“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t have believed me. You still had faith in family loyalty and all that bullshit.” She meets my eyesdirectly. “Plus, I figured you’d figure it out if it were important. You always do.”
I lean back in the chair, processing this casual confirmation of my worst fears. “The wedding—do you think they’re using it for something other than alliance building?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Zoya’s certainty is matter-of-fact, as if we’re discussing the weather. “The whole thing reeks of ulterior motives. Father doesn’t do anything for just one reason. You better than anyone knows it.”
“This is a problem,” I say, more to myself than to her.
“Why?” She tilts her head, genuine curiosity in her expression. “You never wanted to get married anyway. Especially not some arranged political marriage to a stranger.”
“He’s not a stranger anymore.”
“No,” she agrees, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “He’s the guy who’s been keeping you up at night, making you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. The man who has taken your virginity.” There is a slight humor in her tone.
The accuracy of her observation is uncomfortable. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s only complicated if you make it complicated.” Zoya stands, moving to her kitchen to grab two bottles of expensive vodka from the freezer. “Do you want to marry him or not?”
“It’s not that simple?—”
“It’s exactly that simple.” She pours two shots, sliding one across the coffee table to me. “Forget about Father, forget about family obligations, forget about whatever scheme is probably happening behind the scenes. Do you, Kira Petrov, want to marry Rafa Rosso?”
The question hangs in the air like a challenge. I pick up the shot glass, using the motion to buy time while my mind races through possible answers.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit.
“Bullshit.” Zoya downs her vodka in one smooth motion. “You know. You’ve known since the moment you set eyes on him. You’re just scared to admit it because it means everything you’ve planned for your life is about to change.”
“I’ve been planning to escape this life for years?—”
“And now you’re thinking about escaping it with someone instead of alone.” She pours herself another shot. “Terrifying concept for someone who’s never trusted another person enough to share a secret, let alone a future.”
Her words cut deeper than I expect. “When did you become so perceptive about relationships?”
“When I started having them, instead of just analyzing them like mathematical equations.” She grins, but there’s affection beneath the teasing. “You fuck one Italian underboss and suddenly you think you understand love.”
“I don’t—” I start to deny it, then stop. Because the word she used—love—sends a jolt of recognition through me that I can’t dismiss. “It’s not love.”
“No?” Zoya’s eyebrow arches skeptically. “Then what is it?”
“Attraction. Intellectual compatibility. Mutual benefit. Lust”
“And the fact that you almost started a war to protect him from Father’s suspicions?”
“That’s just good strategy?—”
“Kira.” She reaches across the table, her hand covering mine with surprising gentleness. “It’s okay to admit you care about him. It’s okay to want something for yourself instead of just for the family or the organization.”
“Caring about someone makes you vulnerable,” I say quietly. “Makes you weak.”
“Says who? Father?” Zoya’s expression hardens. “Father, who’s probably using your engagement to destroy the very man you’re falling for? That Father?”
The implication hits me like ice water. If Father and Alexei are planning something that involves my marriage, if they’re using my relationship with Rafa for their own ends...
“He could be in danger,” I realize aloud. “Rafa could be walking into a trap if they’re manipulating the situation.”
“Now you’re getting it, “ Zoya says, satisfied. So the question becomes: what are you going to do about it?”
