I close my laptop quietly and slip out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. If this is important enough to disturb us, someone’s about to have a very bad day.
Konstantin stands at the top of the stairs, looking perfectly composed as always. Gray suit, not a hair out of place. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me emerge from Vera’s bedroom.
“Dimitri. I was beginning to think you’d taken up permanent residence in there.”
“Vera’s on bed rest,” I say flatly. “Someone needs to make sure she follows orders.”
“And that someone has to be you?” He doesn’t sound judgmental, exactly. More... pleased? Like I’ve done something he approves of. That’s odd. “You have staff for that. Mrs. Kozlov. The guards.”
I scowl at my uncle. “I’m not leaving her.”
Something flickers across his face. Satisfaction? “I can see that.” He gestures towards the stairs. “Shall we talk downstairs? Unless you’re worried she’ll disappear in the five minutes you’re gone?”
The sarcasm grates, but he has a point. Vera’s asleep. Dr. Petrov cleared her yesterday as the bleeding has stopped and the cramping has eased. She’s out of immediate danger.
And I need to get out of this hallway because for whatever reason, I don’t like my uncle being around Vera.
“Fine.”
We head downstairs to my office. I don’t offer him a seat, and he doesn’t take one. Instead, he stands by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the grounds.
“The girl is recovering well, I take it?” he asks.
“Vera,” I correct sharply, stiffening at the slight. “Her name is Vera. And yes, she’s fine. The baby is fine.”
“Good.” He turns to face me, and there’s that expression again. Pleased. Satisfied. “I’m glad to see you’re taking your responsibilities as a husband seriously.”
I chafe at his words. “Of course I am,” I retort, irritated. “She’s my wife. She’s carrying a Volkov child.” I cross my arms, defensive without quite knowing why. “Her wellbeing is my concern.”
Konstantin snorts. “It’s more than concern, Dimitri,” he says gently. “It’s obvious you deeply care about the girl.”
I don’t deny it, especially when I’ve been camped out in her bedroom for two days like a guard dog, but I’m not going to give my uncle the satisfaction. “What’s your point?” I ask impatiently.
My uncle shrugs. “No point. Just an observation.” He moves away from the window, closer to where I’m standing. “When we arranged this marriage, I told you it would bind the families together and create peace from tragedy. But I didn’t expect…” He pauses, studying my face. “Genuine feelings to develop so quickly.”
The way he says it makes something in my gut twist. Why does he sound so pleased?
“If you’ve developed genuine feelings for Vera,” he continues, “it only strengthens the alliance. Makes it more likely to last. After all, a marriage based on real affection is worth more than one based on obligation.”
He’s right, but something about his tone—about the way he’s watching me like I'm a chess piece that's moved exactly where he wanted—makes my instincts prickle.
“What are you getting at, Uncle?”
“Nothing at all.” He spreads his hands innocently. “I’m simply saying I’m pleased. For both of you. Alexei’s death was a tragedy, but perhaps some good can come from it, after all.”
There it is again. That casual dismissal of Alexei. Like my brother’s murder was just an unfortunate bump in the road to a stronger alliance.
“You keep doing that,” I say slowly.
He looks confused. “Doing what?”
“Talking about Alexei like he doesn’t matter. Like his death was just…” I struggle for the words. “Convenient.”
Konstantin’s expression doesn't change. “I loved Alexei like a son, you know that. But he’s gone, Dimitri. We can’t bring him back. All we can do is honor his memory by making sure his death wasn’t meaningless.”
It sounds reasonable. Logical, even. But I’ve been poring over the details of Alexei’s death for weeks now, and the inconsistencies won’t leave me alone.
“Uncle, the timeline doesn’t make sense,” I say, repeating a point I’ve made numerous times before and I can tell it’s irritating byuncle by the way his brows draw and his lips press in a thin line. “The Ashfords arrived at 9:40. The coroner estimated the time of death at 9:30. How did they ambush him if they weren’t there yet?”
