Page 72 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

And, of course, all evening he was loud-mouthing answers to their questions, being horribly blunt in his accusations towards Nestor.

It makes me furious to think about it.

That man is evil. You can see it in his eyes. He’s miserable, and he wants the world to be miserable with him.

Entitled, too.

He has no right to Nestor’s position. And why in the world does he, for even a moment, think he could possibly be a better man than Nestor?

It makes me snort in mocking laughter when I picture Miron in charge. He’d crumble, his ego broken, throwing tantrums like a child when things didn’t go his way.

I slip Nestor’s oversized robe onto my shoulders to ward off the unusually cold bite in the air. It can’t be autumn already. I was just starting to get used to the summer. Lifting the soft material to my face, I take a long breath in, smiling because it’s like a hug from him, being surrounded by his scent.

I pad barefoot into the kitchen, finding Nestor making coffee, shirtless and looking sexy as hell in his gray sweatpants. I slip my arms around him, laying my cheek against his back.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” I say.

He clears his throat, his body a bit stiff. “Morning. Did you sleep okay?” he asks. His voice is rough, though, off.

“I slept better than I’ve slept in ages. Aren’t you cold?” I ask, brushing my hands up and down his torso.

He steps to the left, out of my grasp. “Sorry,” he mutters, reaching for something.

I move away and lift myself onto the counter, sitting with my legs hanging over the edge. “How did you sleep?”

He looks worried.

“Mm. It was good,” he answers, short and clipped.

I want to ask him if he’s okay, but I think it’s a stupid question. Of course, he’s not okay. All of the drama and tension with Miron, and the pain that his mother is going through—he must be worried.

I want to ease his burden somehow, but this is a difficult situation to fix.

I bite my lip, not saying anything.

Nestor lifts his coffee mug and turns away from the machine, walking towards the door. He pauses, then turns back and kisses me lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be in my office,” he says, then disappears.

It feels like rejection.

And it leaves a hollow pit in my chest.

Sighing, I tell myself not to take it personally because he needs space to deal with his own loss and the changes happening. I can’t make it all about me; that’s selfish.

With my own coffee hot and steaming in the mug in my hand, I decide to go and read for a while in the library. To give Nestor his space.

As I’m walking past his office, I hear voices, and recognize Roan talking to him.

“Miron’s schedule got busier than usual,” Roan says.

“I imagine it would after his father’s death.”

“You’re right, it could be that. But the places he’s going don’t add up.”

“How so?”

“Here’s what the guy managed to photograph from his notepad on his desk. He scribbled down a couple of places he wanted to go tomorrow, and my guy thought it might be important.”

“Tomorrow we have the operation scheduled with Benedikt.”

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