Page 43 of The Wrong Brother

Fair.

I watch her move through the store carefully while pretending not to. She notices details most people overlook. Security placements. Employees watching me too attentively. The subtle deference from management the second we entered. She’s studying me, trying to figure out who I am here—Russ Smith or Ruslan Smirnov.

Trying to reconcile the man who threatened her with the man currently carrying Kate’s shopping bags while listening to a very serious rant about lip gloss colors.

I can practically see the confusion in her face every time Kate loops her arm through mine casually.

Good.

Confusion keeps people off balance.

Unfortunately, I am becoming unsettled myself. Because watching Emma with Kate feels dangerously natural.

Kate drags her toward a rack of winter coats twenty minutes later. “Emma, this one!”

Emma laughs softly while Kate shoves a cream-colored coat toward her chest dramatically. The sound catches my attention. Genuine laughter from Emma is something I haven’t heard yet, and I can’t seem to look away.

“It’s cute,” Emma admits. “But more suited for a blizzard.”

“Try it on.”

“I look terrible in white.”

“No, you don’t,” Kate argues.

Emma hesitates anyway. There it is again. That flicker of insecurity beneath the sarcasm and attitude. I noticed it first in Lord&Lion when those women laughed at her in the dressing room. Emma carries herself like someone accustomed to apologizing for taking up space.

She shouldn’t.

She disappears into the fitting room a moment later, while Kate wanders off toward the scarves. I stay near the mirrors scrolling through messages from Stepan about Colorado security arrangements until the curtain rustles softly again.

Then I look up.

Ah.

The coat falls perfectly against Emma’s curves, elegant and soft against dark curls spilling over her shoulders. She turns slightly toward the mirror, expression uncertain immediately.

“It’s probably too tight,” she murmurs, adjusting the belt awkwardly. “Or maybe the color washes me out. I don’t know.”

I set my phone down slowly. “No.”

Emma glances toward me. “No?” she repeats.

“You are beautiful.”

The words come out lower than intended. Honest. Dangerously honest. I shouldn’t be saying those words to her, even if they’re true.

Because this is just a transaction. I’m buying clothes for a woman that I plan on antagonizing my half-brother with. Riling him into making a mistake, dropping his façade, revealing who he truly is.

But I can’t stand seeing her insecure.

Heat climbs visibly into her cheeks while her fingers pause against the fabric. For one brief second, her features open in a way so vulnerable that it cracks something deep inside of me.

I realize with sudden clarity that nobody has been telling this woman she is beautiful nearly often enough.

Unacceptable.

Kate reappears before the moment stretches too far. “See?! I told you!”