Page 27 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"Is it wrong?" I asked.

"Turn around."

I blinked.

"Your hair is a mess."

I turned. His presence crowded in immediately. Rough fingertips brushed the back of my neck, separating a tangle of strands. The spot he touched tightened instantly, heat streaking down my spine.

"Done," he said, voice lower than usual. His breath landed heavy between my bare shoulder blades.

I turned back and nearly hit his chest. Cedar and cold air filled my lungs. We were close enough for me to see the faint scar along his jaw, close enough to feel the heat of him through his shirt.

"The color looks good," I said, forcing myself not to step back. "Pera told me you picked it."

His jaw flexed. "Pera can't keep her mouth shut. Maybe she doesn't belong in this house."

"You wouldn't throw her out."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because when she hid my supplies, you didn't throw her out."

The air went still for two seconds.

His eyes narrowed. I caught the flicker of irritation. But my courage ran hotter than usual. I rose on my toes and kissed the hard line of his chin—quick, light—then spoke before he could bite my head off.

"Thank you," I said, looking at him. "Whatever made you change your mind—thank you for not tossing them."

He didn't accept it. He didn't sneer at me for getting sentimental. He just hooked an arm around my waist.

The sudden intimacy made my balance wobble.

"Tonight, don't leave my sight," he said. "And don't take anything from anyone you don't know."

"The banquet isn't safe?"

"A shipping contract and a weapons supply deal are getting signed tonight. Plenty of people want it to fall apart."

Cold slid under his words and tightened my chest.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Stay where I can see you."

Feodor drove. Kiryan and I sat in the back, less than a hand's width between us.

The door shut, sealing the outside world away. I tried not to notice how close his leg was. Tried not to think about the weight of his palm on my waist.

"You're still thinking about your supplies," he said suddenly.

"Maybe they are nothing to you. They aren't nothing to me."

He shot me a look—surprised.

"I bought them after I sold my first painting," I said. "My father never paid a dime for my work."

Kiryan went quiet.