She turned sharply.
“You’re going to think this means I’m settling in. That I’m accepting it. That I’m, I’m,” she broke off, frustrated. “That I’m yours.”
“You are mine,” I said calmly, and her eyes flashed with anger.
“On paper.”
“In reality.”
“You don’t own me.”
“I never said I did.”
“You imply it.”
“I am simply protecting what’s mine.”
“I am not an asset or an object you possess, Fyodor. You need to stop treating me like territory.”
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I could see that she hated that it had. She hated that she was shaken, and she hated most of all that her body had not resisted. I stood slowly, giving her space but not retreating.
“You think I don’t understand what this does to you?” I asked.
“No,” she said immediately. “You don’t.”
“You feel betrayed by yourself.”
Her expression froze. “Please stop.”
“You feel like your body sided with the enemy.”
“Stop.” She said again, her voice slightly louder this time.
“You feel like that makes you weak.”
“Enough.” Her voice echoed off the glass, heavy silence settling between us again.
“I am not confused,” she said through clenched teeth.
“You are, because you’re starting to understand something you don’t want to.”
“And what’s that?” she snapped.
“That you’re not counting the days anymore until you can walk out of here.”
“I am absolutely counting the days until my brothers come to rescue me,” she said coldly. “I am counting the days until they tear this place apart. Every guard, every door, and every wall, and you will not be able to stop them.”
“I’m aware.”
That made her pause. “Then why are you so calm?”
Because panic wouldn’t change the outcome, and fear didn’t suit me. Because the only thing that truly unsettled me was standing three feet away from a woman who was beginning to fracture between loyalty and desire.
“Because I am prepared for war,” I said simply.
“You’re being arrogant if you think you can win against the Chernykhs. And what happened between us tonight doesn’t give you permanence.”
“I’m aware.”
