“Viktor.”
Alina.
I turn to look at her. Concern sits visibly on her face, but I’m in no mood to be charitable about its proportions.
She has changed since breakfast. Not clothes, not hair, not any of the visible things. Just her expression. Less social composure now, more urgency. She closes the door behind her and looks from me to Yuri to the monitors. “I heard you were in here,” she says. “What’s happening?”
“Work,” I say.
She ignores the dismissal. “A girl nearly died at our son’s wedding breakfast.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re standing in a locked room watching cameras.”
“That is generally how one learns things.”
Her mouth tightens. “This is not the time.”
I feel my patience thin another degree. “This,” I say, “is exactly the time.”
She sucks in a breath.
She still hasn’t left so I turn to look at her. “What do you need, Alina?”
Her brows draw together. “Need? I’m trying to understand what’s going on.”
“So am I.”
She looks at the screens again. “You really think someone did this on purpose.”
“Yes.”
That stills her for half a second. Then she says, “God.”
I turn back to the monitors. “If you came here to be horrified, you’ve done it. Leave.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Excuse me?”
I don’t look at her. “You heard me.”
“Don’t speak to me like I’m some guest wandering in from the lawn. Our son is downstairs. His wedding is imploding. A girl is in the hospital. I’m allowed to ask what kind of danger we’re dealing with.”
Now I look at her. “And I’m telling you that asking is not the same as helping.”
She goes still. Angry now. “You’re impossible when you get like this.”
I continue, because now I’m annoyed enough to be precise. “I said from the beginning there were too many people, too much opportunity for nonsense. Your son wanted a spectacle. Camille wanted an audience. Here we are.”
Alina’s mouth tightens. “Is it my fault you have so many enemies?”
Yuri stills behind the desk.
I turn fully toward her. “No,” I say. “But if you want to discuss my enemies, now’s not the best time.”
For a moment she says nothing. The concern is still there, but now it’s mixed with the old anger she and I know too well, the kind we used to dress up as strategy when we were married because it sounded better than resentment.
“I’m trying to protect Ethan,” she says.
