Page 101 of The High Priestess

He lets out a bark of laughter, which warms my heart. He glances at some of the clothes as we walk by them, then says, “This is not my style.”

“You’re not getting any of those. I’m having your measurements taken for suits,” I say as I place my hand onhis lower back and shove at him to keep walking to where my family’s tailor is waiting.

Christakis has made most of my dresses and every suit Dad wore. The man has an amazing eye for detail.

“Miss Dimitrou, it’s so good to see you,” he greets me with a friendly smile.

When I lean in so we can kiss each other cheeks, I’m grabbed by the arm and yanked backward. My eyes fly to Knight, who only shakes his head, his face set in a scowl.

Okay then. No kissing other men, even if it’s to greet them.

I like that he’s jealous, though.

Grinning, I say, “Thank you for squeezing us in on such short notice. This is Lincoln, my fiancé.”

Knight just gives Christakis a chin lift, who reciprocates by watching my man with caution.

“Let’s do this,” Knight mutters while pulling his gun from behind his back.

Poor Christakis’ eyes go wide, and the man almost faints at the sight of the weapon.

I open my handbag and say, “Drop it in.”

Knight shakes his head and instead leans into me and pushes the gun into the waistband of my suit pants at my back, then explains, “It’s easier for me to get to it.”

Then he leans down and pulls the knife from his boot before dropping it into my handbag.

“Any other weapons?” Christakis asks.

“No,” I reply. “It’s safe to take his measurements.”

“Good.” Christakis sounds relieved as he pulls a book closer, in which he always notes all the measurements, then looks Knight up and down. “Broad shoulders. Trim waist. The suit will look very good.”

“Right.” I grin from ear to ear. “I can’t wait to see him in one.”

There’s only silence from Knight.

Christakis starts to measure his arms, shoulders, and back, then moves to my man’s neck, chest, and waist.

But when the tailor moves down to the crotch area, Knight gives him a look of warning. “Touch my dick, and I’ll break your neck.”

I roll my lips between my teeth in an attempt not to laugh, but then Christakis, looking all serious, says, “I have to make sure the pants fit right so there’s no bulge. Stand still.”

Knight’s head snaps into a tilted position when Christakis takes the measurements while practically taunting death.

When he places the measuring tape along the inner seam of Knight’s leg, his hand accidentally presses against what I can only assume is Knight’s balls.

He gives the poor man a murderous glare, and I quickly take hold of his hand and shake my head so he won’t kill my tailor.

Looking unhappy as fuck, Knight endures everything until Christakis is finished.

“You better laminate those measurements because this is never happening again,” he growls.

“I agree,” Christakis mutters.

At least the tension leaves the room once we start looking at fabrics, stitching, and buttons.

I’m surprised when Knight leans into me, saying, “I like the black with the pattern.”

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