Page 74 of Marrying the Savage

“She helped you send the invitation.”

My hand tightens around the coffee cup. So he knows.

“What do you intend to do about it?” I ask. Squash a rebellion? Kill my fire? All of the things I don’t ask him.

“She will not be harmed.”

“That was not an answer.”

“It was the relevant part.”

“I decide what is relevant to my friend.”

“You may decide many things,” he says calmly. “Security is not one of them.”

I set the coffee cup down before I throw it at him. “Is this the breakfast invitation?” I ask. “Because so far it feels more like a police interview with better china.”

“I want you to have breakfast with me.”

“Why?”

“Because we are married.”

“That seems like a reason to avoid each other until death.”

“Not in this house.”

“In this house, do wives traditionally eat with their kidnappers?”

“In this house, wives eat.” His gaze drops briefly to the plate Marina brought. “And drink coffee apparently strong enough to revive the dead.”

“That coffee is the only reason you and I are speaking civilly.”

“We are speaking civilly?”

“By my standards, yes.”

Again, the almost-smile.

I point at him. “Stop enjoying me.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

“Yes.”

I blink. He says it so calmly. Not ashamed. Not teasing exactly. Just factual, as if lying is another tailored part of the suit.

I lean back in the chair and cross my arms. “Fine. Breakfast. But if this is where you explain my duties as your wife, I should warn you that I am allergic to duties.”

“You trained to be a wife, did you not?”

The words hit harder than I expect. My humor folds inward.

I look at him. He watches me closely, and for once I hate him for noticing because I don’t have the energy to hide quickly enough.

“My uncle trained me for a lot of things,” I say.