“I am.”
That admission sliced through me.
I tore my gaze from the phone and looked at him fully.
“You’re afraid of my brothers?”
“I am afraid, but not of your brothers.”
“Then of what?”
“Of you choosing them.” The words knocked the air out of me. He always managed to say things that made me go speechless.
“I will always choose my family,” I shot back automatically.
“I hope so. Because you’re my family now and I am yours.”
Anger exploded inside me.
“You don’t get to say that!”
“You signed the papers.”
“You forced me to sign them.” My hand shook even harder.
“Call him,” he repeated softly.
My throat burned as I stared at the contact before me, but even before my brain registered it, I knew I couldn’t do it. Because I saw it all too clearly. I could see the fallout and the blood and the destruction that would follow. And somewhere in that image, I saw Fyodor. Standing in the middle of it. Alone. I hated that my chest tightened at the thought, and I hated that I couldn’t separate strategy from something else. With a strangled sound of frustration, I threw the phone onto the couch beside me.
“I hate you.” He didn’t react. “I hate that you did this.”
He nodded once. “I know.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
“You think I won’t resent you forever? I will resent you even more now because of what you just did to me.”
“I know, Elisse.” His acceptance infuriated me more than anything.
“You’re insufferable!”
“And you’re terrified.”
“I am not!”
“You are.”
“Of what?” I demanded.
“Of what you’re starting to feel.”
My hand moved before I could stop it, and I shoved him hard in the chest. He didn’t fall. In fact, he barely even moved.
“Don’t you dare label my emotions like they belong to you,” I breathed.
He caught both my wrists this time, with a firm hold, and my back hit the sofa. He leaned over me, not crushing, not violent, but still dominant.
“You think I don’t see it?” he asked quietly.
