“I mean, yeah,” I admit. “But I don’t have to like it to be good at it. Planning a wedding isn’t about feelings.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. Mostly, it’s about the practical stuff. Organizing the guests, setting up the venue. It’s event planning, only with a much higher budget.”
Realization settles over his features. “You like it because it’s lucrative.”
“I do,” I reply. “I’m not ashamed of it.”
“Nor should you.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting him to agree with me there. “Right,” I say, somewhat shakily. “And besides, business is business. If I’m going to start one, I want it to turn a profit. A big one, ideally.”
Finally, Petyr’s features ease into something softer. Not quite a smile, but a truce. “Sounds like you’ve got the mind for it.”
“Thanks.” Suddenly, I feel my cheeks heat up. “You’re the first to say that to me.”
“Because you don’t like weddings?”
I find myself laughing. “Trust me, if you had my parents, you’d hate weddings, too. Their marriage was a disaster on wheels.”
Petyr’s eyes narrow. “You mean, before the accident?”
Shit.
“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Before the accident.”
“Most orphans wouldn’t say that about their parents.”
Nope, they sure fucking wouldn’t.
I force myself to meet his gaze. Petyr’s suspicion burns a hole through me, making cold sweat break out at the back of my neck. My palms are clammy, my throat dry.
“I miss them,” I whisper eventually. For once, I hear truth in my voice. “That doesn’t mean they were perfect.”
Petyr studies me for a moment longer. As if trying to sniff out the lie. He’s like a hound when he wants to be. If I don’t stop fucking up in his presence, I may as well start bequeathing all my earthly possessions to Jemma in writing.
And yet, despite the urgency of the moment, I find myself closing my eyes. Thinking of my parents. My father’s cruelty, my mother’s submission. How the light in her eyes slowly dimmed until there was nothing left. Not even the will to fight for her daughter’s future.
They may not have died in a crash, but they’ve been dead to me for a long time.
When I open my eyes again, I don’t know what Petyr sees on my face. But whatever it is, it must be enough.
“We’re going back to the estate,” he says. “But you can go to your classes.”
My heart skips a beat. “Wait, really?”
“Yes.” He grinds out that word like it costs him. “But I want two of my men with you at all times.”
“One,” I push back. “And he stays out the door.”
He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m still arguing with him. That I’m not taking the win.
But the exhaustion on his face is deep, and before long, he’s nodding again, a sigh slipping between his lips. “Fine. One. But he’ll be armed.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
We shake on it. His hand is surprisingly warm. “Thank you,” I whisper. “This means the world to me.”
