Page 83

She chokes, hand on her throat. “Oh no.”
“We can recoup our losses there, though. I don’t understand how it’s enough to?—”
“Shut up,” Mother snaps. Her fingers tense, as if she’s keeping herself from slapping her palm over my mouth. “We cannot discuss this here.”
“What else is going on?” Because it’s not just a bad investment. It can’t be.
“For the love of god, Zarina,not here.”
“Then where!?” I throw up my hands.
Behind Mother, Marcus rounds the corner at the end of the hall. My arm drops, and every instinct inside me screamsdanger. I search the long corridor, paying attention for the first time. It’s lined in doors, none of them marked as a restroom, which means no one will be coming here from the party.
Knowledge settles into my bones, heavy as lead. Mother brought me here for him. And I followed without a second thought. Naïve trust. Stupidity. Wishful thinking. Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now. Marcus is here, standing behind Mother with an empty hallway closing in all around us.
A smug grin stretches his lips. “Hello, ladies.”
ZARINA
“Marcus, dear.” Mother turns to greet him with open arms, welcoming the interruption like it’s expected. “You’re simply dashing this evening.”
“Thank you.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, holding my gaze the whole time. “I couldn’t help but dress to match my fiancée.”
“You two make quite the pair.” Mother looks between us like we’re the apple of her eye, and I hold back a snort.
“Who’s your fiancée?” I fake ignorance. “I haven’t seen any bridge trolls in attendance tonight.”
“Zarina Giovanna,” Mother chastises.
Marcus shakes his head, faux fondness on his face but a malicious glint in his eye. “I very much enjoy our verbal sparring. I think I’ll enjoy it when we’re married even more.”
Mother pats my arm. “I must return to your father, you know how he gets when he drinks champagne.”
I grab hold of her wrist with the same strength and grip she always uses on me, my nails digging in between the tendons. She cannot leave me here alone. With him. “I’ll come with. There’s a sur?—”
“I was hoping to speak with you,” Marcus says, and despitethe innocence of his words, goose bumps prickle over my nape. The emptiness of the hallway becomes tangible in the way it compresses the air around me. I can hardly breathe.
“You already have.” I try to push Mother toward the door, me with her.
But she pats my hand, forcibly removing it from her wrist. “Zarina, don’t be rude to your guests.”
“Now he’s a guest?” I snap.
She steps out of reach. “Don’t be too long, hm? There are the toasts to give.”
Mother slips through the door, the noise of the party clattering against my ears. It echoes discordantly off the walls, into the carpet. I don’t spy Pat through the crack of the door, can’t depend on them to protect me. I let my hand fall to my skirt and sink surreptitiously into my pocket, through the hole I cut at the bottom, to grasp the handle of the knife sheathed at my thigh.
The door shuts again, and Marcus’s friendly demeanor drops immediately. “Alone at last.”
“Speak your piece,” I say. Even though I know this will be more than a conversation.
His gaze ravages me as effectively as his hands could, promises of violence and malice dancing behind his eyes. For him, this is fun, a bit of foreplay before the main event. If I could vomit on command, I would.
He finally speaks. “You clean up well for a bridge troll.”
“Flattery won’t earn you safe passage,” I quip.
“Would you prefer force?”