Page 21 of Ruthless Reign

“Oh, really?” She laughs, and the sound feels like sunshine on my face. “I guess we’ll see soon enough.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LIZA

“Here’s to buying up half of that baby store.” I hold up my pint of lager and clink it against Kira’s glass of sparkling water.

“I did do some pretty serious damage, didn’t I?” She smiles widely. “Poor Feliks has the pleasure of organizing the shipping back to Moscow.”

“I think he can handle it,” I quip, taking a sip of beer as Kira looks on enviously. It’s not my usual drink of choice, but when you’re in a cozy London pub, you might as well drink like a local.

Today has been what I consider a perfect day. In fact, the whole trip has been pretty awesome. The first few days, we were quintessential tourists, going from the Tower of London to The British Museum, doing some shopping and finishing the day with unforgettable meals. We spent today shopping in all of London’s poshest neighborhoods. Kira has racked up quite the bill spoiling this unborn baby.

Tomorrow will be our last full day here, and I have no idea what Kira has planned, but whatever it is, I’m happy to go along and enjoy it. Spending time with my friend has helped distract me from the ball of dread sitting heavy in my gut every time I think of what’s waiting for me at home.

“So…” Kira says cautiously, squeezing a lime into her soda. “Have you given any thought to wedding planning?”

“Not too much, actually. I hoped to leave it up to my mother. This wedding is for her anyway.” I try and fail to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

Kira frowns into her drink, and I can sense all the words she’s not saying. “Well, if you need any help, I’m here for you. Dress shopping, cake tasting, planning your escape from the church—whatever it is you need.”

I laugh, although I’m not entirely sure she’s kidding. “Thank you. If I need help, you’ll be the first person I’ll call. I was hoping for Sofiya to be my maid of honor, but unfortunately, Anatoly is insisting that it’s Katerina.” I scrunch my nose.

“That sucks,” Kira says bluntly. “You can’t even choose your own maid of honor?”

I stir my drink, my eyes traveling towards the fireplace beside us. “Doesn’t really seem worth arguing over. I’m trying to pick my battles with my mother and the Petroviches, considering I expect many more ahead of me.”

Kira sighs and reaches out, her hand resting on my forearm. “I don't want to sound like a broken record, but if you change your mind about anything, I'm here for you.”

“Thank you.” I know she has the best of intentions, but she has no idea how deeply tangled I am in Anatoly's web. Between the debt we owe him and his not-too-subtle threats towards my sister, I'm trapped. And really, her hands are tied now that the Belovs and Petroviches are inextricably linked.

Kira looks down, smoothing the napkin in her lap. When her eyes meet mine again, she masks her concern with a practiced smile. “I have an extra special surprise for you tomorrow. An experience you’ll never forget.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Should I be worried?”

“Please. You’ll love it.” She taps a finger against her lips. “Once you’ve had a few drinks to loosen up.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Kira’s expression turns mischievous. “Only the good kind.”

“Well, that’s not ominous,” I joke, polishing off the final sip of my beer.

Kira waggles her eyebrows at me before she glances down at her phone. “Maxim is calling. Mind if I step outside to take this?”

“By all means.”

She gives me a quick peck on the cheek, then jumps up and heads toward the front of the bar, Bogdan hot on her heels.

Man, her guards take their job seriously, but that doesn't surprise me. If anything happened to Kira, Maxim’s wrath would be unimaginable. More than that, Roman is protective of Kira like a big brother.

I get the feeling his interest in me is anything but brotherly.

In the last few days, Roman has been an ever-present figure, discreetly standing guard wherever we are. I know he's only doing his job, but his attention often drifts my way, especially when we’re alone. Despite Feliks and Bogdan’s vigilance, I never feel them watching me. It's different with Roman—there’s a certain intensity in his stare that seems to buzz under my skin.

It’s a delicate balance, pretending indifference when every instinct is finely tuned to his presence. Like right now, as I glance up and catch him checking me out from the bar. He looks effortlessly cool in his dark jeans and casual white tee that show off the tattoos crawling up his neck. He wears a blazer for the sole purpose of hiding the gun and holster strapped to his chest. Everything about him is sharp and defined—his jawline, his cheekbones, his strong profile. He oozes a raw, magnetic male energy that draws the eyes of every woman in the pub. But he doesn’t seem to care about them.

My pulse flutters as he looks at me from beneath his dark lashes and lifts his glass in acknowledgment. It's filled with clear liquid, which I know is water and not vodka because he’s on the clock. I bite the inside of my cheek as he rolls up the sleeves of his blazer, exposing his muscular and tanned forearms.

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