Page 178 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
This time, I don’t get angry when he says it.
I almost laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You are impossible.”
“Yes.”
I lift my eyes to his again. “I’m glad you’re alive,” I say.
The words are small compared to what I feel.
He understands anyway.
His hand rises to my cheek, thumb brushing just beneath my eye. I didn’t realize there were tears there until he touches one. He looks at the moisture on his thumb as if it’s something dangerous.
Then he looks back at me. “Don’t cry for me, Anya,” he says.
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“That’s worse.”
That does make me laugh, even through the fear. I wipe my face quickly. “You need to clean up.”
“Yes.”
“And someone needs to bandage your arm.”
“Yes.”
“And then you need to tell me what happened.”
His expression closes slightly.
I point at him. “Don’t.”
His brows lift.
“Don’t do the thing where you decide what I can carry.”
For a second, he only looks at me. Then, slowly, he nods. “All right.”
The answer should satisfy me.
It does. But my chest still aches.
I step closer and wrap my arms around his waist carefully, avoiding the blood where I can. He goes still, as if I’ve done something more shocking than kissing him in front of his men.
Maybe I have.
Then his arms come around me. Strong. Possessive. Warm.
I press my face against his chest and breathe him in beneath the smoke and iron.
Alive.
He’s alive.
And whatever this is between us, whatever dangerous, inconvenient, impossible thing has started growing in the middle of revenge and blood and an unwanted marriage, I know one thing with terrifying clarity.
I have fallen in love with him.
