Dmitry nods to the dark, muscular figures on either side of us. I hadn’t really noticed them, but now I see they’re obviously Dmitry’s guards.
“No one is going to walk past my men. They’re intimidating enough to keep any grouchy fathers away.”
He’s right; his men are scary. But so is Dmitry. In a moment of honesty, I say so.
Dmitry turns to me and studies my face. I can feel my skin heat under his gaze, and I hope it’s too dark to notice. Then, he shakes his head. “You are intimidating.”
“Me?” My eyebrows shoot up. “No, I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists. “You’re intimidating because it’s difficult to intimidate you. You aren’t afraid of anything.”
That isn’t true in the slightest.
I’m especially scared of Dmitry … and the way I feel for him. But I decide not to say any of that.
Inste
