“I have known many cowards.”
The bitterness in his voice is quiet, but I hear it. It makes me glance back at him. For a moment, I wonder who taught him that tone. A father. A brother. A woman. Maybe all three.
I know better than to ask.
Instead, I take another bite of cake, mostly because I need something to do with my mouth that’s not telling him every humiliating detail of my life.
“He came to my room while I was packing,” I say. “The flight was supposed to be in the morning. I had clothes everywhere. My passport was on the vanity. I was trying to decide if a red dress was too much for dinner with his family.”
Roman listens without interrupting.
That’s unsettling too. Lev never listened this way. Lev waited for his turn to speak. My father listened like he was searching for weakness. Roman listens like he has all night and all the patience in the world, even though I know that cannot be true.
“He told me I should not come,” I continue. “That the trip was no longer necessary.”
Roman’s expression cools. “Coward,” he says again, softer this time.
I smile faintly, but it does not last. “I gave him back the ring.”
The memory rises before I can stop it. The weight of the diamond leaving my hand. Lev’s palm opening to receive it. His face, guilty but relieved, as if my pain was a room he could finally walk out of.
“I thought I would feel heartbroken,” I say. “Maybe I did. Maybe I still do. But mostly I felt embarrassed. I was standing there with a suitcase open, packed for a life that everyone else already knew was over.”
Roman’s hand tightens around his glass. “Everyone?”
I hesitate. This is where the truth becomes dangerous.
I’ve already told him too much, but not enough to expose myself completely. He knows I ran from a fiancé. He knows my father is controlling. He does not know the name Markov meanssomething in certain rooms. He does not know my father’s men do not wear suits because they like fashion.
He does not know I was born into the kind of family sensible people avoid. And I do not want him to. Not tonight.
“My father knew,” I say carefully.
“He knew before you?”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because alliances matter. Because daughters are useful. Because Sergei Markov can love me and still trade my future if he thinks it protects the family.
I stir the melted edge of the cake with my spoon. “My father arranged the engagement. There were reasons.”
“What kind of reasons?”
“Family reasons.”
Roman gives me a look that says he understands I’m avoiding the question.
I lift my chin a little. “You’ve already bought my ticket, pretended to be my husband, and made me scandalize an elderly passenger outside an airplane bathroom. I think that’s enough involvement in my personal affairs for one evening.”
His mouth shifts, not quite a smile. “That passenger was judging me more than you.”
“Good. You deserved it more.”
