Page 38 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

“That was smart thinking,” Kaylani said, her glasses once more firmly in place.

“Yeah, but it won’t last long.”

“I know.”

I sat with the words as the SUV rolled through the streets, the road narrowing, the world shifting from private coastline to suburbs, and finally to the glitz and glamour of the rich and famous.

The restaurant Dimitri had chosen wasn’t just expensive. It was strategic.

La Seraphine didn’t advertise. It didn’t need to with a famous, three-time Michelin-star chef. It was the hottest spot for celebrities to gather.

Set back from the main road and nestled into a private inlet on one of the most expensive stretches of property in the city. The building was white stone and glass, clean lines, polished wood, and the kind of landscaping that screamed wealth without ever saying it out loud. A valet waited at the front in crisp black attire, posture perfect. Two guards I didn’t recognize stood near the entry, earpieces in, alert.

Not Dimitri’s men. The snake tattoo on their hands, said they were Julian’s.

Ignoring the valet, I parked in the private spot Dimitri had arranged and stepped out first. I checked the shadows and bushes for movement before scanning over the crowd. Nothing suspicious or dangerous lurked. Nothing visible, anyway.

Then I opened the rear door.

Kaylani climbed out like she was stepping onto an arena floor. She didn’t look shaken now. She was composed in her power suit, the fabric hugging her body.

I walked directly behind her as she marched along the path to the front doors, her head held high. She looked every inch the princess she was raised to be.

One of the guards opened the door as if he worked for the restaurant. I knew better. I sized him up as we passed, just in case.

The hostess greeted Kaylani as if she were royalty.

“Ms. Mikhailov, lovely to see you again. Mr. Harrington is expecting you,” she said with a practiced smile.

Kaylani’s mouth didn’t move. But I felt the tension rolling off her. She hated this. Not the restaurant. The setup. The way her name opened doors she wanted to burn down, but the harder she tried, the tighter her father squeezed.

We were led through a corridor lined with art that looked as if it cost more than my entire life savings. Past couples in quiet conversation, women dripping in colored gems, men wearing watches that could pay off a mortgage. The kind of people who thought they had invented luxury, like money was a bloodline. The kind who buried their dirty laundry in the backyard, under the roses.

We entered a private dining room with a view of the water, floor-to-ceiling glass, and a pristine table set for two.

Julian stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed, like he had been born in rooms like this and would die in them. Grey suit. No tie. Dark hair neatly styled. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He turned the moment Kaylani entered, his expression brightening.

“Kaylani,” he said, warm as honey.

I bristled.

He stepped forward. Too close for my comfort, but I didn’t interfere. Shockingly, Julian didn’t reach for her hand this time. Smart. Instead, he leaned in and air-kissed her cheeks. Left. Right. Polite, no contact. But he lingered just a second longer than necessary, like he wanted to test how much her skin would crawl.

I took a deep breath as my muscles tensed, steadying myself so I didn’t throw him out the window and watch him plummet to his death.

Kaylani didn’t flinch. God, I loved her tenacity.

“I’m so glad you came,” Julian said.

“I didn’t come,” she replied, voice calm. “I was sent.”

Julian smirked. “Fair. Then I’m glad you were sent.”

His gaze flicked over her shoulder to me. Just a glance. Like I was a decorative object in the corner. Like acknowledging me was a waste of time.

Kaylani moved to the chair opposite the window and sat. She refused his help to push her chair in, then placed her clutch on the table. Perfect. Poised.