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Yet he said nothing. Why? He turns away, denying me the chance to discern anything from his expression. His posture is just as inscrutable.
“Did you speak to him?” he wonders. “Or maybe you made a deal? He’d treat you to a nicer cage if you traded yourself in return. Was he the one who served you up to Nikolaus—”
“Why are you so concerned about me and other men?” I find myself blurting. “Even my husband wasn’t that possessive.”
It’s a lie, but Mischa chuckles nonetheless. “Possessive? Oh, no, Little Rose. I’m on my guard.”
The look in his eye chills me to the core.
Licking my lips, I risk asking, “What could I possibly do to you?”
The answer is obvious without him having to say it: nothing.
Right now, I couldn’t even slap him if I wanted. Already, I’m doubting that I’ll have the strength necessary to return to my room without his help.
Lost in self-pity, I almost miss his genuine chuckle.
“What could you do?” His eyes narrow and focus inward at something only he can see. Finally, he grits his teeth. “A woman like you can do more damage alone than a thousand Robert Winthorps. Do you want to know how?” He pauses for a second before answering himself. “Because you can sneak into someone’s fucking head and twist it. You play them like little puppets. Don’t you?”
Denying him would only set him off. I can see it, the anger lying in wait, anticipating the second I’ll light the fuse. With Robert, I’d know exactly what role to play and what words to say.
With Mischa? I can only act on instinct and hope for the best.
“I want to ask you something,” I tell him. “And if you answer me honestly, I’ll forget how you’ve insulted me. I won’t mention Robert again and I swear that I’ll respect whatever boundaries you set—”
“And there you go,” Mischa growls. “Trying to get inside my fucking head!”
“A question,” I say calmly in the wake of his shouts. “Just one. What did I do to make you so goddamn angry? Do you even know?”
His nostrils flare as he pushes back from the desk. Deliberately, his hands flex in and out of fists, and I tense in anticipation of his next move. To hit me?
“Why?You,” he finally admits. He approaches me and flicks his finger along my jaw once he’s close enough. “You made me so goddamn angry—”
“Tell me why.” I bite back another phrase.Use your big words.It’s what Mother would sternly encourage Briar during the worst of her tantrums.Speak. Explain.“Just say it!”
“Fine.” He frowns, still stroking alongside my chin. “Did you mean it?” There’s no anger in his voice. Just cold curiosity.
“Mean what?”
“Those things you said to Nikolaus. About me.”
“W-what?” I rack my brain, fighting to remember. “Oh,” I rasp as my own boasts come back to haunt me:You are half the man Mischa is.Fire floods my cheeks as I recall the other things I said—to save my life. Did I mean them? “I…”
“And there you go.” He sinks down into a crouch and grips my chin, forcing me to face him directly. “Playing your mind games again.”
“And what if I did?” I say. “What if I meant them?”
His mocking sneer falls flat, and he stands, withdrawing his hand. “Then I’d know you really were a goddamn liar.”
“And you?” Consequences aside, I reach out, grasping his forearm. To my surprise, he doesn’t wrench away. Yet. “For all your talk of hating me and how fucking awful I am, why do you even care? Are you jealous of him? Of Robert?”
He laughs. “Oh, Little Rose. I wouldn’t get any cute ideas. I would be wary of you even if you weren’t his wife.” His tone is too smug.
Experience warns me not to challenge him. The words are already out of my mouth regardless. “Why then?”
“Why?” He brings his face close to mine, inhaling my scent. “Because of who your mother is, Little Rose. I’ve heard the stories… But I’m not allowed to mention her, am I?”
I can’t disguise the pain constricting my face. Satisfied, he turns away, another battle won.
