Page 136 of Silenced

It’s not good enough, but I hope it shows her what I feel.

When I pull back, she peers at me from under her lashes. That’s when she gives me hope because the tender kiss appears to unravel her enough for Cassiopeia to mutter, “She said I was too fat for any of the dresses and that she didn’t have enough time to get them adapted to my size. She also recommended a diet plan that’sjustperfect, darlingfor obese women.”

Nostrils flaring, I snap my gaze to Tatiana’s and click my fingers at her. Not that she has much of a choice—Dmitri grabs her arm and hauls her toward me.

A quick glance at my face has her mumbling, “You can’t kill her too.” But it’s her soft sniffle that seals Tatiana’s fate more than anything else ever could. “I don’t need you to kill everyone who’s mean to me, Nikolai.”

The growl that rumbles from me has a soft flush dancing over her cheeks—that’s better than the sorrow from mere seconds ago.

And like that, my voice unlocks. “Your assistance will no longer be needed, Tatiana.”

Shock flashes in her eyes at the fact I’m speaking, but she purses her lips. “I’ll leave you with the dresses I think could work—”

“No. You misunderstand. Clear out your things. You’re no longer welcome in this establishment.”

She gapes at me then cries, “It’smystore.”

“Nikolai owns sixty-five percent of it,” Dmitri corrects, taking over as my mouthpiece much as he always does. His tone turns mocking. “That means he owns more than you.”

“But it’s mine!” she cries, her face pinching and turning white. “You can’t kick me out of my own business!”

“Just. Watch. Me,” I growl. “Escort her outside, Dmitri.”

As Tatiana blusters and curses at me, Dmitri drags her from the changing area, leaving me with Cassiopeia.

Just before the doors close, he looks back at me and I grace him with a single nod.

“You spoke.”

Her soft whisper has my attention returning to her.

When I don’t answer, she chides, “Don’t freeze up now.” Her hand settles on my chest, the tips digging in slightly.

Warmth permeates from the connection, spreading through my limbs, and I bask in her sunlight. In her attention. In the soft cast of her eyes. In the way she presses close.

In her trust.

“You are perfect.” It’s all I can think to say and color blossoms in her cheeks. “She had no right,” I snipe, my voice hoarse and ugly, “to tell you otherwise.”

“I’ve always had a weight problem,” she mutters.

“I see no problem,” I sign, falling back on ASL.

Her gaze trips off my hands, then she leans on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Would you like to see her suggestions?”

Grateful for the reprieve, I nod, aware of how much courage she has and how much faith she’s showing in me by making that offer.

Honored, I take a seat in the armchair, settling in for what I assume will take a while, then I see the ‘options’ Tatiana gave mysolnyshko.

Two.

Both are more appropriate for a woman in her seventies than a beautiful creature like Cassiopeia.

As she tries the first on, I frown at the frumpy style that covers every inch of her. I’m a possessive motherfucker—I admit it—but Jesus Christ, I’ve seen nuns show more skin than this horrific gown bares.

“Why the hell does she have that in stock?”

She sniffs. “For pregnant women.”

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