Page 107 of Marrying the Savage

The woman’s gaze snaps to me. And freezes.

There is no warmth in it. None. Not even the polite curiosity people usually offer the newly arrived catastrophe in the family.

Her eyes drop to my hand, to the ring tied there, then lift to my face. Something hardens.

I stand, careful not to look toward the edge. “He was not near the railing.”

“That is not the point.” Her voice is controlled, but barely.

I keep mine gentle because there’s a child between us, and he’s watching with wide eyes. “He was playing quietly. I was with him.”

“I didn’t ask you to supervise my son.”

Ah. My son. So this is Grigori’s wife. The realization arrives with a small, unpleasant click.

I look at her properly now. The expensive coat. The guarded expression. The way she reaches for Maksim and pulls him against her side as if I’m a threat wearing borrowed green wool and a ring big enough to sink a small boat.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know he wasn’t allowed out here.”

“You are new. There is much you don’t know.”

The words are not loud. They don’t need to be.

Maksim looks up at her. “Mama, Sofia helped General Pepper.”

“That is enough.”

His little face falls. I hate that.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I say before I can stop myself. “I was the adult here. If there was a rule, I should have asked.”

Her gaze returns to me, cold as the sea below. “Yes,” she says. “You should have.”

The silence after that is awful.

Maksim clutches General Pepper to his chest.

I feel suddenly, sharply out of place. Which is ridiculous because I have been out of place since I wrote Damir’s name on that envelope, but this is different. This woman belongs here. She knows the rules. The dangers. The locked doors. The men. The history.

I am the intruder in the borrowed dress. The woman whose arrival came with blood.

“I’m Sofia,” I say, because apparently I enjoy humiliation in fresh flavors.

“I know who you are.”

Of course she does. The whole city probably knows who I am now. The runaway bride. The stolen wife. The woman who married Damir Volodin while another man bled on the church floor.

She takes Maksim’s hand. “Come.”

“But, Mama⁠—”

“Now.”

He gives me a helpless little look over his shoulder as she leads him away.

I lift a hand in goodbye. He lifts General Pepper in response.

Then they’re gone.