Page 8 of Twisted Princess

The tiny street taco shop near the corner of Central Park is just as popular as I recall—and just as delicious. Gabby is more than ready to sit on a bench and watch the passersby as we eat and chat.

“Did you two have a good morning?” I ask as we munch.

Gabby nods, her little feet swinging as she chews her food, her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s until there’s no more room.

“It was great,” Gleb agrees. “Gabby taught me your cloud game today.”

“Oh, did she?” It’s a game my mom played with me when I was little. We would search for shapes in the sky. It’s a perfect day for it, with soft, pillowy clouds floating across the blue sky.

“Geb found a pony!” Gabby adds, beaming before she takes another bite.

Gleb’s eyes shift to her heart-shaped face, the humor in his gaze revealing his genuine affection for her, and my heart constricts. Not that anyone could dislike my sweet little girl, but these two seem quite taken with each other. I don’t normally see Gabby warm up to strangers so quickly, and Gleb is a natural with her.

Again, the war of my emotions comes flaring back to life. Do I tell him? Would he even want to know? What happened last night makes me think he might want us out of his condo—and his hair—as soon as possible. He all but said as much on our drive to New York, before he married me to keep us safe.

But then, today, it feels like he could be more than just willing to be around us.

“Mama full?” Gabby asks, cutting into my train of thought.

I glance down to realize the last of my taco is pinched between my fingers, suspended over my lap.

“Oh, just savoring my bite,” I say before fitting the last, overlarge bite into my mouth. Then I glance sidelong at Gleb.

He’s hardly touched his food. His first taco rests forgotten in his hands. Something’s wrong. I sense it in the stillness in his posture, the subtle tension rippling across his shoulders. His eyes scan the open space of the park, watchful and intense.

Painfully, I swallow my half-chewed bite, then venture tentatively, “Gleb? Is everything alright?”

Gabby looks up from her food at him, her Caribbean-green eyes wide.

Wrenching his gaze from its target, he turns to look at me. The humor of a moment before has vanished, replaced by a sharp intensity. But his response is measured and thoughtful. “Just a feeling,” he says. Then he tips his chin toward Gabby. “You like your taco?”

“Mm-hmm.” She takes another big bite.

I smile, my heart swelling at her enthusiasm. But before I start in on my second taco, I scan the park to see if I can find what might have given Gleb his “feeling.” It looks peaceful, the open space coming back to life with color after a winter of sleep. Joggers work their way around the perimeter, and families push strollers down the winding pathways. Nothing seems out of place to me.

Focusing on my food once more, I savor the rich flavor. It keeps my mind from churning about the man beside me and what to do about the elephant of a secret munching happily between us.

Gleb stiffens, and my stomach plummets as my mind flies to the irrational thought that he might somehow have plucked the secret from my very loud internal debate. But when I look at him again, his eyes are locked on something across the park. My pulse roars with instant adrenaline, and once again, I scan the tree-lined space on instinct, searching for the threat he sees.

Out of my periphery, I catch Gleb pulling his phone from his pocket. A moment later, the sounds of smooth Russian roll from Gleb’s lips as he says something into his phone that I don’t understand. His rich, silky voice becomes absurdly alluring when he speaks in his mother tongue, and despite the fear pounding through my veins, I can’t help the throb of attraction that tightens my core.

It’s ridiculous how much I’ve missed that sound.

After all, whether he’s speaking English or Russian, Gleb’s voice is one of the sexiest things about him—maybe because he never puts it to use unnecessarily. But something about the melodic language combined with his natural baritone makes my stomach quiver.

He hangs up, and a chilling silence settles between us.

“Gleb?” I murmur, my heart thudding against my ribcage.

He meets my eyes again, and the storm brewing behind the seafoam color of his irises sends a shiver down my spine. This time, I know he found what he was looking for. And it’s not good.

“We’re being followed.”

4

GLEB

My eyes shift down to Gabby to see if she’s picking up on my tension. She’s too engrossed by a squirrel racing around the trunk of a tree.

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