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She appeared honest. More than that, she appeared unafraid. But that then begged the question of what he should do with her ability to handle herself under pressure? Was it a signal that there was more to how she’d ended up on that chair, or was she simply her father’s daughter? Dmitri had never heard any rumor that old man Kumarin would hand over power to anyone but his until-recently wayward son, but that didn’t mean that the plan hadn’t been put in place. The mantle of succession must pass from blood to blood. Could Semyon be feeling the centuries he had ruled as the head? Could this be a test for her to prove herself worthy of shouldering responsibility?
There was something about her, that much was for certain. The steadiness of her gaze on his, perhaps. Whatever the truth was, it was evident she knew how to play the game. Staying guarded as needed, thanking him for performing small favors to test the waters. Letting him see that she hadn’t been thrown by him touching her. Hinting she was aware he’d only put her hair up to see what she would do. If she’d snapped at him, it would have shown a different side to her than what her acceptance had; an acceptance that had made him none the wiser of how to read her intentions.
He could simply ask her, but revealing what was troubling him too early might backfire. If she was brought into his home as a plant, and if she was meant to bring further chaos by forcing a confrontation between the families, then it didn’t matter if he asked her point blank.
She’d lie. He had a feeling she’d be good at it.
“What’s your relationship with Gregor?”
She gave him a long look. “I want to stab him in the eye.”
“Before he brought you here, I mean.”
“He was my intended.”
Dmitri was surprised at this. News of prospected bonds had a way of trickling down the grapevine, into the ear of everyone in the community, but especially everyone within the three families. When one of the children of a ruling head was mated, it affected the future of everyone, even if they weren’t directly involved. Family relations were closely monitored. Why hadn’t this bond been widely spread? What the fuck was actually going on here?
“Really?” he asked slowly, uncrossing his arms to look less defensive. It would make him seem more open up to the topic, make her relax. Simple intrigue, that was all this was. He just wanted to know more. Wanted to know everything. Especially how a high-rolling gambler like Gregor landed himself the daughter of Semyon Kumarin.
“The bond was fairly new,” she said. “Couple of months.”
“But you’d been together for…?”
“A year.”
She said the two words in such a clipped way it made him think it had been a mostly good year. She hadn’t seen this coming. Unless she was putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. He wasn’t very easily suckered. Better to press on with this line of questioning.
“And how did you two lovebirds meet?”
She stayed silent again, eyes not leaving his as she weighed her options. He got the feeling that anything coming out of her mouth would be at least some semblance of truth. She must be somewhat aware of how good he was at spotting a liar. It came with the profession and his position within it.
She shifted slightly on the chair, moving both her tied up wrists and ankles into a different angle, signaling quietly how she wanted him to untie her. They weren’t quite there yet.
“We met at a disco,” she muttered.
“Excuse me, a what now?”
“Adisco,” she repeated, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance that was rather terribly exciting.
She could be rattled. Or at least shaken out of her rigidity. There was truth there. Self-control only stretched so far unless one was borderline psychopathic. She hadn’t cried or pleaded with him, so he’d begun to wonder, but this… This reaction was something he could work with.
“I didn’t know there were still discos around,” he offered, keeping his tone light.
“Oh, yeah, they host a few downtown once or twice a week,” she said, tone as light.
“So, he asked you to dance?”
“Bought me a drink.”
“How excruciatingly predictable.”
Her brows furrowed softly, as though she wanted to nod in agreement but was keeping herself from it under his judgmental commentary. Strange for a woman who had just told him she wanted to stab the man in question in the eye. Of course, he could tell it wasn’t loyalty to the other, but defiance of him. This wasn’t meant to be his narrative to control, but her story to tell—he should let her tell it. He couldn’t discern if she was a control freak or simply deeply arrogant, expecting him to shut up and listen, getting impatient with him when he wouldn’t. Still, he held his hands up in surrender, offering her a small smile for her to continue.
“He bought me a drink, but it wasn’t what I wanted. He told me to try it anyway. It surprised me. And that was that. We had a good chat—all very predictable—and ended up in bed.”
“And it was good, I take it.”
“It wasfantastic.”
