Page 15

I'm across the hall in three strides, not bothering to knock as I push open her door. "What happened?"
Kira stands frozen by the vanity, surrounded by shards of what was once a crystal perfume bottle. Her feet are bare, vulnerable among the glittering fragments. The scent of jasmine fills the air, heady and overwhelming.
"Don't move," I command, scanning the floor for a safe path to her.
"I can clean it myself," she says, chin lifting in that defiant way that's becoming familiar. "I don't need your help."
I ignore her, crossing the room in careful steps. "You'll cut yourself."
"Why would you care?" Her voice is sharp, but there's something beneath it—uncertainty, perhaps. Or loneliness. I recognize it because it mirrors what echoes inside me.
Before she can protest, I lift her easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. For a moment, she tenses against me, and I prepare for another fight. Instead, she exhales slowly, her body softening just slightly against mine.
The unexpected surrender catches me off guard.
I set her down on the bed, careful to keep my touch impersonal. Professional. "Stay here. I'll clean it up."
"You don't have to?—"
"I know I don't have to." The words come out harsher than intended. I soften my tone. "Just... stay put."
In the bathroom, I find a hand towel and return to collect the larger pieces of glass. Kira watches me from the edge of the bed, her gaze heavy on my back.
"You're not what I expected," she says finally, breaking the silence between us.
I don't look up from my task. "What did you expect? A monster?"
"Yes." The honesty in her answer makes me pause. "My father said you were dangerous. That you've killed men with your bare hands."
My jaw tightens. I resume collecting glass shards. "Your father should be more careful about the stories he tells."
"Is it true?"
I meet her eyes then, not bothering to mask the darkness I know she'll see there. "Yes."
To my surprise, she doesn't flinch. "Would you kill me, too?"
"No." The word escapes before I can think better of it. Truth is a liability in my world, yet here I am, offering it to her like a gift. "You're my wife."
"On paper," she reminds me, throwing my own words back at me. Her lips curve into something not quite a smile. "For protection and profit, not?—"
"I remember what I said." I cut her off, gathering the last of the glass. The perfume clings to my skin, feminine and foreign. It will linger on my hands long after I leave this room. "That doesn't mean I'd harm you."
When I stand, she's watching me with those clear blue eyes that seem to strip away layers I've spent years building. I turn away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
"Why did you agree to this?" she asks. "To marry me?"
I dispose of the glass in the bathroom wastebasket, taking my time before answering. "Your father made an offer. I accepted."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting tonight." I wash my hands, watching her perfume swirl down the drain in pale amber ribbons. When I return, she's still sitting exactly where I left her, legs tucked beneath her on the bed.
"You should sleep," I tell her. "It's been a long day."
She glances at the bed, then back at me, uncertainty flickering across her face. "I don't have anything to sleep in. My things..."
"Check the dresser," I say, nodding toward the mahogany chest against the wall. "I had the housekeeper, Elena, purchase some necessities."