Page 90 of Fierce Pursuit

But when I turned around, Marina was already there, standing in the doorway.

Hands thrust into the pockets of the hotel robe drowning her small frame.

Her eyes met mine. Her stance was set, braced, as if she were preparing for impact.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

Fuck. Whatever this was, I wasn’t going to like it.

“Okay,” I said carefully. I couldn’t lie to her. But I was already prepared to dodge the truth like it was a fucking bullet.

“Why did you marry my sister?”

CHAPTER 24

KOSTYA

Marina stared at me, her gaze unwavering, expectation burning in her eyes.

She’d asked a direct question and wanted a direct answer.

Under different circumstances, I would have dodged. Deflected. Or simply refused to answer at all. But I had no intention of letting Marina go. She was going to be part of this life, whether she liked it or not.

I had no idea how she would respond. And that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

I always knew how people would react to my words. With fear. Respect. Anger. Some even pissed themselves. I had every possible outcome mapped out before they opened their mouths, ready with an appropriate response before they had the chance to think.

But Marina was unpredictable.

She didn’t react the way she was supposed to.

That should have been her most annoying trait. It wasn’t.

It was maddening, yes. But it was also…intoxicating.

My world was built on precision. Efficiency. Everything in its place. Every variable accounted for.

Marina? She was chaos wrapped in silk. And fuck if I didn’t want to unravel her.

“How much do you know about your sister’s family?” I asked, my voice steady. “Specifically, her mother?”

Her lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. She chewed her bottom lip—a nervous habit I’d noticed—but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked into the other room, tossing a wave over her shoulder for me to follow.

A test.

I sighed through my nose, raking a hand through my hair before following her.

The scent of butter and garlic hit me first. My gaze landed on the coffee table, now covered with more trays of food, silver domes gleaming under the warm light.

I arched a brow in silent question.

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “I was hungry. I wanted more food. And I figured after the whole chasing-me-down thing, you owed me.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth despite myself. God, she was something else.

She curled onto the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her, and lifted one of the domes to reveal an absurdly large plate of pasta topped with an entire lobster.

“Order whatever you wish,” I said, shrugging.

---