She ran dirty hands over the white fur, an expression of awe on her face. “Angel,” she breathed. “Ty angel.”

Her belief I was an angel made me feel better about the D’yavol comment. Maybe her mind was stuck in an episode of Supernatural.

I avoided Ronan’s gaze on the way back to the car, nervous of his reaction and wishing I was still buzzed. Albert leaned against the passenger door, watching me with cautious eyes and smoking another cigarette.

“That’ll kill you, ya know.”

He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply.

I raised a brow at the challenge. “Keep smoking like that, and you’re going to break a lot of girls’ hearts when you go.”

He grunted.

I finally brought my gaze to Ronan’s unreadable expression. The theater attendant who served us drinks rushed over and said something quietly to Ronan, whose eyes lowered. I could see a hint of annoyance in them.

“I’ll be right back, kotyonok.” His dark gaze drifted down my body, caressing and setting fire to every curve encased by thin yellow fabric. “Wait in the car. You’re not wearing a coat.”

He walked toward the theater doors, the red-vested attendant following behind like a lapdog. Ronan stood out in the crowd, not only because people parted like the Red Sea to allow him by, but because of the smooth and powerful way he walked, as if he owned the pavement beneath his feet. The sight of his dark silhouette among falling flurries sent something dense and languid to every nerve beneath my skin, like the steady beep of a heart on life support.

Feeling unsteady, I turned to Albert, who actually rolled his eyes at me. Clearly, I wasn’t very secretive about checking out his boss. My cheeks were flushed from the cold, but my blood burned hot, so I leaned against the car beside him. My arm brushed his, and he eyed me like I’d just challenged him to a spitting contest.

I raised a brow. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me.”

“He told you to get in the car.”

“He’s awful bossy, isn’t he?”

He didn’t confirm nor deny, just stared forward and blew out a breath of smoke.

“Serious question,” I said direly, “and answer carefully, because this is the deciding factor in whether you and I can be pals.” After a heavy pause to make sure he knew the gravity of the matter, I asked, “Team Duckie or Blane?”

His narrowed eyes came to me. “I do not speak whatever language that was.”

I smiled. “Pop culture? Eighties films are back, you know.”

He looked like he was suffering from a headache, and I couldn’t hold in the small laugh.

After a moment, I asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nyet.”

“Considering your outstanding use of language, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

He didn’t respond, standing at his incredible height. He had to be pushing six foot eight. I’d felt obscenely tall my entire life, and it was nice to be the shortest one in the group for a change.

“I have a friend, Emma, who loves the giant, grunting types,” I told him. “Says they have the softest, mushiest centers, and she just wants to climb them like a tree.”

Not a blink.

I sighed. “Can you hear me okay from all the way up there?”

Something close to amusement passed through his eyes, and an ember of success filled me, so I continued.

“We volunteer at the homeless shelter every Tuesday evening.” I rubbed my arms, feeling the icy chill creep in as I noticed the crazy woman had disappeared like a ghost in the night. “Her hobbies include knitting, scrapbooking, and cats.” I laughed at the repulsed curl of his lips. “Just think, she could knit you an oversized Christmas sweater with little bells attached.”

As if this tempted him, his cool gaze came my way.

“Just say the word, and I’ll set you guys up,” I said. “Long-distance relationships always build the best foundations for love.”

He watched me like he was seriously contemplating it, but then he casually asked, “Does she like to be gagged and spanked?”

He was trying to shock me, and it worked. I couldn’t keep the flush from my face, which finally evoked a small smile. Evidently, only my embarrassment would get a reaction from this giant bastard.

“Um, I’m not sure, but I can ask.”

“You do that.” He threw his cigarette butt to the pavement.

“Hey,” I complained. “We only have one planet, Albert.”

He stared at me like I was out of my mind when I stubbed it out before picking it up. And then like I was actually certifiable when I slipped it into his coat pocket.

“Do you want to live on Mars?” I asked. “Because I don’t.”

“Are you sure you’re not from Mars?”

“Ha ha. I’ve read better jokes in the joke book our cook Borya keeps next to the toilet.”

That earned me an actual laugh, one that sobered as fast as it came. Because Ronan stood behind me watching us like we were both Martians who had displeased him.

He opened the car door, and I slid into the back seat. When he sat beside me, the silence pressed on my chest. Ronan wasn’t even looking at me but out the window, though his presence chafed my skin. He didn’t have to say it for me to know he wasn’t happy I gave my coat away. I had a feeling it didn’t have anything to do with the money but something else entirely.

“I’m sorry.” I swallowed. “About the coat.”

His gaze met mine, searching and thoughtful, the weight of it stunning my body with a nervous energy. “You’re big on apologies.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but, consumed by this man’s quiet disapproval that rivaled my papa’s, what came out was, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You shouldn’t give a fuck about what other people think. Trust me, they don’t care about you.”

For some reason, his words felt like a warning.

He was a conundrum dressed in Valentino with “fuck” on his lips . . . I didn’t know why I found the contrast attractive. Maybe the novelty and honesty of it.

“That’s a very pessimistic view.”

He fought a smile like what I said was cute. “It’s a realist’s view.”

It felt like I needed to prove him wrong, to convince him not everyone was out to get him. I may not believe in magical happily ever afters, but I’d seen goodness in its purest forms. I’d seen a man give the shirt off his back to someone who needed it more. I’d seen mothers walk miles to make sure their children were fed. There was good in this world, and that was a hill I’d die on.

“The boy in that picture in your office, I bet he cares about you.”

There was something between them—two dirty, homeless boys on the street—that screamed loyalty.

“And who cares about you?”

I didn’t hesitate. “My papa.” I knew it was true. No matter the secrets he withheld from me and the anxieties of abandonment, I knew he loved me.

Ronan found something unpleasant in my response. “You have a soft heart.”

I didn’t say anything because, as annoying as it could sometimes be, it was true.