Page 31 of Dragon Bodyguard
“I still don’t believe they’d want me,” she said, voice lowered, as though someone might be listening in after all. “I don’t see how I’d be an asset to them in any way. Humiliation isn’t what they’re after, right? To humiliate my father? If he’s actually…” She glanced at the door, rethinking what she’d almost said out loud, but then that noise of metal on metal was screaming in her ears again and this time it pushed her to speak her mind as she finished, “If he’s actually cheated them… They’ll be out for blood. Won’t they?”
“Or…” He trailed off. She furrowed her brow at him to go on. “You might be a gateway,” Misha said.
“What?” She was actually confused.
“Have another sip of that,” he encouraged. She did. He sighed softly, observing her for a moment before he said, “They might be using you to threaten taking one of your half-siblings. They might be showing off. A display of force, of power. To convince your father that next time…”
“It might be Aleksander,” she filled in.
He nodded.
Oh, God. That made more sense. Why would they want to marry one of their sons to a shiftless? They wouldn’t. The shame made her cheeks heat up, even though she knew it was just a simple blush. Had her inner dragon reacted to the emotion she would have been glowing softly. For some reason, this time the continued rejection by something that should be innately connected with her made her heartbreak.
She was never going to be enough because she was never going to feel whole.
Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden and unwanted, but there was no stopping them. They made their wet tracks, and then his hands were cradling her face, his thumbs slipping over her cheeks.
“This is so stupid,” she said, voice trembling. “I thought…”
But she couldn’t finish that sentence. It was too much of a betrayal of her father. Saying that she’d thought he was finally beginning to put some value to having her around. Of course, when she’d given the reason for why she was even there to Misha that morning, telling him she was there to make small talk, she’d been lying through her teeth. She’d been confounded at being asked to join. And here, now, she had her answer to why she had been. Because her very existence was now a threat to his acknowledged offspring.
“Hey,” Misha said, letting his hands drop from her cheeks to her hands, still around the glass on her lap. “Have some more of that and then we’ll get you in bed. Okay?”
She nodded again, raising the glass to her lips and downing the rest of the contents in one large gulp. She offered a smile when she handed the glass back. He returned it.
“So, my father,” she said slowly. “He was rude to you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“He had no right to be.” It was a bold statement. Of course, her father had every right to do as he saw fit in all things and always. But at least Misha met her gaze again, at first looking questioning, but then the expression softened.
“Careful,” he said, but it was playful.
“Remember when we used to…” She caught herself.
“When we used to what?” he encouraged.
She hesitated. If she started heading down this road and he rejected walking it with her, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to take it. Clearly, she was frailer than she’d expected.
“When we used to talk about what we could do, and what we couldn’t,” she said.
He smiled, showing rows of perfect teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkled. She felt as though she hadn’t been away from him for even a breath. How was it possible?
“That we could go into the kitchen barefoot, but we wouldn’t dare to even try walking through the front parlor, or your stepmother would have our heads for our indecent exposure?” he offered.
She had to laugh. Caroline had a very particular way she liked things done. Wearing shoes indoors was incredibly important. One was never barefoot other than in one’s bedroom. And possibly to grab a glass of water or a snack as long as it was late at night, and no one was around to see it.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said. “Whatever is happening, I’ll find out what it is.”
“I know you will,” she said, voice softer than intended.
She should ask him more about what her stepmother had told him when she came to see him, but exhaustion combined with the whisky was making her head misty again.
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
He gave a nod, approached her, and helped her get to her feet again. She almost told him she thought she could walk on her own now. She wasn’t shaking anymore. But his arm around her shoulders felt too good to give up. She wrapped one arm around his waist, leaning against him.
He smelled so damn good.
