Page 72 of Better Off Wed
I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled. “I know.”
“Why is that funny?”
“It’s not funny. I’m just smiling because it feels good for someone to care about me like this.”
His hands drifted down my sides, and he kissed me again—hard. I let my own hands slide up his arms, loving the feel of his skin under my palms. For the first time since I’d met him, he was wearing short sleeves—and he was doing it in public. His T-shirt clung to his biceps and strained over his chest. He looked delectable, especially when he glared at me with protectiveness emanating from every pore. “Call for help, even if you’re not sure,” he reminded me, then stalked out the door.
I watched him go, eyes flicking to the cameras he and his team had installed in the shop. I gave the nearest one a wave, then moved to the worktable where I’d left my project. Working on Lola’s dress was like learning to walk again after a long illness. It was uncomfortable almost to the point of pain, but also an intense relief. I made a ton of mistakes and almost ran out of muslin, but I finally got the pattern pieces cut and pinned together.
Standing back from the dress form, I tilted my head and considered my work. Not bad. The waist probably needed to be lifted a bit, but I’d leave it as-is until Lola came in. She had a pretty long torso, so I wanted to give myself fabric to work with. Excitement bubbled in my gut. It felt good to be back.
That was the moment Ivan Popov chose to walk in. I turned at the sound of the door opening and greeted him as he looked around the room with a sneer on his lips.
“Think you’ll be able to make this place work, do you?” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “Good luck.”
The best way I’d learned to handle this kind of sarcastic, passive-aggressive comment was to take it at face value. I beamed at Ivan. “Thank you! It’s such a great space. I’m really enjoying working here.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you.”
My heart had started rattling as soon as he’d walked in, and now it began to bang. “Okay,” I answered.
“We don’t need any newcomers in this town. It’s fine as it is. You should just pack up and go back where you came from.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Or else life here might getrealdifficult?—”
The door banged open again, and a second later, Gideon had Ivan by the lapels of his faded plaid shirt. He backed the old man up and slammed him against the big window at the front of the shop so hard it rattled in its frame. Ivan’s head went red, and he stammered, feet flailing as Gideon lifted him off the ground.
Knox was just behind him. He reached into Ivan’s pocket to pull out a phone. He connected it to another device and started typing.
“Threaten my wife again and die, old man,” Gideon growled.
“I didn’t—it’s not—she doesn’t belong here!”
Gideon slammed him against the window, and Ivan whimpered. My husband glanced at his brother. “Anything?”
Knox just grunted, and the look on Gideon’s face told me that was a negative. Gideon rattled the old man once more and said, “Did you key Sadie’s car?”
“No!”
“Did you puncture her tire?”
“No!”
“Did you send her a threatening text?”
“A text message?” Popov answered, incredulous.
“Answer the question.”
“No! I didn’t do any of that! I just think she should leave!”
Gideon growled, animalistic. His neck muscles were stark, and his eyes were fully black. I drifted over to where Knox tapped on his laptop, downloading all the data from Ivan’s phone. That looked…illegal.
My husband glanced over at the two of us, and Knox shook his head. “Phone was nowhere near Sadie’s car at the time of the vandalism,” Knox said. Then he angled the laptop toward Gideon and said, “It was there.”
Gideon glanced over, then narrowed his eyes. “Betsy’s house?”
