be the chauffeur’s son.

But tonight, as I stood behind my wife, everything was different. The doors opened, and all eyes were on us as Kaylani and Ronan made their grand entrance into the dining room.

It was too bright, too formal, and there were far too many men who believed money made them untouchable. Six men and their companions turned in her direction, and in an instant, the energy in the room turned tense with hunger.

Every instinct in me screamed that this was a mistake. That no matter how controlled she appeared, this was a room designed to break women into manageable pieces, and these men were born and bred to make it happen.

I didn’t notice their wealth at first. I saw their posture. The look in their eyes. The way they offered their hands as they introduced themselves. Each little nuance was filed away and cataloged, revealing exactly what kind of male they were.

One appraised her like stock. One remained seated, leaning back like he was already bored. One smiled too widely. Two talked too much. And one…waited until her focus was fully on him.

This man didn’t rush or stare openly. It wasn’t necessary. He watched her the way predators studied routines—calculating how long it would take for him to get her alone.

“I’m Julian Harrington.” He held out his hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“I can assure you that I have not,” Kaylani said, looking at his hand as if it repulsed her.

His eyes flared with a buried rage, and all my muscles tensed. I didn’t know if she realized how dangerous he was, but I could feel it thrumming through the room.

Julian smirked. “You look ravishing, Ms. Mikhailov, or may I call you Kaylani?”