Several people nearby have stopped pretending not to listen. This is going to be all over Moscow by morning.
"That's quite an accusation," Roman says, his voice dangerous now.
"Is it?" Maksim's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
I want to defend myself. Want to scream that I never betrayed him. But it’s pointless.
Maksim straightens his jacket. "If you'll excuse me, I should make the rounds. Let everyone know the dead have risen. Enjoy your party."
He walks away without looking back, leaving me standing there with Roman's hand like a manacle on my waist.
"Well," Roman says after a moment. "That was interesting."Interesting. He thinks Maksim publicly calling me a murderer is interesting.
"He's been through trauma," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "He's not thinking clearly."
"Or he's thinking very clearly." Roman turns me to face him. "Tell me the truth. Did you have anything to do with his kidnapping?"
The question catches me off guard. "What? No. Of course not.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says in a low voice. “I actually admire the idea.”
I glare at him. He knows I hate him. I’m never going to pretend otherwise when it’s just the two of us. I’ll fake it in front of these people, but he will always know I loathe him.
"Now then." He tucks my hand into his arm. "Let's finish this party.”
I catch glimpses of Maksim throughout the night. He's working the room, talking to people, making connections. Planning something.
Every time our eyes meet, I see the same cold hatred.
The boy I loved is gone. Buried under six years of torture and rage.
And the man who returned wants me destroyed.
The party finally ends near midnight. I survive the last round of congratulations. I want nothing more than my warm bed.
I'm heading for the exit when Anya catches my arm.
"We need to talk," she says urgently.
"Not here." I glance around at the remaining guests. "Later. At home."
"Now, Kira. Please."
There's something in her voice—desperation or fear—that makes me follow her to a quiet alcove.
"What's wrong?"
“I've been thinking about this all night. We should run. Both of us. Right now. Before the wedding. Before Maksim can destroy you. Before Roman can—"
"We can't run." I squeeze her fingers. "I explained this. Roman would find us."
"Then we go somewhere he can't. America. Asia. Somewhere far enough that—"
"There's nowhere far enough." I wipe her tears with my thumbs. "And even if there was, Maksim would find me. You heard him tonight. He's planning something. Running would just confirm his suspicions."
"So what? Let him think you're guilty if it means you're alive!" Her voice breaks. "Kira, I can't lose you.”
My heart cracks seeing her like this. My baby sister, who should be worried about boys and art and normal nineteen-year-old problems, reduced to begging me to run for my life.
