That time, I do smile. Only a little, but I see Yaromir notice. His jaw tightens.
A strange little satisfaction moves through me. Not because I want Alexei. I don’t. He’s handsome in a careless, cheerful way, and he knows it. But he doesn’t make my skin go hot and my thoughts scatter.
Yaromir does.
Unfortunately.
Still, if he wants to sit there like a stone statue and pretend he didn’t have me shaking on his desk three days ago, he can watch me smile at someone else.
I take Alexei’s arm. “Show me the house.”
Alexei’s grin turns victorious.
Yaromir stands. “I’ll do it.”
Alexei looks between us, amused. “Ah. Host duties remembered.”
“Leave,” Yaromir says.
“Gladly.” Alexei lets go of my arm, then bows slightly toward me. “Madam. If you ever require a tour conducted by someone with personality, I remain available.”
Yaromir’s voice hardens. “Alexei.”
“I’m leaving.”
He does, still smiling.
I watch him go, then turn back to my husband.
Husband.
The word still feels strange inside me.
Yaromir is looking at me now, properly this time. His eyes move from my face to the place where Alexei’s hand had rested over mine.
“You glare very well,” I say.
“I wasn’t glaring.”
“You were.”
“You enjoy provoking me?”
“I’m learning.”
For half a second, something sparks in his eyes.
Then it’s gone.
He gestures toward the door. “Come.”
The tour is brief, because Yaromir doesn’t talk much unless there’s a reason. He shows me the main hall, the west sitting room, the library, the winter room with its glass ceiling, the back corridor that leads to the garden, and the locked doors I’m not supposed to open.
He doesn’t say I’m forbidden. He simply says, “Not those.”
Which is probably worse.
The house is beautiful, but it’s not soft. Everything is dark wood, stone, iron, leather, old portraits. It feels like a place built to outlast people, not comfort them.
