“Mr. Kamenev, I have a question.”
“Arkady,” he corrected. “I would say ‘Mr. Kamenev’ is my father, but I don’t even know if that is true,” he joked.
“Arkady.” I squinted at him, taking a moment to think. “What kind of man are you?”
“Well, what did your father tell you?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I took a long sip of wine, letting it tickle my sinuses and dry my throat with a single swallow. “I saw yourback more often than your face as you worked on their home. You were there almost as often as I was. I didn’t know your name until this morning, your face until the evening.”
“You were fine with that?” he prodded. “Marrying a man you don’t know?”
“I could ask the same of you?”
“A fair question. Though I suppose the next question would bewhy?”
“Because,why not?” I shrugged. “You should spend less time askingwhyand more time telling me I won’t regret it.”
“Wouldn’t it be more fun to see for yourself?” He raised a brow over the rim of his glass.
“No, I prefer a more direct approach,” I declared, finishing my wine and pushing the cup back to the middle of the table. “What kind of man marries a stranger?”
“Well, then, I can start with an introduction.” He filled my glass once again. “I am organized, messy when I need to be, I don’t like fish, and I hate the smell of burnt cinnamon.”
“Any habits I should be aware of?”
“An introvert, frugal, and a terrible, awful crook.” He smirked, pushing the glass my way. “All these questions are about me. What about you? The princess who married the pauper?”
“I’m greedy, selfish, possibly a glutton. Best to be careful, or I may eat you for dinner.” I raised my glass, my best attempt at sincerity.
“Nowyouare the one being dishonest.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your mother said something during our arrangement.”
“She never stops talking. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“She said you handpicked me.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Did I really not need to have a single conversation in order to entice you?”
“I saw you working on the house.”
“It’s an odd choice, you have to admit.”
I twisted the wineglass stem, leaning back in my chair in thought. “You were the first person I thought of when they said they didn’t carewho it was as long as I got married. So why not the faceless man always in the background?”
He was silent. I glanced up. His face held a look of understanding and patience, but the way he was gripping his glass gave away his distaste.
“I wanted to spite them. The choice of man who would hurt them the most is—”
“A poor man.”
“A nobody,” I finished. “I needed them to lose.”
He nodded in understanding. I’m sure it stung more than he let on.
“What did they lose, aside from a daughter?”
“Opportunity,” I said plainly, snatching the bottle and pouring more for myself. “A marriage they can’t leverage.”
“Were your prospectsthatgood?” he teased.
“Only on paper,” I mumbled into the glass, drinking down the rest of the wine.
