Page 67 of Marrying the Savage

“She had coffee at the restaurant.”

“You noticed?”

“I notice details.”

“Yes,” he says. “That is the problem.”

I ignore that.

The phone murmurs again. Mikhail’s eyebrows rise.

“What now?” I ask.

“She’s asking for Anya.”

“No.”

Mikhail repeats my answer into the phone. Then pauses. Then looks at me with far too much restraint.

“What did she say?” I ask.

“She said to tell you that if you plan to imprison her in a cliffside murder castle, denying her one phone call is very bad villain etiquette.”

The study goes silent.

Mikhail waits.

I should be angry. I should remind the entire household that Sofia Volodina does not give orders in my house after less than one day of marriage. I should keep her isolated until I know exactly which friendships are weaknesses and which are escape routes. I should let her understand that what she did in that church has consequences.

Instead, I think of her sleeping with the lights on. I think of my father’s ring tied to her hand with thread.

“Give her the call,” I say.

Mikhail doesn’t hide his surprise quickly enough. “Monitored?”

“No.”

His surprise becomes concern. “Damir.”

“She may call her friend.”

“Unmonitored?”

I look at him. “Did I speak unclearly?”

“No.”

“Then do it.”

He repeats the order into the phone, then hangs up slowly. For a moment, he only looks at me. “You are making unusual decisions,” he says.

“I am bored of usual ones.”

“This is not funny.”

“No.”

“Sofia Antonova is not a wounded bird you found in the snow.”