Page 140 of Dance of Devils
“That,” I growl. “Is who I was going to introduce you to tonight.”
Freya’s eyes bulge. “She’s—wait.Her?” She blinks, then slowly raises a suspicious eyebrow. “How old is she?”
Here we go. “Twenty-three.”
Freya stares at me for a beat, then lets out a low whistle. “Well. Iwasgoing to make a joke about daddy issues, but…”
I glare at her. “It’snotlike that.”
She holds up a hand. “Okay. Okay. I’m just…” She frowns. “She’syoung, Kir. I’m not judging, I?—”
“Her age is not the reason I care about her. It's not a fetishized attraction. And if you think that’s the sort of man I am?—”
“I don’t.” She says it boldly, without hesitation. “I really don’t, at all.” A small smile twists the corners of her lips. “Did you just say youcareabout her?”
I shoot her a look. “I did.”
“Like…care-care?”
“I’ve told her about Zavolzhsky.”
Freya’s brows shoot up. “Woah.”
I should mention thatno oneknows about my years spent in the Siberian penal camp. Even Annika and Damian only know parts. Freya arguably knows the most, but it's on par with what I’ve told Brooklyn.
“She’s something I didn’t expect, Freya,” I growl quietly.
She nods. Then her face scrunches as she looks down. “Fuuuck.”
“What?”
“She, uh…” Freya looks up at me sheepishly. “Shemayhave the wrong idea about your and my relationship…”
My brow furrows. “Why the fuck would that be?”
Freya winces. “Shemayhave walked in on me taking selfies in lingerie?”
My mouth sours. “Why thefuckwere you doing that?”
“Because my husband is seven thousand miles away!” she retorts. “And I didn’t exactly expect yourgirlfriendto just barge—Kir?!”
“Stay here!” I snap. “And put some goddamn clothes on!”
It doesn’t take me long to realize that A, Brooklyn is no longer in the house, B, Matvey’s Range Rover is gone, and C, he isn’t answering his phone.
I admire how assiduously he follows my “when she’s with you, think of her as me” order when he's driving Brooklyn around. But I’m guessing that right now, she’s telling him not to answer my goddamn calls, because she barged in on Freya taking spicy pictures for Mal, and completely misinterpreted it, and she’s trying to dodge me now.
Unluckily for her, there's that tracking device in her phone.
I jump behind the wheel of the Aston Martin and roar down the drive.
It’s a mix of emotions as I drive toward Midtown. On the one hand, I’m annoyed about the situation and pissed that Brooklyn would automatically assume the worst and run off like this. But on the other hand?
A slight smile tweaks my mouth.
On the other hand, part of me has wondered—okay, dreaded—that what I feel for this woman is not necessarily reciprocated. To me, she’s something I never saw coming, and yet has become my everything. But maybe toher, I’m merely a bit of fun—a rich, powerful older man who plucked her out of her miserable life and lavished her with gifts.
I know that’s not really the case. But it’s been at least partly there, lurking in the back of my mind.
