That’s not something I would have expected.
He cracks eggs into a bowl, chops the herbs and tosses them in and then he’s cooking.
I can’t look away.
I have at least three hundred questions but I don’t know where to start. This is all so overwhelming. I choose to leave that for later.
"I have class at ten," I say.
"I know your schedule."
"That's not unsettling at all. Or the fact you have all my toiletries in the bathroom.”
The corner of his mouth moves.
"Yuri is still active," he says. He doesn't stop cooking. "Until I know where he is, I'd rather you stayed close."
"Close meaning here?"
"Close meaning somewhere I can control."
I set my cup down. "I'm going to class."
"Sofia—"
"I'm going." Flat. Final. Not angry. "Yuri doesn't get to stop me from living my life. If I hide, he wins something. I'm not giving him that."
He looks at me then. Those eyes are very blue in the morning light, and I'm starting to understand they're not actually cold—they're just crystal-clear. There's a difference.
"I'll have someone with you," he says.
I want to remind him I have my own guards. Then I remember I don’t. I don’t have confirmation, but I believe they betrayed me. Or maybe Gregor’s dead.
And then I think about Anton. Can I trust him?
Yes.
I refuse to accept any other option.
“I have a guard,” I tell him.
“Anton.”
I roll my eyes. There’s nothing this man doesn’t know.
“Yes. When he’s healthy, I want him protecting me.”
“We’ll see.”
Those blue eyes lock on mine. He’s so fucking bossy!
I want to throw my cup at his head.
He slides the eggs onto a plate and sets it on the island. He opens a drawer and hands me a fork. I snatch it out of his hand and sit down at the island to eat. And dammit, the eggs are perfection. So, my husband kills people by night and cooks by day.
I thought having a father that ran a bratva was weird.
“My clothes. I need clothes.”