Page 13 of The Lies Between Lovers

Vera’s head snapped up at that question, and her bright blue eyes nailed into his. There was no hiding the pink stain of embarrassment coloring her cheeks and flushing down her throat. The dress she put on was appropriate enough for a funeral, or even a lunch at a black-tie restaurant, but there was a small V-cut at the chest where a sweep of his gaze told him that blush disappeared somewhere between her perky breasts.

Not the time, he told himself.

Except it was always the time for that.

“They’re only kitten heels, barely an inch,” she retorted.

A little hotly, too.

“You walked from the church?” he asked.

She glanced away at something—or someone, maybe—behind him, and her top two teeth caught her lower lip when she replied, “So?”

Perhaps she didn’t need him to point out how that was a terrible choice, but he still had to resist the urge to do so. And only because there was an entire hill full of people watching the exchange. Not that he suspected the funeral goers could hear their quiet conversation, but he wasn’t going to give the spectators any more gossip about than they already had.

Just him being there was dangerous enough. He no longer had the security or ability to mingle publicly with others—not for long, anyhow—even if he seriously doubted anyone had made a plot on his life that they intended to follow through on that day.

“Does your ankle hurt?” he asked.

“I didn’t know, okay?”

Vaslav stiffened a bit at the anger she let spill into her words. “I beg your pardon?”

Vera gestured at nothing in particular, saying, “This. The funeral. I was only told to wear black, not why. Yes, I may have chosen a different pair of footwear had I known the amount of walking I would have to do today. Thank Feliks for that.”

What?

All over again, that familiar, comforting rush of hatred he felt whenever he stared into the face of Feliks Abramov came back in a flash. Accompanied by his old friend, rage, he could have easily spun around and used whatever hard, flat surface was close enough to crack the man’s fucking skull on for being so stupid.

Later.

He could get to doing that later.

“Vera,” he murmured.

Slowly, her gaze met his again.

“I thought we were going to lunch,” she admitted, sadness in her eyes and shame pulling the corners of her lips down into a pouting frown. “And then I figured I could make the walk across the graveyard. Why is it so big?”

“A lot of dead men,” he returned easily, shrugging.

And women. Children, too.

Centuries worth, really.

It was easy to make a joke out of the situation even if it wasn’t exactly the time. If only that was the type of thing he cared to consider.

He almost smiled when she did—like a mirrored muscle reaction that he didn’t realize was happening until it was nearly too late. Not that she didn’t deserve a smile from him, but he certainly wasn’t willing to let anyone else in the vicinity see this woman gain that reaction from him. Nothing good could come from that.

Bad things happened to those who made him happy, even if only for a moment. It was a lesson that had been taught to him in the cruelest of ways; everyone who was anyone important to a man like him became fodder to a bigger game.

And hadn’t he already drawn enough attention to them both today?

“Is your ankle hurting?” he asked again, reaching out to tuck the stray strands of her dark hair behind her ears.

“Only a little.”

Goddammit.