“I would very much like to honor my father’s wishes and be your wife,” Adriana adds, just before she lets go of my hand.
The words themselves are much more forward than a woman of her standing and family would normally allow. I’m almost certain that they weren’t fed to her by her father. From where I’m standing, it seems as if she does, in fact, very much want to marry me.
Which, ironically, makes it that much harder to tell her father yes. I have no desire to be a disappointment to anyone–and I have no doubt that I would, in the end, disappoint Adriana Casciani.
I incline my head, giving her the best smile I can manage before we part. “I look forward to speaking with your father again,” I say carefully.
From the expression on her face, she took it as I had hoped. And I can’t help but wonder, as I walk away, if turning Edo down might not be the wrong move. I won’t be the husband that Adriana hopes for. Still, a woman like her has been raised to expect disappointment in marriage. From the perspective of what I’m here to do, itisthe right choice, one I’d already warned Sasha I might be forced to make.
It will break her heart, but it will also, irrevocably, keep us apart.
In the end, that might be the way to keep her safest.
19
SASHA
It’s hard not to let on to Max how much it hurts, watching him walk out of the door without me. I understand his reasoning–it’s impossible not to, and it’s even sound. I can’t deny that–but I also know enough about this world to know what he’s walking into.
He’d warned me that there might be stipulations that come with his re-entry into the world of these old mafia families. I’m aware of what those might be, and it makes me want to beg him to stay, to find some other way.
I’m also aware of what he’s sacrificing in order to keep me safe from something that, before a short time ago, I didn’t even know I was in danger from.
I’d believed I was an orphan. That my parents had died of some common cause, without other family, leaving me to the whims of the Moscow foster system. I’d never dreamed that my parents might still be alive–but this is somehow worse than if they hadn’t been at all.
My father is a powerful man who wants me dead. My motherisdead now. I don’t know if she wanted me and felt forced to give me up or if she wanted nothing to do with me, and now I never will. I don’t know why my father hates me enough to want me dead. I don’t know what Idid.
How can a child do something so wrong that they should be abandoned or killed? How can I possibly be a threat to him now? I don’t understand any of it, and it makes me feel as if I’m losing my mind every time I go over it, again and again.
I spend so long thinking about it that my book drops to my lap, forgotten there. I stay that way, lost in thought, until the sound of footsteps over the hardwood floor suddenly jolts me out of it. I look up sharply, thinking Max is home, and it’s hard to hide my disappointment at seeing that it’s Art.
“All alone?” He stands a few feet away, in front of the unlit fireplace, looking down at me. “Max didn’t take you with him to his gala?”
“No.” I shake my head. “He thought it was better if I stayed out of their line of sight.”
“Hm.” Art raises one manicured eyebrow. “Interesting. It always seems like such a struggle for him to stay away from you.”
“We’re good friends.” I don’t mean to sound as curt as I do, but I’m not really in the mood to chat. I still don’t entirely understand the coldness between Max and his brother. Art has been friendly with me–maybe even too much so–but I don’t feel like being flirted with or dealing with Art’s particular brand of conversation, which often makes me feel as if I need to think carefully about what I’m saying before I respond.
I’ve always kept it in the back of my mind that if Max doesn’t trust Art, there’s likely something to it. Even if I think Max is overreacting because of old family history–and I do–that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be careful around Art. And I simply don’t have the energy for it tonight.
“It’s too nice of a night for you to sit in this old house being lonely,” Art says, his tone cheerful as he glances at the book in my lap. “There’s an art gallery opening tonight. Why don’t we go? It could be good for you–get you dressed up and out of the house, just like Max.” He grins conspiratorially at me. “Why should he get to have all the fun?”
“I doubt he’s having fun,” I say wryly, picking up my book and setting it on the side-table next to me. “And he was very clear that I needed to stay here, where it’s safe.”
“You’d be safe with me.” Art winks at me, his handsome face alight with eagerness. “I’ll make sure to take good care of you.”
I shake my head. “I really don’t want to upset Max.”
“He doesn’t need to know. Those parties go surprisingly late–the heads of the families are always dried-up and boring, but the younger set keeps it going well into the night. I’ll get you back before Max comes home. A little secret between us?”
“I don’t keep secrets from Max.” I tuck my legs under me, curling further back into the couch. “I appreciate it, Art. Really. But I’m fine with what I’m doing right here.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, looking more than a little disappointed, and wanders off, leaving me alone again.
I pick up my book, but it’s hard to focus. I keep reading the same paragraph over and over, struggling to retain it, and eventually, I give up. The house feels bigger and emptier than usual, knowing Max isn’t here, so I wander outside instead, sucking in deep breaths of the cool night air.
I wish I could stay.I have no idea how long I’ll be here for, especially with this newest development, but beyond that, I wish I could simply stay here for as long as I want to–with Max.