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I snap my mouth closed.
“Don’t risk it,” he adds a bit softer. “In case anyone is listening.”
“Are you worried what your new fiancée will think if she finds out?” More venom than I expected leaks from my voice. Apparently, losing a game of musical fiancés will do that to a girl.
I use the anger to force myself back to my feet. I need to be ready for whatever is coming next.
Ivan has the audacity to chuckle. “I knew you’d be pissed about that.”
“Pissed? I’m not ‘pissed’; I’m devastated.”
“Cora.” He sighs.
The pity in his voice makes me feel physically sick. “I trusted you and you lied to me. You got engaged to the woman who wanted to kill me.”
I make it sound personal, but I’d be just as broken if he was engaged to some random girl I’d never seen before.
It wouldn’t matter who he was with—it would always feel wrong.
He should be withme.
“It’s more complicated than that. It was the only way to save your life. Why the fuck else would I ever want to be with Francia?”
Mikhail’s words in that basement dungeon come back to me.
Ivan Pushkin never gave a fuck about you, and now, he’s going to marry Francia. He said she would have been the better choice all along. You were nothing more than a distraction.
“She knows how to play the game better than I do,” I say softly. “She has connections and she wants a business arrangement. That’s what you—”
“I didn’t want you to actually answer the question. Fucking hell, Cora,” he breathes. “I’m not with her and I never will be. Not in any way that matters.”
I want those words to be true more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
But I’ve been deceived too many times. Tricked and lied to too often to trust anything.
Even Ivan.
EspeciallyIvan.
He exists in a world I barely understand. As far as I know, this could all be another manipulation.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently. “Has anyone hurt you?”
I look down at my wrists. They’ve scabbed over, though still tender to the touch. But beyond that…
“No. No one has hurt me,” I say. “Not physically.”
He breathes out and it sounds a lot like relief. That alone goes further than anything else he has said to making me believe that he actually cares.
Even if he can never love me—even if I’ll never be his wife—at least he cares whether I’m safe. That’s more than can be said for any other man in my life, including my own father.
“I’m sorry it has taken so long to get in touch with you. It took a fucking eternity just to figure out where you were being held. Then I had to get someone on the inside to make contact.”
I glance over at the maid. She is standing against the door, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Why did someone need to make contact? What is this about?”
“Because I need you to know that I’m going to get you out of there, Cora.”
