Page 8 of Dragon Bodyguard
“What do you mean what am I even doing here?”
“I mean what it sounds like I mean. From what I remember you didn’t exactly get to go on family outings,” he replied, raising his eyebrows.
“Things change.”
“People too. Clearly.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound quite so bitter, but his tone got her eyebrows to rise high. She crossed her arms loosely, tilting her head to one side, locks shifting and falling behind her shoulder.
She was wearing a sleeveless blouse with slacks. And she smelled really good.
“People change out of necessity,” she bit back.
“Yes, they do.”
“Oh, please. Like you’ve changed,” she huffed. “You’re exactly the same.”
“Am I?”
She barked a laugh, shaking her head at him. “Yeah, you are. Clearly.”
He kept the glare down over her echoing his statement and twisting it, even though he knew there was truth to her keen observation of him. He’d found very little reason to change over the years. He’d known for nearly a century exactly what he wanted his life to be, and he’d secured that reality for himself. This job, protecting this family, it was all he knew. All he cared to know. She was well aware of that. He’d never made himself out to be anyone other than who and what he was. She’d known getting into it with him that he was never going to be more than what he was now.
“Well, aren’t you the same?” she poked at his lack of response to her previous needling, cocking an eyebrow.
“What do you want, Kristina?” he asked, tired of her line of questioning.
“I just want to have a conversation,” she shrugged. “For old time’s sake.”
He didn’t believe her. What she’d come stomping into his space for was a fight. She still held the stance of a boxer ready to throw their first punch. Shoulders turned away from him, hands ready to ball into fists at a moment’s notice.
“You think we have something to talk about?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, her stance relaxing but he could tell she was forcing it. It made him stay on high alert. “Beautiful weather we’re having.”
She directed a half-smile at him, reminding him of why he’d fallen for her, fallen into her in the first place. That dry sense of humor had been irresistible. That almost careless confidence that he’d felt ensured her keeping herself apart from the rest of the family in better ways. She’d never seemed easily seduced by the money or the power that came with it. It had made him trust her.
He clenched his jaws, refusing to take the bait. She was confusing him. She wasn’t the same person and yet… there she was. The woman he’d gotten to know. He didn’t want the answer to his questions to be that she was hiding behind all of the glamour, wrapped up in the luxury of the high life she was leading, and that all that was needed to bring her out was a well-placed comment. He wasn’t going to make this into a game. If she wanted to play hide-and-seek, she could go do it with a mirror.
She sank down in one of the wicker armchairs, eyes back on his.
“How are you anyway? You were so focused on Aleksander yesterday that I didn’t get a chance to ask.”
Misha frowned softly at the comment. He hadn’t expected her to care whether he paid her any attention or not. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure she wasn’t faking it to manipulate him into opening up to her. His frown deepened at the thought. He shouldn’t have skipped on asking Aleksander about her until a more opportune time presented itself; he should’ve gotten at least a few questions in the night prior to prepare himself for this situation. He just hadn’t expected that she’d ever seek him out. And, of course, probing Aleksander too early would’ve made him ask counter-questions of why Misha was even querying him in the first place, and those were questions that Misha had decided he’d rather avoid.
“You’re not going to answer?” Kristina wondered; eyebrow cocked again. “I’m not trying to pry here. You can answer in the most general sense possible. An ‘I’m all right, thanks’ will suffice.”
“Didn’t we cover that yesterday?” he returned, sitting back down on the couch.
She smiled the shadow of a smile. Yes, they had covered the most generic pleasantries. So, what then? What now? Her move. He wasn’t going to encourage her.
“You’ve made a name for yourself,” she commended.
He thought he detected something in her tone, a note of disapproval as though the way he’d managed to put himself on the Kuznetsov map was regrettable due to the situation that had brought it about. He hadn’t encouraged an insurrection against Dmitri, had he? He’d merely been part of stopping it. Her tone still made him bristle, no matter how little it should affect him. Who was she to judge him?
“I’vebuilta name for myself,” he countered, knowing he sounded as clipped as he was feeling.
“Toil and trouble,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
