Page 52 of Anton

“I know.”

My thoughts drift to Savannah Raines, whose family owns the smaller ranch beside ours in Texas. We all grew up together—me and my siblings, Savannah and her sister, Wren—running around between both properties before everything got complicated. Before we were old enough to understand exactly what my family does.

Savannah pulled away after that. Hard to blame her. She’s always been a by-the-book kind of girl, and we’re…not. But the heart wants what it wants, and I’ve caught how she gazes at Jace when she thinks no one’s paying attention.

I can’t help wondering if there’s something there after all.

That evening, I head to my place, needing space to think about what my sister told me before I return to the farm.

I don’t know what my father’s thinking. He should know me better by now. I want a man who gets his hands dirty, someone rough around the edges with a sharp jaw and a mouth that does dangerous things to my stomach.

Anton immediately fills my thoughts, watching me with all that restrained hunger, then dragging his tongue across my chin while I wanted him to keep going.

I wish I could break through his walls, but he won’t let me. Instead, he keeps slamming the door shut the second I get too close.

With a sigh, I drag a hand over my face, already dreading the trip to Texas. I haven’t seen my parents in a few weeks, and part of me wants to go home, but the thought of pretending to be interested in some man I have no intention of marrying makes my skin crawl.

Needing somewhere to put everything crowding my head, I push myself off the couch and step into my bedroom. My diary is tucked inside the closet where I left it last, and once I climb onto the bed, I open to a blank page and let the words spill out until my thoughts begin to quiet.

Dear Diary,

I wish I had a crystal ball so I could know where I’ll end up in life. Sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in, like I’m running from something I can’t escape.

I don’t want to end up married to someone my parents chose for me. I’d rather live alone in a cozy house on a big piece of land, taking care of my animals and building a life that actually feels like mine. That’s happiness to me.

If I find someone who loves me, someone I love back, then that’s a bonus. But I won’t settle for anything less than real love. The kind that shakes you. The kind that feels like it might ruin you and save you at the same time. The kind that’s passionate and messy and honest and impossible to ignore.

I want to believe maybe Anton can be that for me, but it feels like he’s always running from the very thing I’m looking for.

And if he can’t even admit he might want something real, where does that leave us?

When I close the diary, a strange feeling creeps over me, like he’s watching from some hidden corner, waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Damn. My imagination has really been running wild lately.

Instead of sitting here feeding into it any longer, I tuck the diary away, slide back into my shoes, and head to my favorite diner for the milkshake I’m suddenly craving.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ANTON

I sit on my bike a block away from her place, phone in hand, watching the security feed as she crosses her bedroom and settles on the bed with that same notebook, her pen gliding across the page.

The urge to find out what she’s writing hits me hard. It better be about me, because the thought of her filling those pages with some other man she finds more interesting pisses me off.

I refuse to be left in the dark. The first chance I get, I’m going inside and reading every word. There’s no fucking way I’ll sleep tonight until I do.

She closes the notebook, then gets to her feet, slipping into her shoes before stepping out the door.

I could go inside right now and read that damn diary, but that isn’t what I should be doing. It isn’t what Konstantin expects from me, and I refuse to let her become any more of a distraction than she already is.

I lock my phone and slip it into my pocket. The diary can wait. For now, I want to see where she goes next.

When she backs out of the driveway, I give her enough time to put several cars between us before following and blending into traffic where she won’t notice me.

About five miles later, she turns into a diner parking lot. I drive past the entrance instead of going in behind her, then circle back once enough time has passed. By the time I park, she’s already sliding into a booth beside the large front window.

I choose a spot near the edge of the lot, partially blocked by a truck but still angled enough to give me a clear view of her through the glass. I sit up a little straighter, my eyes on her as she orders, then pulls out her phone and gives the screen all her attention, completely unaware of how easy she is to watch.