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“Bunny, look. I can explain. I had to leave, because—”
Just then, a delighted squeal shatters his sentence. I turn to see Emiliana bounding toward us, her dark curls bouncing with each step. My little girl, the jewel I have shielded from prying eyes. Panic grips my heart.
“Mamma, dance with me!” she cries, grabbing my hand. I freeze, pulse racing. Does she not realize the risk? I fight the urge to sweep her away, shield her from his penetrating gaze.
“Emiliana, my love, not just now,” I say lightly, though my muscles are coiled tight. Casually, carefully, I angle my body to block her from Mikhail’s view.
But his sharp eyes miss nothing. They flick between us, and I see the curiosity forming behind his impassive facade. Fear trickles down my spine like icy water.
“Go on now, I’ll dance with you later,” I urge gently, nudging Emiliana back toward the tables. With a pout, she obeys. I resist the urge to watch her retreat, keeping my focus on Mikhail. His expression reveals nothing, yet tension crackles in the air between us. I force a blithe smile, praying he does not probe further. Not yet.
His eyes bore into me, unrelenting in their silent interrogation. I tilt my chin up and meet his gaze unflinchingly. Let him scrutinize all he wants. I am an impenetrable fortress.
“She seems a lively child,” he remarks casually, though we both know his words are loaded.
“Yes, quite spirited,” I reply lightly.Reveal nothing.
“Hmm.” He pauses, considering. “I don’t believe I caught her full name.”
“Emiliana Genovese.”
“The father?”
My pulse jumps, but I keep my tone breezy. “Oh, I really must go before she causes trouble.” I pull away, pointing at her as she tries to load a pile of deserts onto her plate. “She’s going to get that cake all over her! You know how children are, darting about, causing a mess!”
I force out a tinkling laugh. His eyes narrow slightly at my evasion. I curse inwardly but maintain my facade of nonchalance.Give him no cracks to pry open.
“She reminds me of someone I once knew,” he says quietly. Too quietly. “The shape of her eyes…”
Panic surges within me. No. He cannot put these pieces together, not here, not now. I must divert him at all costs.
“Oh look, she’s dropping it on her dress!” I exclaim with feigned motherly anxiety. “I simply must be with her.”
Before he can react, I slip out of his arms and melt into the crowd, pulse racing. I’ve evaded his questions, but for how long?
I weave through the crowded dance floor, heart pounding as I reach for Emiliana. There—by the dessert table, popping chocolate truffles into her mouth. Relief floods me. I hurry over and grab her hand firmly.
“Come along,tesoro,” I say with forced lightness. “It’s getting rather late for you.”
Her face falls. “But, Mamma, I want to stay! The party’s just starting.”
“No arguments,” I reply sharply, already steering us toward the exit. I feel Mikhail’s eyes boring into my back as we leave.Just get through this night.
We’re nearly to the door when a tall figure steps into our path—my father, glowering down at me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands. “The festivities have barely begun.”
I affect a pathetic cough. “Papa, I’m feeling faint. I think I need to lie down.”
His eyes narrow, seeing through my flimsy ruse. “You will do your duty to this family,” he hisses under his breath.
In response, I cough harder and sink gracefully to the floor in a swoon. Theatrics, but necessary.
“Caterina!” My father bends down in concern. The crowd murmurs. Perfect.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” I whisper weakly. “I just need rest before tomorrow…”
Cursing, he helps me up. I limp convincingly to the exit. Escape, for now. But the web tightens by the hour.
