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For some reason, her admission feels like a lancing pain through my chest.

She regretsme.

“It wasn’t worth it,” she clarifies. “I took this job because he promised me the name, once I was done. But I failed. So I won’t get the name, and I have no idea what he’ll do to me if he finds me, but it won’t be good. It won’t be what I needed, that’s for sure. That’s if you don’t kill me first.” Her voice cracks, ever so slightly, on the last sentence. “I failed, and I won’t get what I came here for, and I opened myself up to?—”

My gaze locks onto hers again. “Up to what?”

Her face shutters. “I think you know.”

The words hang between us, fraught with everything that implies, with everything that neither of us is willing to say, filled with all the moments that we’ve shared that have made this athousand times more complicated. I think of sitting on the beach with her, of the things I’ve told her, and that lancing pain cramps my chest again.

Was that all an illusion? Or was there something genuine buried beneath the lies?

"I would have helped you," I say finally, surprising myself with the realization that it's true. "If you'd told me about your parents, about Kane's hold over you—I would have helped you find the truth. I would have helped you get free of him and found out what information it is that he has."

The shock on her face is so abrupt and clear that it can’t be anything but genuine—it mirrors, I think, the shock I feel at my admission. She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes round. “Why on earth would you have done that?”

Why, indeed? Why would I have helped her, if she’d come to me and come clean?

“Because I know what it’s like to not be able to be your own person,” I say finally. “To be burdened with expectation. To feel sometimes like there’s no way out to find your own path.”

She studies me, as if trying to determine if I'm lying. Whatever she sees in my face must convince her, because she gives a small nod.

“And now?” she asks softly. “Is it too late, now?”

I know what she’s asking. “Are you going to try to kill me again?”

She shakes her head, a quick, sharp movement.

“Are you going to try to escape, and run back to Kane?”

“Are you going to help me?” she counters. “If I go back to Kane, he’ll indenture me for years before I’ll have another shot, if I’m lucky. But with your help?—”

I can feel her waiting for my response. A thousand possibilities run through my head. I could tell her that she owes me, if I help her. Demand her submission, her obedience, herservitude to me, as my wife. Demand that she fulfill the role that she vowed she would,‘til death do us part.

But as soon as I think it, I know it’s not possible. I don’t want her like that. I wanther. And if it’s a lie, I don’t want it at all.

“I’ll help you,” I say finally. “If you’ll promise me that there will be no more attempts on my life—from you, at least—and that you won’t try to escape. We’ll need to stay here, for the time being. I have contacts, but it may take them some time to dig into your past. I’ll need your full name—your maiden name—and any information you can give me about your parents. Their names, etcetera.”

“You—” She tilts her head slightly, that surprise still written across her face. “You really mean it.”

“I do.” I stand up, taking a step back, as much for me as for her. The smell of her sugared violet perfume is becoming heady, making me respond to her in ways that aren’t productive right now.

“So what does that mean?” She looks uncertain, shifting slightly on the edge of the armchair, and there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing her on the back foot. How I feel about her doesn’t change the fact that this woman tried to kill me, and it feels good to have the upper hand for a moment.

“I’ll send a message to a trusted contact.” I retreat to the fireplace, watching as she taps her fingers against the edge of the armchair. “We’ll get some rest. And then tomorrow, we’ll come up with a plan.”

I nod toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall, and she narrows her eyes, the question plain:where are we sleeping?I chuckle darkly.

“Just because you promised you wouldn’t run doesn’t mean I’m entirely convinced,volchitsa. You’ll sleep in the same bed as me.Onlysleep,” I clarify, and I see what looks like a quick,almost imperceptible flash of disappointment in her eyes. “The charade is over. No need to pretend any longer.”

To her credit, she holds my gaze and nods. “Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you in your sleep?” she counters, and I chuckle.

“You can try, if you’re still lying to me. But you should make sure you can finish the job this time, if you do. If you try again and you fail, there will be no third chance from me, Valentina.”

Her throat contracts, and she nods. She stands up slowly, following me to the bedroom as I retrieve the duffel bag with our things. When we reach the darkened bedroom, she turns her back to me and strips off her jeans, her oversized T-shirt hanging to just below the curve of her ass. Without a word, she slips beneath the covers, her back to me as she tugs them up over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Konstantin,” she says softly, her voice a whisper in the quiet, still, humid air. I strip down to my boxer briefs and slide in next to her, leaving plenty of space between our bodies.