Page 46 of The Marriage

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, gentlemen. I was under the impression that you understood what it means to keep an open conversation going with me. Or didn’t you get the memo?”

Packard still didn’t blink. “What makes you think that, Mr. Avdonin?”

Demyan stood up. The shift in the air was immediate, and he was sure the other two could feel it. With a wave toward the door, he said, “You’re welcome to walk out of here today and never come back, or you could tell me what I want to know, and my door stays open. Just for a little while longer, yes? Imagine the kind of brownie points on your report card you’ll get for that.”

Still smiling, although he knew his tall frame was intimidating, Demyan waited his hand outstretched for the other two men to make a move. It was their call; he was willing to let them make it.

Mahon fidgeted under the pressure, looked like he was about to shit himself, while Packard managed to hold it together. It was amusing, at least.

“Why should I tell you anything when your son refused a real interview?”

“He told you everything he knew,” Demyan told the older agent. “Anyway, it looks like you’re ready to go. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Demyan nodded to Pavel who had come to stand at the door.

Packard clocked the gesture and cleared his throat before saying, “There is something you should know.”

If they were expecting Demyan to show enthusiasm—they weren’t getting any. He remained silent. That was always the better choice when you already had the upper hand.

“The remains found in the fire at the Yazov mansion—they may not belong to Maxim Yazov.”

Demyan dragged in a hard breath through his nose. It was all he was going to allow himself in the presence of these men.

“And maybe we can meet again, to discuss any other information we have that could help you. Or if you have anything to share with us,” Packard continued, tipping his chin in a nod.

Demyan gestured at Pavel again, and this time the spy had an enforcer waiting in the hallway behind him to guide the two agents out of the house and off the property.

Good riddance.

Demyan was done with them.

*

He found his wife blow-drying her hair.

Demyan couldn’t help but stare at Claire’s reflection as she brushed thick strands of hair while simultaneously running a dryer over it with one of those large barrel brushes he thought could be better used for torture. The sight of her bent over in a silk robe had him standing back and grinning, unwilling to interrupt her just yet.

Gray had started to streak through her hair.

Her curves were softer.

Deeper lines found their way around her mouth and eyes when she smiled, and he loved knowing that so many of those happy moments had been because of him. He’d dared to love her, after all, and wives of men like him tended to suffer a great deal for it. Demyan made a special effort to make sure his wife never did.

She’d been his second chance ...

Everything good.

When she caught him standing at their bedroom door, she blushed before turning to him.

“Hey, you.”

“How do you do it?” he asked, stepping into the room.

Claire turned the dryer off and tossed it to the bed with the brush before smoothing her hair with her hands. “How do I do what?”

“Get more beautiful every day.”

Claire shot him a rueful smile as he came closer. “How do you still manage to make me feel like the good girl with a crush on a bad boy?”