Page 83 of Dark King Daddy

“That night. After the wedding. I was in the sitting room. He came downstairs for water.”

“And?”

“And he made me macaroni and hot chocolate and sat in the armchair across the room until I fell asleep.”

Zoe opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You married a Bratva Pakhan,” she said, “and your first intimate experience involved pasta and a stuffed rabbit.”

“It wasn’t intimate.”

“He saw you holding a stuffed rabbit and made you dinner.”

“It was macaroni from a box.”

“It was care, Ksenia.”

“It was practical. He saw a problem and solved it. That’s what he does. He’s efficient.”

“He’s efficient?”

“Yes.”

“Your terrifying husband saw you in your most vulnerable state and his response was to cook for you and then sit quietly across the room and guard you while you slept.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re telling me this means nothing.”

“It means he’s strategic.”

Zoe stared at me.

“Honey,” she said. “I love you. But you are full of shit.”

My phone buzzed. I looked at the screen.

Daniil.

Volna reopens tonight. Will you accompany me?

Not: You are coming. Not: Be ready at seven. Will you.

If he had ordered me, I could have gone as a duty. As the Pakhan’s wife performing a political function. As the Orlov daughter fulfilling her role in the alliance.

But he had asked.

And saying yes to a question felt like something else entirely.

I typed: What time?

Seven. I’ll send the car?

Yes.

I put the phone away. Zoe was watching me with the expression of a woman who had already drawn conclusions and was generously allowing me to reach them at my own pace.

“Don’t,” I said.