2
MASKS AND KNIVES
DOMINIC
The mask sat wrong on my face. Too tight across the bridge of my nose, the elastic cutting into my skin behind my ears. I'd been adjusting the bloody thing for ten minutes and it still felt like wearing someone else's skull.
“You know it's supposed to cover your face, not strangle you.” Viktor leaned against the doorframe of the side chamber, already dressed in white, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread. No mask yet, just that sharp jawline and the kind of calm that came before major life decisions or fistfights.
I shot him a look. “It's cutting off circulation.”
“It’s just elastic. You’ve survived worse.”
“Worse things fit better.”
He pushed off the doorframe, crossed to me in three strides. “Let me see.” His hands were quick, adjusting the strap with the efficiency of someone who'd spent years making things fit properly. “There. Now you look less like a hostage.”
“Cheers.”
“You are welcome.” He stepped back, studied me with that assessing look he got sometimes. Not calculating threats. Just reading people. “You brought a flask, yes?”
I pulled it from my jacket pocket. Whiskey. Good stuff. Viktor grinned, took it, unscrewed the cap, and took a long pull before handing it back.
“Dutch courage?” I asked.
“Russian courage. It’s better.” He moved to the window, looked out at the gardens where staff were finishing last-minute setup. “I am getting married.”
“Noticed that.”
“In approximately thirty minutes.”
“Clock's ticking.”
“To a prince.”
I took a drink from the flask, let the burn settle. “You planning to bolt, or are we just stating facts for fun?”
“Stating facts.” He turned from the window. “But also, maybe panicking. Small amount.”
“How small?”
“Very large small amount.”
I snorted, couldn't help it. Viktor looked at me, something easing in his expression. “You laugh. Good. Means I am not the only one thinking this is insane.”
“It's not insane.”
“I am a Russian criminal marrying a prince in a British palace. Is very insane.”
“You're a reformed Russian criminal.”
“Reformed.” Viktor tested the word. “Sebastian thinks so. Adrian thinks so. You think so?”
“I think you're standing here in a white suit about to make vows in front of two hundred people. That's pretty bloody reformed.”
He laughed, low and rough. “Fair point.” Then his expression shifted, went serious. “Dom. I need ask you something.”
“What?”
