"It's okay," he says, shrugging with one shoulder. "I mean, it's not, but you know."
I squeeze his hand tighter, my thumb brushing over his knuckles.
"Anyway, after that, I joined the Romanian special forces. Got out, started protecting things, people. Earned a bit of areputation. The Ionescus took care of me, out of guilt or respect, who knows, but I made the best life I could."
He stops and looks around the room like it just occurred to him where he is. "And now I'm sitting in your kitchen."
I suddenly realize I'm still holding his hand.
I pull back slowly, even though my fingers don't want to let go.
"I don't know too much about your parents, but I know it's hard when they're sick. Both mine are dead, but if there's anything I can do," he says and takes a sip of coffee, "I'm here."
I want to know more about him, but I don't want to push, so I smile. "Thank you. That's very sweet."
"Now, about this party thing, don't worry," he says, his voice shifting back to business. "I'll be with you every second."
"Every second?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes."
"What if I have to pee?"
His lips twitch. "I'll wait outside the door."
"I don't think the other women in the bathroom would like that."
"Then they can leave."
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head.
"What's your biggest worry?" he asks.
"You mean besides dying?" I give a brittle laugh.
"You won't," he says, his voice firm. "Like I said to your brothers. The party's too big. They need to control things. Plus, with thosepoliticians going, they'll have security too. Nothing's happening there."
I tilt my head, challenging. "You sure about that? Bet my life on it?"
He doesn't hesitate. "I'd bet mine too."
We stare at each other across the table, the air between us thickening. The coffee grows cold in my hands, but I don't care. I can't look away from him, from the certainty in his eyes, the quiet strength radiating off him like heat.
"Actually, in your spirit of being open with me…" I pause, biting my lip. "I'm worried that I won't be able to actually find out anything. I mean, I haven't yet. And I'm scared I'm not strong enough for whatever I'll have to do. I may act tough, but newsflash, I'm still a twenty-five-year-old girl at the end of the day, playing a man's game. This whole mafia world we're in."
"Twenty-five? Wow," he says.
I frown. "What's wrong with that? How old are you?"
"Thirty."
"Okay, old man." I smile. "Should I get you a wheelchair for the gala?"
"Ha. Ha." But he laughs, different than before. Lighter. It crinkles the corners of his eyes, softens the hard lines of his face. It's cute.
"But seriously," he says, his laughter fading. "Gaining intel takes time. And, for the record, you're the strongest person I've ever guarded. You'll be alright, Keira."
Heat floods my cheeks. "You think so?"
