“I only realised afterwards what a risk you took for me, and then I made it even worse.”
That’s an accurate portrayal of the situation, but hardly the whole picture since I’d have sold my soul and all my organs, to any entity willing to buy them, to get her free.
“I bet Aleksandr was angry.”
“Mm.” I make a non-committal noise.
“Something happened?” Her brows lower in concern.
“It’s nothing,” I reassure her. Nothing she should worry about, anyway.
“It’s obviously not nothing!” she squeaks.
“It really…” Her expression is so distressed I stop.
I consider lying, but there’s no point.
“He stole my jet in retaliation.” I paid a fortune for the night with Taylor, but apparently that wasn’t enough. “The shipment I sent him thinking we might be able to keep to the deal went ‘missing’, and there was a small poisoning incident for the crew as well?—”
“Oh my god!” Her horror is writ large on her sweet face.
“But Russians are so bad at surface contaminant poisoning, everyone is fine. They were in the hospital in intensive care for a while, but?—”
“This all happened because of me!”
“No. No,” I say abruptly. “Aleksandr was going to come for me eventually. He just wanted to make his point. Message received. I’ll stay out of his territory from now on.”
“Stick to the London Maths Club and kissing babies?” She smiles wanly.
“Yes.” And stalking her. That’s my obsession.
“You told me they were all wife guys, you didn’t tell me they were allbabyguys, too,” she teases. The party goes on around us, but all I can see is Taylor, and she’s only looking at me. “They were all talking about babies over dinner. Canary Wharf’s wife is pregnant. Again.”
“Please pass on my congratulations.” I can’t quite summon a smile.
“You sound sort of… Strangled.” She furrows her brow with curiosity.
I consider for a second, then go with honesty. “I guess jealousy can do that.”
The statement hangs in the air, held up by the music—a pop song I’m too old to recognise that’s something about love—the warmth of the room, and the lines of tension between us.
“Me too,” she murmurs, and my heart skips.
“You want a baby?”
“A family of my own.” She huffs. “Not very likely. I think I’ll just end up as weird Aunty Taylor. A cat lady.”
Her bottom lip trembles, and I realise that I haven’t asked the important question here. I let her distract me with small talk.
“How are you readjusting?” I remember London being a shock compared to being part of Volk, and I had a lot more power than Taylor does. “Are you okay?” I lower my voice. “I mean, really?”
16
TAYLOR
I don’t think anyone has asked me that, and emotions rush up. Because no. I don’t think I’m okay.
“I feel like a helium balloon let go of, outdoors. Floating away on the breeze, nothing to define me. Like I want someone to hold me down.” I blush when our eyes meet, because the last person to hold me down was Kon, and I liked it.
