I don’t think he’ll answer me. But Petyr’s rebuilt walls must not have reached the sky yet, because he murmurs, “Every day.”
I hate how weak that makes me. It makes me want to reach for him. To comfort him, when I shouldn’t want anything at all.
Without speaking, I slip my fingers through his.
At first, Petyr’s grip is slack. But then I feel his fingers tighten around mine, the barest hint of pressure.
That’s when Kira walks in, shattering the moment.
My gaze lifts to hers. For a second, our eyes meet. Hers are puffy, I see, rimmed red from crying. I take stock of hersmudged makeup, the way her thin arms hug her frame for warmth that won’t come.
I can’t help it: I feel sorry for her. She lost Dimitri, too. Lost her husband, her standing, her future. And now, here she is, trapped in a half-life, tethered to a man who will likely never open his eyes again.
The itch to comfort her burns under my skin. We may have started on the wrong foot, but being petty in the face of tragedy just isn’t in my nature. I’m about to reach out, say something?—
—and then Kira’s fingers brush flirtatiously along Petyr’s arm.
My sympathy curdles like rotten milk.
Her smile is sticky-sweet. Petyr glances at her hand briefly, but doesn’t quite step back. Only shifts so that it falls back to her side again.
“Kira. I thought you’d be resting.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She flashes him a sad half-smile that looks absolutely perfect. It makes me wonder if I should be calling up the Academy, tell them to bring a golden statuette. Maybe bash her head in with it. “But I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to go over a few things with you. About Dimitri, and…” She gives a pause that feels intentional. “Other matters.”
Call me crazy, but I don’t like the way she’s looking at Petyr. It’s too familiar. I’ve seen that look on the faces of every single one of my father’s mistresses as they let themselves be paraded before my mother, already picturing themselves in her shoes as the new and improved Mrs. Danilo.
It’s the look of ambition.
I taste sharp, bitter jealousy on my tongue. I want to yank her away, step in, stake a claim I technically don’t even have. Remind her that he’s mine, even if he isn’t.
He’s your husband,my heart protests.
Not in any way that matters,my head replies.
So I just stand there, nails biting into my palms, feigning indifference while I’m simmering on the inside. I don’t have the right to make a scene. I’m supposed to be temporary, a means to an end. As soon as our deal is fulfilled, I’ll be gone.
And yet, watching her try to cling to his arm again makes my chest ache like I’ve already lost something that was never mine to begin with.
“Later.” Petyr steps back, fixing his cufflinks. He doesn’t seem to like Kira’s overtures, but whatever I just saw, he must have missed. No way he’d be reacting so calmly otherwise. “Go home now. Rest.”
“Are you?” she presses. “Going home?”
“Yes,” Petyr says. “Weare.”
Then he raises our linked fingers to show her.
I’m not expecting that gesture. It’s… sweet, in an odd sort of way.
Kira’s face sours. “Then I guess I’ll stay. Can’t very well have Dimitri wake up to an empty room, can we?”
The accusation is so uncalled for, the urge to slap her makes my palm tingle.
But Petyr just inclines his head in agreement. “As you wish.”
Then we’re out of there.
As we walk away, I throw a glance behind my shoulder. Kira’s puffy eyes meet mine again, but this time, the redness seems to have moved elsewhere. Her cheeks are flaming. Somehow, I don’t think that’s shame.
