Page 104 of Marrying the Savage

I like her. This is becoming a problem. I’ve been here less than a full day and already I like the coffee, the housekeeper, one of Damir’s cousins, and a child who believes cushion dragons commit war crimes.

I don’t like Damir.

That should be clear.

My body and I are currently in disagreement, but spiritually, I remain opposed.

“Mr. Volodin had business,” Marina says after a moment.

I look up too quickly. Traitor face. “I didn’t ask.”

“No.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

Her gaze softens in a way I don’t appreciate. “Because you were listening for cars.”

I look back at the toast. “Habit of growing up in the house that I did.” I had to walk on tiptoes around my uncle’s mood.

I glance at her.

She only lifts the coffee pot. “More coffee?”

“Yes,” I say. “Before I develop feelings.”

Her mouth twitches again.

After lunch, because staying in my room makes me feel like a patient in an expensive asylum, I go looking for Maksim.

I tell myself this is practical. Children are excellent sources of household information because adults underestimate them and because they have no concept of appropriate secrecy. Also, Maksim likes me, which immediately makes him superior to most of the men in this house.

I find him on the terrace.

Not the small balcony outside my room, unfortunately. The large terrace. The enormous one. The one built into the cliffside like someone looked at a terrifying drop into the sea and thought, What this needs is seating.

Maksim is kneeling beside a low stone planter, arranging wooden soldiers along the edge while the wind tears at his dark hair. Beyond him, the terrace opens to a view so wide and dramatic it feels personally aggressive. The sea below crashes against black rocks far, far beneath us, white foam bursting and disappearing. The stone railing is solid, high enough to be safe, probably, but my stomach immediately disagrees.

I hate heights. Not mildly. Not in a cute way where I squeal and clutch someone’s arm. I hate them with the deep, ancestral certainty of a woman whose bones know the ground is where people belong.

Maksim looks up when he sees me. “You came.”

“I said I would.”

“Adults say things and then forget.”

“Not me. I’m very stubborn.”

“My papa says that is not always good.”

“Your papa has clearly never won an argument through exhaustion.”

Maksim considers that. “Did you bring reinforcements?”

“No, but I brought moral support.”

“What is moral support?”

“Standing nearby while you do dangerous things and saying helpful comments like, ‘Maybe don’t.’”