Page 82 of Royal Bargain

“So…” she says carefully, “am I going to be allowed to come to the watch party tomorrow night?”

My stomach tenses.

I don’t answer right away. My first instinct is to say no. The thought of her being anywhere public right now, especially a party full of donors, campaign staff, and reporters—with God knows who watching—makes my skin crawl.

I feel her shift beside me, sensing the hesitation.

“It’s important to you,” she adds. “I know that. And I know it’s a risk. But I don’t want to be hidden away like I’m some secret.”

“I know,” I murmur. “It’s not that I don’t want you there, Ana…”

I trail off, struggling to explain the knot of dread in my chest. It’s not just about her safety. It’s about Lily. About what Anatoly said. About not knowing who’s still out there, waiting for the perfect chance.

I reach for my phone and pull up the contact list.

“What are you doing?” she asks softly.

“Calling backup,” I say. “If you’re going then we’re not going alone.”

I dial Lucky first, then Rory. Ask them both to be there. Quiet, casual, no details—but I can hear the shift in their tone when I ask them to keep eyes open. They know something’s up. They don’t ask questions. They’ll be there.

When I hang up, I turn to her.

“You can come,” I say finally. “But you don’t leave my side. Not for a second. If I go to the bar, you come with me. If I take a piss, you’re waiting outside the door.”

Annika raises an eyebrow, smiling faintly. “That serious, huh?”

“I’m not joking,” I say, and the look in my eyes must kill any lingering amusement in hers. “I’m not taking chances.”

Her smile fades, but she nods. “Okay.”

I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

Be careful who you trust.

The words keep echoing in the back of my mind.

Later, we move through the bedtime routine like muscle memory. Brushing teeth. Locking up. Turning off lights. I watch her slip out of her clothes and into one of my old T-shirts, and for a second, I forget all of it—the trial, the threats, the pressure building behind tomorrow’s election.

But it doesn’t last.

She slides into bed beside me, pulling the blanket up to her chin, her hair spilling across the pillow in loose waves. I crawl in next to her, the mattress dipping with my weight. The room is dim and quiet, the only sound the soft whoosh of the fan overhead.

She turns toward me, voice gentle. “You okay?”

I hesitate.

The words are right there, perched on the edge of my tongue.Someone in the bratva wants you dead.Someone powerfulenough that Anatoly doesn’t even feel safe saying their name out loud.

I should tell her. She deserves to know.

But I think of Lily, sleeping down the hall. Of how Annika looked tonight—relaxed for the first time in days. I can’t rip that peace away from her. Not yet. Not unless I have something more than shadows and suspicion.

So I swallow it down.

She touches my arm. “Liam?”

I force a small smile and shake my head. “Nothing,” I murmur. Then, quieter, “You’re beautiful.”