The lemon chose this moment to escape. It rolled out of the bag and bounced cheerfully across the cobblestones with the unbothered energy of something that had correctly assessed the situation and made its exit. I watched it go. Gregor watched me watch it.
"I'll get the lemon," he said.
"The lemon has better survival instincts than I do."
"Yes," he agreed, and bent to retrieve it.
“I’m getting wet,” I said, gesturing to the Highland Bean. “Coffee, anyone. I could do with the sale.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about money if you hadn’t ran from us,” Artem grumbled.
“I needed to get home.”
Artem looked at my face and then his gaze dropped.
The duffel coat was not hiding anything. It hadn't been hiding anything for approximately two months. It was, at best, suggesting I had eaten an exceptionally large lunch and had a very bad case of wind.
The world went quiet so I said, “This is Fergus. My guard dog.”
“I was looking lower.”
“I know.”
"You look very close to nine months," Artem said. His voice had been somewhere cold for a long time. I could hear it getting warmer but also like it sounded like it hurt. "You used the card to buy our baby things.”
"I needed a cot." My chin lifted. Automatic. Defensive. Entirely Irish. "Not a Pakhan."
"You could have called."
"I forgot to take the business card.”
“My name is on the card.”
“Oh yes, silly me. And what should I have said Artem? Hello, this is the woman who ran out of your Prague hotel room with your credit card and most of her dignity. Do you mind if I use your card to make my life a little easier?"
Ivan made a strangled sound behind me.
Artem’s eyes did not leave mine. “Yes.”
That single word was far too sincere for the amount of sarcasm I had deployed.
Rude of him, really.
Something moved across his face. Then he took a step forward, and his hand came up but stopped. His fingers hovered an inch from the curve of my stomach as if the concept of touching me without permission was physically impossible for him, even now, even after all of this.
"And you’ve now got a Pakhan," he said. "Get inside."
Inside, the Highland Bean was too small for all of us.
It had been my sanctuary. I loved the smell of coffee and the taste of cinnamon that was thick enough to override the memories. I liked to listen to the hum of the espresso machine filling the silences.
Now it felt pressurized.
Three Alphas and their collective certainty that the situation had resolved itself took up more room than the square footage allowed.
Artem stood at the counter. Ivan paced the length of the room, hands flexing. "We should have taken the jet," he muttered, for what I suspected was not the first time today.
"The jet was hours out," Artem said.
