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“No, but your grandmother does. She sent me the article.”
Ivan’s entire plan hinges on us going public with our engagement. But I was too busy running from gunfire to really think about what that would mean. About precisely who would see it.
“Does he know?”
I don’t need to specify who. She knows who I mean.
“Not yet.” She sighs. “But I have to—”
“Don’t tell him!” I hate the shakiness in my voice. How quickly the memories come flooding back. Feeling trapped and alone, terrified of what my future looked like. Whether I’d have a future at all.
“Cordelia, I can’t keep this—”
“Don’t tell him,” I repeat. “Mom…please. I’m not ready to come back.”
I’ll never be ready, but maybe, if she thinks there’s a chance, if she thinks there is a possibility I’ll come back… Maybe she’ll keep this secret.
I just need a bit more time to figure out what I’m going to do once my stepfather knows where I am.
Because the moment he finds me, he’ll try to haul me back to his house and marry me off again. If things with Ivan end and I don’t have a job lined up, I might not have another choice.
The silence on the other end of the line is deafening.
“Mom…”
“Okay,” she says softly. “I won’t say anything. But I can’t control if he finds out.”
A tiny ray of relief bursts through the gloom hanging over me. “Thank you. I just need—”
“You’ll be home one way or another,” she interrupts. “The sooner you do it, the better off we’ll all be.”
She hangs up before I can say anything. Not that there is anything to say.
I should have known he’d neveractuallylet me go.
I’m so deeply entrenched in my pity party that I don’t hear anyone come into the library. Which is why I shriek the moment Anya starts talking.
“Ivan loved the article.”
I almost flop off the chaise in my panic, but I manage to catch myself on the arm of the chair. “When did you get here?”
“Just now.” She raises her brows. “Are you okay?”
I sit up, hand pressed to my racing heart. “You scared the bejeezus out of me.”
“It’s probably because you’re sitting in this dank old room in the dark. Open some windows. Let the sunshine in.”
Anya walks around me and does just that, throwing back the thick curtains. Sunlight comes streaming in and I feel the urge to hiss like a scalded vampire.
She strokes the windowsill to inspect for dust. “Niles really is remarkably good at his job,” she comments. “No one comes in here and yet it’s still spotless.”
“The Pushkins aren’t big readers?”
She shrugs. “So many enemies to kill, so little time to read.”
“Is that common? The… the killing of—”
“I was joking.” She says it a bit too quickly and waves a hand as if to dismiss the conversation. “What are you doing here, anyway? Niles said you haven’t been downstairs all day.”
