Page 144 of Dance of Devils

It doesn’t stop my mind from rampaging through every horrible made-up scenario, though…Kir pining over a long-lost love…never dating anyone because nobody, including me, will live up to this woman from his past…I find myself wondering if I remind him of her. If Ilooklike her.

My stomach churns, and I try to shove those thoughts away and instead focus on how nice of a time I’m having, and how amazing Freya is. Eventually, she gets ready to leave, giving Kir a big hug and me an even bigger one.

“It waslovelyto meet you, Brooklyn,” she grins. “And thanks for keeping this one on his best behavior.” She jerks a thumb at Kir.

I laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve got anything to do with that.”

“Agree to disagree,” she winks before turning to her dad. “Hey—don’t fuck this up, okay?”

“Goodnight, Freya,” he growls, making her laugh before she gives him one last hug.

We stand in the driveway, watching her drive the totally badass black Lambo with the pink skull out through the gates. Kir’s fingers entwine with mine as he pulls me around to face him.

My cheeks burn as I drag my gaze to his, still a little mortified about everything earlier.

“I…mayhave overreacted,” I mumble. “About Freya, I mean.”

“You mean fleeing the house and convincing Matvey not to answer my calls?” His brow darkens. “He and I are going to have a serious talk?—”

“Don’t take it out on him,” I laugh, poking his chest. “Besides, isn't he supposed to follow my orders as if I’m you?”

He scowls. “Not exactly. And Idooutrank you.”

“Huh,” I shrug. “Maybe he just likes me better.”

Kir’s eyes darken, and I giggle as I lean up on tiptoe to kiss him softly. Before I can pull back, his arms wrap around me, his hand sliding into my hair. He pulls me back in, kissing me long and slow and deep, stealing the air from my lungs and making my knees weak.

“Come with me,” he murmurs. “We’re not quite finished with before.”

I shiver, letting him lead me through the house. He takes me upstairs to a massive library that Ilove, especially because of the big ivy-covered stone veranda off it, looking over the grounds to Manhattan beyond.

Kir sits in one of patio chairs by the table. When I go to sit across from him, he pulls me into him, slides me onto his knee, and turns me to face him. It's weirdly comforting and safe, sitting on his lap like this.

“I’m so sorry you saw Roman kiss me.” It just pops out. “I’m sorry he kissed me atall. He’s…” My brow furrows. “There’s some stuff in his life that isn’t my place to tell. But that kiss?—”

“I know a last-ditch effort at convincing yourself of something when I see it,” Kir says quietly, his eyes piercing mine. “And while I havenotforgiven him for touching what’smine?—”

I gasp as he cups my jaw tightly, holding it in place with two fingers as he leans in and kisses me again.

“And whileRomanand I might not be done talking about it…you and I, however, are.” He shakes his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all.”

He takes a slow breath and exhales, wrapping his other arm around my waist.

“Ask me.”

My brow knits. “Ask you?”

“It’s been all over your face since I told you she was my daughter, all through dinner. Freya was good enough not to mention it. But now is your time, Brooklyn.” He levels a gaze at me. “Ask me what you want to ask. I’ll answer as best I can.”

“I’m afraid to,” I whisper.

He cups my cheek. “You have nothing to fear, babygirl. But if you don’t ask, it’ll fester, and I won’t have that. So, please—ask.”

My gaze drops as I take a shaky breath. “Who is she?” My teeth drag across my bottom lip. “Freya’s mother, I mean.”

“Her name was Petra Lindqvist,” he says quietly.

Was.