Ronan lifted a brow. “Problem?” I shook my head, unwilling to share I was hiding out from my papa and his hired babysitter. He already had reservations about my age. With a shaking hand, I turned the phone off and put it back in my pocket. I just wanted a week. A single week wouldn’t kill anyone. As we finished our lunch, the smoker with an obvious aversion to Americans approached the table. He didn’t look my way, but I felt his animosity against my skin. Dirty blond hair and a splayed-open suit jacket like he’d just gotten laid in the bathroom. Maybe he had. He was goodlooking in a classic way, though he could probably work on his xenophobia. He said a few words in Russian to Ronan too low for me to hear. Ronan got to his feet. “Give me a moment, kotyonok.” I nodded and watched him retreat to the back hall. The man was popular. The dirty blond remained near the table with his hands in his pockets, looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to squash. “Kill them with kindness,” was my motto. Well . . . not always, but it was a principle I was working on. “Zdravstvuy,” I said with a smile. “I’m Mila.” A skin-crawling awareness touched me as his eyes ran down my body, and then he replied, “Kostya,” with a mocking leer. His gaze narrowed with intense focus. “He might buy you fancy things, but you are nothing but another useless whore to him. Remember that.” My smile dropped. Pd never been spoken to like that in my entire life. At home, insults were subtle barbs behind your back, not slurs in your face. This stranger didn’t even know me or the fact I was still very much a virgin, but the word “whore” punched me right in the chest. Again, I was reminded I wasn’t welcome by many here. It made me feel like an outcast; something ridiculous that didn’t belong. Not truly in The Moorings, and not here. Rejection tightened like a vise around my throat until humiliating tears rose in my eyes. Kostya looked darkly pleased as one ran down my cheek. “Excuse me,” I said, grabbing my coat off the back of the booth and slipping it on as I walked toward the front doors. When I pushed them open, icy air caressed my skin. Unsurprisingly, Albert was reclining against the car at the curb smoking a cigarette. His eyebrows lowered as I made my