Page 35 of My Dark Horse Prince

I clear my throat. “I’ll be over here,” I say. “Looking for mediums.”

“Medium,” Grigoriy practically shouts. He bends over the rack again, rifling through them. “Yes, they have one with an m on it.” He triumphantly holds another purple shirt aloft. He snatches the other blouse out of my hands and shoves it at the blond. “Here you go.” He pushes past her and walks alongside me, pointing. “What about those?”

He’s pointing at a black knit dress with adorable cutouts on either side of the waist. It has a beautiful black accent line across the waistline, and a high slit, and white trim along the slit. It’s dramatic, classy, and striking. That probably means it’s quite expensive.

What he’s not doing is paying any attention at all to the woman who’s now left holding a blouse she didn’t want and staring.

I don’t approve of him pursuing me, but I can’t help enjoying how uniformly he rejected—that’s not the right word—dismissed her. That’s better. It was like he didn’t even notice she was there.

“This would look really great on you.” He pokes through the rack until he finds one that says medium. Then he slings it over his arm.

“I hate to rain on your parade,” I say.

“My parade?” He frowns.

“Never mind.” I sigh. Him not knowing any of these expressions is a bummer. “It’s hard for me.” I drop my voice. “To try things on. My leg makes it hard.”

His eyes widen. “I’m sorry. Again.” He sighs. “I’m really bad at this, but I swear it’s because I’m not used to this two-thousand era world.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Let’s buy it all.” He shrugs. “You can wear the things you want, and you can give whatever doesn’t fit to poor people. Surely there are still lots of people who can’t go shopping freely?”

Me. I’m one of those people he’s talking about. “I can’t expect Kris to—”

“I’m about to be rich. I’ll pay them back, and then you don’t have to feel bad.”

Ohmyword. “Grigoriy, look—”

He grabs my hand, not hard, not enough to dislodge it from its grip on my crutch handle, but firmly. “Say it again.”

“Look?”

He shakes his head. “My name.”

“Okay, this is weird,” I say. “I don’t know you.”

“Your need woke me up,” he says. “I’m absolutely positive.”

“That makes no sense,” I say. “I’ve been in trouble lots of times.”

“But you haven’t been about to die lots of times,” he says. “I think that’s what I felt. It was nothing but darkness and misery for me. Aleks says he doesn’t recall much, but I remember pain. A lot of pain. Loneliness. Darkness. I’ve been miserable for a very long time, and then light exploded into my world. I was underground, which might have been a breeze for Aleks to deal with, but it was harrowing for me. I painstakingly dug my way out, one hoof scrape at a time, flailing, miserable, and then I felt something, pulling me toward you.”

My heart’s hammering again. Is any of this possible? Could he have felt me?

“I was finally free, and then I felt it—this incontrovertible pull. I ran toward it, and then I found you. Curled up, injured, and miserable.”

I can’t breathe.

He draws in a ragged breath. “You were brighter than the light in that dark place. You were what I’d been waiting on—an end to the pain. So I know you don’t want my help, but just take it anyway. I owe you.”

I let him lead me through the store after that, slinging mediums over his arm from every rack and stand. He chooses several purses, too. “It seems like you have lots of things to carry around these days. Phones, stuff for your lips and hair. I assume that, especially with the crutches, you need something to put them in.”

He’s pretty perceptive. “Yes, thanks.”

“And it’s better if they match what you’re wearing, so maybe get a brown one and a black one for when you don’t want to move stuff around, and then a few colors when you want to match.”

I wonder how well I would adjust to a new time. Probably not nearly as well as he is. I’m sure having Aleks around helps, but he’s clearly also very bright.

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