She really didn't betray me.
Chapter Seventeen
Kira
The dining room feels like a trap the moment I walk into it. When Roman sent the text demanding I come to dinner, I should have known he was up to something.
I only agreed because I was hoping to persuade him to change his mind about Anya.
Persuade. Threaten. Beg.
Whatever I had to do.
But I wasn’t expecting to see Maksim.
"Kira." Roman stands, all false charm. "You look lovely."
I'm wearing black—the only color that matches my mood—and heels sharp enough to be weapons if necessary. And I am very much prepared to use them as such. I’m almost hoping I do get to use them.
"Thank you,” I murmur.
Maksim stands, nods and then flops back down in his chair.
Did he know I was coming to dinner? There was a third place setting.
I don’t look at him. Not directly.
"Please, sit." Roman gestures to the place setting to his right, directly across from Maksim.
I sit because I don't have a choice and immediately regret it.
Roman's hand finds my knee under the table. Possessive. Claiming. I resist the urge to stab him with my fork.
Maksim won't look at me. His eyes are fixed on his plate, jaw tight, radiating tension.
Two days ago, we had sex and then he reminded me again that he hated me.
Now we're playing happy family over dinner.
The absurdity would be funny if it wasn't so nightmarish.
"I thought it would be nice, to have a family dinner before the wedding,” Roman says. He puts up a finger, indicating the server to begin the dinner service. “Get everyone comfortable with the new arrangements."
"How thoughtful," I say, my voice perfectly pleasant. The Ice Queen in full effect.
I can shut off my emotions too. I can be just as cold and cruel.
Maksim wants to play this game,fine.
"I've been finalizing the guest list." Roman pulls out his tablet—because of course he can't have one meal without conducting business. "Two hundred confirmed. Every major family in Moscow. I have another fifty or so asking to come. I’m leaving them hanging. Make them feel like they need to work for it."
He shows me the list, and I scan it with growing dread.
Every ally I had left is conspicuously absent. The families that might have supported me, that might have given me leverage—all excluded.
"I notice the Trotsky family isn't invited," I observe carefully. "Given the upcoming marriage to my sister, I assumed—"
"Artem will be there," Roman corrects. "But his extended family presents security concerns. Better to keep the guest list tight."
