Page 42 of The Agreement

“Well, are you?” she asked him again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She paid no mind to what he said, almost as though his words passed right through her. Her mind was elsewhere entirely—he could still see that distance in her gaze as it drifted from him to the doorway, and then back again.

But when she finally did stay focused on him, though—she truly saw him. For a brief second, he watched those big eyes of hers open further, and her stare looked him up and down. She tipped her head to the side a bit, a small grin playing at the edges of a plump, but tiny, mouth.

She didn’t know him.

Well, he didn’t know her, anyway.

But she looked at him like they did—like they knew each other very well.

Had they met before—was he supposed to know her? He was damn sure he wouldn’t have forgotten a face like hers, not even on his wildest of nights when his memories were left more fragmented than consistent. Even from this distance, he could see the tenderness of her small features, her sharp nose and bow-shaped lips. Dainty came to mind—she looked like delicate fragility come to life, but wrapped in the sensual package of the body of a woman.

The sunlight streaming harshly through the glass dome reflected brightly on her face, spilling over her shoulders and through the water as she passed through a thick ray. It bathed her in a golden hue, making her damp skin glisten and adding a bit more color to her porcelain tone.

She couldn’t have been older than twenty, the smooth face that spoke of youth said life hadn’t quite taken her that far, yet. Although, he couldn’t forget that gleam he first saw in her eyes—that distance that spoke of an old soul.

They existed.

His grandfather swore it.

You have one, Anton told him once. You can see it in others, too—so look.

Apparently, he’d finally found another. Why didn’t she look at him the way other women did? If they knew him, well ... Mob Prince. Mutineer. Womanizer. A man who might be the greatest lay, but someone not to be trusted. The thief. But if they didn’t know him, it wasn’t like he gave off the safe, kind vibe, either.

But that didn’t matter.

No, she was looking at him like she had never laid eyes on another man before, but as though she saw right through him at the same time.

Her stare did that.

Those blue, blue eyes.

It set Roman off balance. He bet that he wasn’t the first man to wander into this woman’s path and suddenly find himself entranced just by being in her presence. Some women held that appeal—or so he was told. This was the first time he’d ever actually experienced it.

Couldn’t say he liked it.

Lies, his mind taunted.

“He told me to wait, but I had nothing else to do. I was bored,” she explained as she continued to inch closer, drifting slowly in the water.

Her words didn’t match the way she examined him. Roman still didn’t know what she was referring to.

In that moment, he became painfully aware of how strange the scene truly was. A beautiful young woman whom he didn’t recognize was swimming alone in this gigantic pool inside the Yazov home. One he’d been told to explore. Did she not own a bikini or just hadn’t bothered with one? Was she even supposed to be here?

And shit.

Because she was in the pool, should he be there? The idea that she could maybe get in trouble for this—it bothered him. Roman stepped closer to the edge of the pool.

“Are you going to be okay?” he called out to her.

She was looking through him, too far away in her mind to meet his eyes, anymore. That small smile came back to tug at the corner of her mouth, as if he had just said something silly and should have known as much.

“Yes, I’m always just okay,” she replied, monotone. “They make sure of it. Masha makes sure of it.”

What the fuck was she talking about?