Page 70 of Marrying the Savage

“Don’t joke.”

“I joke when traumatized.”

“You joke when awake.”

“Also true.”

There’s a rustle on her end, then a door closing, then her voice drops. “Where are you? Are you safe? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Do you need me to call someone? I don’t know who I can call because every person we know is either afraid of him, paid by him, or currently trying to understand how your wedding became a hostage opera, but I will call someone.”

I close my eyes. For a second, all the sharp edges inside me soften. “I’m okay.”

“You are not okay. You married Damir Volodin.”

“Yes, but apart from that.”

“Sofia.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know. Nobody knows. The whole city is losing its mind. Katya called me six times after we were sent home. Mila is convinced you have either been kidnapped into a sex dungeon or installed as queen of the underworld.”

“I’m in a bedroom.”

“That doesn’t eliminate either possibility.”

I glance toward the door. Closed.

I look at the corners of the room, then at the ceiling, as if I might spot a little black listening device blinking at me. The house is too quiet, too controlled. I have no idea whether this phone is clean. I have no idea whether anyone is listening. I have no idea whether Damir is the type to allow privacy or the type to offer it as bait.

Probably both.

“I don’t know if anyone can hear this,” I say carefully.

Anya goes silent.

Then, very softly, “Understood.”

“That being said,” I continue, because caution and I have a complicated relationship, “I need you to find out something.”

“If you ask me for divorce lawyers, I’m going to kiss you.”

“Not yet.”

“Tragic. What do you need?”

I stare at the water beyond the window, black and restless beneath the cliff.

“His wife.”

Another silence. This one colder.

“Whose wife?” Anya asks, though we both know.

“Damir’s.”

“I didn’t know he had one.”

“Neither did I.” My fingers tighten around the phone.