Page 82 of Dark King Daddy

I blinked.

“Yes.”

“Then Ilya follows your instructions inside the site.”

A pause.

“Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll see you this evening.”

The radio went dead. I handed it back to Ilya, who looked faintly confused, as though the universe had deviated from a script he had memorized.

“Ms. Orlova,” he said. “I’ll follow your instructions inside the site.”

“Thank you, Ilya. You can stand near the east entrance. It has the best sightlines.”

He moved without further protest.

I stood at the base of the scaffold and stared at the radio in Ilya’s hand. He had asked. Not ordered. Not overridden. Not used my safety as a pretext for control. He had asked whether I considered the structure safe, taken my answer, and deferred.

Zoe appeared at my elbow with two cups of coffee.

“Was that your terrifying husband on the radio?”

“He asked whether the scaffold was safe.”

“And?”

“I said yes. And he told Ilya to follow my instructions.”

Zoe handed me the coffee. She waited.

I drank. The coffee was too hot and slightly bitter and exactly what I needed.

“So,” Zoe said. “The wedding night.”

“No.”

“Ksenia.”

“Zoe, no.”

“I bought you a dress. I stood in a church. I watched you marry a man you have wanted for years. I am owed details. Lurid details.”

“You are owed nothing.”

“I am owed something. A crumb? A fragment? A single adjectival phrase?”

I looked at her. She looked back with the particular patience of a woman who had known me for seven years and could wait longer than I could resist.

“He found me Little.”

Zoe’s eyes widened.

“When?”