Page 19 of His Stolen Bride

I glance past him, down the hall. “With guards.”

“Yes.”

I grab a coat from the chair and follow him.

Outside, the cold air clears my head a little, and the garden is almost insulting in its calm. Gravel crunches under my shoes. The trees are trimmed, the paths clean, the fountains running. It’s all meant to say order. Control. Wealth.

I walk anyway because movement helps me think.

Enzo stays a few paces behind. Two other men hang back farther.

“You’ve been here a long time,” I say, not turning around.

Enzo gives a quiet, “Yes.”

“I’m trying to understand what I married into,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Does Mikhail always handle everything himself?”

Enzo’s footsteps keep pace. “He handles what matters.”

“And what doesn’t matter?” I ask. “Who handles that?”

“People who want to keep their jobs,” Enzo replies.

It’s not warmth, but it’s an answer.

I glance at him over my shoulder. “When he says he’ll do something tomorrow, does he mean it?”

Enzo studies me. “He means what he says.”

“Even when it benefits him?” I press.

Enzo’s mouth tightens. “Especially then.”

I turn back to the path and keep walking. “If someone tried to claim me,” I say, letting the words land carefully, “would he treat that as an insult?”

Enzo doesn’t answer immediately.

Then, “Yes,” he says. “A fatal one.”

My pulse beats harder. “So if there is another man who thinks he owns me, he’s not only a threat to me.”

Enzo doesn’t respond this time, which is a response on its own.

We walk in silence for a while. I let my mind spin through memories again, but the memories don’t cooperate. My father kept his secrets too well. All I have are half-glimpses, the way he’d step outside to answer, the way he’d go tense when the phone rang at certain hours.

When we come back inside, I ask Enzo to stop before my door.

“I’m supposed to call my mother today,” I say.

Enzo’s face stays blank. “That’s between you and him.”

I nod once. “Then tell him I’m ready.”

Enzo studies me again, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether I’m smart or dangerous.

Maybe both.

“I’ll tell him,” he says, and then he walks away.