Page 6 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

She had the nerve to shift her crossed legs one over the other under the table just to draw his eyes to the ankle-high suede boots with a heel slightly longer than what he would consider safe.

“Wedges,” Vera all but scoffed.

“If you break your ankle walking in—”

“Don’t baby me.”

Vaslav’s fingers tangled into the wispy, soft ends of her loose hair, and he tugged hard enough to hurt. Of course, it also pulled her head back so those sky-blue eyes of hers were locked firmly on him. Just the way he liked.

Even if he did find fire staring back.

“I would never,” he returned, smirking only a little when he added, “We both know that’s a job for your father.”

A flush crept up her chest and throat at his blatant taunt, but she didn’t bite the bait. Not even when he lifted his brow to make it clear he could plainly see the elephant in the room even if she wanted to pretend differently.

“Are you purposely being a prick?” Vera asked, then.

Vaslav shrugged. “I did think you were being a little cold.”

So, yeah.

“Well, I think you look a little tired, but you don’t see me pointing it out, Vas.”

That perked his amusement.

Only a bit.

“Krasavitsa, beauty, I know how I look,” he said without inflection. “I have mirrors.”

And dark circles, thanks to the lack of sleep over the past forty-eight hours. The tail-end of a raging migraine kept his pain at a steady, sharp five on a one-to-ten scale as well. Amongst a list of other sufferings and complaints that wouldn’t make a damn difference to where this conversation was going, and none that he cared to share with her.

She didn’t need to worry.

Not about him.

“But no seizures lately,” Vaslav noted.

More to himself than Vera.

She still heard her.

“Oh?” Her whole face brightened.

“I’m about due for one, really.”

That didn’t impress Vera at all if the way her gaze narrowed, and her smile fell was any indication. “Why do you have to do that?”

“Do what?” Vaslav nodded at the birch keepsake box on the table as he came to stand beside the chair rather than behind it. She watched him the entire time. “Go on, open it. I am curious.”

“You said my father—”

“What about him? I put him to work. He’s waiting for lunch. We’ll take some down for him.”

Vera’s pinched expression nearly made him laugh. “He’s ... here?”

“At the guesthouse, yes.”

He enjoyed the dawning recognition lighting up her eyes, but it didn’t stay long when she leveled her next questions on him. “And he’s okay?”