Page 61 of His Prince

The door opens and I listen intently as a familiar voice drifts toward me.

“Andrew,” I squeal, tossing the paintbrush down and running toward the front door. I barrel into him, throwing my arms around his broad shoulders and squeezing tightly.

As I do that, another familiar face makes an appearance.

“Bane!” I cry out and he grins at me, waving happily.

“Angelo,” he replies as I squeeze him tightly, feeling my eyes start to water.

“What the fuck is going on?” Mikhail asks, his voice low and grumpy. “Who let them through the gate?”

“I did. I told the guys that my friend was coming,” I reply and then pull out of Bane’s embrace.

“Why are they here?”

“Well, I invited Andrew here to look at your accounting books. I don’t know why Bane’s here, though. Not that I’m complaining.”

He waggles his eyebrows at me, his hair askew, blood perpetually caked beneath his fingernails.

“He snuck into my baggage,” Andrew says with a sigh and then shakes his head. “Seriously. Don’t ask. It’s too much at the moment.”

“It was the only way to get here. I heard you were sad. And I had to see for myself,” Bane adds, throwing his arm over my shoulders, and Mikhail nearly growls from behind me. But I ignore him. I’ve missed this—a piece of my home. As insane as it is, I’ve missed it.

“I’m okay, Bane. Really. But thank you for coming,” I say, my voice choked.

He grins at me and then his eyes turn to Mikhail, waggling his hand around in front of him. “You have a little something…”

Mikhail murmurs something in Russian and then says, “I know.”

Bane keeps staring at it, and I bite back another contagious laugh as Andrew turns toward me.

“Well, I know I’m a day early, but the whole Bane thing threw me. When he popped out of the suitcase, I nearly ran off the road. But two people driving helps to make great time. And so, here I am.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Andrew. I just…” I choke on a small sob, and Andrew pulls me into his strong arms once more.

“I didn’t ask for a fucking accountant to look at my books. I have three of my own,” Mikhail says, but I dismiss him, knowing he didn’t ask me to do this, but I did it anyways. In his stubbornness, he would never have asked for help.

And he needs someone he can trust. And I trust Andrew.

“I know you didn’t,” I tell him, stepping toward him and dragging him to the hallway. “Why don’t you go change your shirt andthen come back down? I have a charcuterie tray in the fridge and I think we can discuss this over drinks and some cheese.”

“Angel,” he grumps, but I shove him lightly away.

“I mean it, Mikhail. I know best.”

His eye twitches, and I glower at him until he finally retreats. I don’t know why I’m trying to help him with this, but then again, it’s more than just him at stake. He employs people here that I’ve come to care about. If he goes down, so do they.

And I’ve put so much work into the garden, into this house.

I won’t let the ship go down.

Not anytime soon.

I stride back out to the foyer and link my arm through Andrew’s, showing him into the kitchen. “Sorry about that,” I say. “You can take a seat if you’d like. Let me grab you guys something to drink.”

“Anything strong would be preferable.”

“I can do that. I do live in a house full of Russians.”