Page 23 of Cruel Romeo

Kira’s smile is thin and false. “Of course.”

He strides off without another word. I’m left with Kira, who turns to me with that same brittle expression.

“Well then,” she says. “Let’s begin.”

The tour is thorough, but not friendly.

“This is the sitting room.”

“This is the formal dining room.”

“This is the informal dining room.”

There are so many rooms, I lose count. All of them are decorated in the same gloomy, expensive style: dark wood, velvet, gloom.

On top of that, every space I visit is clean to the point of obsession. Not a speck of dust, not a mote. It’s like no one actuallyliveshere. When I can’t find a single abandoned remote, I start to think I’m being pranked. Or shown a model home, a replica for the real thing—some castle deep in the mountains of Transylvania.

Kira pauses by a floor-to-ceiling window that looks over a garden. That, too, looks fake. But the roses are in full bloom, and fake doesn’t mean ugly.

“You must be thrilled,” she remarks with a hidden edge. “Most girls don’t marry into this much power.”

I blink at her. “Excuse me?”

She turns to face me, folding her arms. “You can drop the act. You married him, didn’t you? I’m sure the money and the title helped soften the blow.”

I almost laugh out loud. “You really think I did this for the money?”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Didn’t you?”

I think of the velvet-lined chapel. Of Ivan dragging me to the altar. Of the weight of a thousand eyes on me as I said vows I didn’t choose. Of the gunmen posted at every exit.

I think of how close I’d come to running. How badly I still want to.

“No,” I say flatly. “I didn’t.”

Kira doesn’t respond. She just leads me down one more hallway and stops in front of a double door with intricate carvings.

She throws it open and gestures for me to enter.

“This is the master bedroom,” she says. “Petyr’s room. Yours now, I suppose.”

I step inside. The air smells like cedar and clean linen. The bed is, well, massive—needs room for both Petyr and his ego, I presume—with heavy wooden posts and bloodred sheets to match the rest of the house. There’s a fireplace, bookshelves towering to the ceiling, and a private ensuite bathroom I can see through the open door.

I hear Kira behind me. “Get comfortable.” A faint note of mockery colors her voice. “Though I guess that won’t be a problem, will it?”

Before I can answer, she’s gone, the door closing with a soft but finalclick.

For the first time in hours, I’m alone again.

Thank God.

I let myself exhale. Once, twice, until I feel like my lungs are mine again.

Then I take in the room. The opulence, the pristineness of it. The walls, tall and covered in books, feel like they’re pressing in from every side. My pulse is thudding in my ears, and for a second, I swear the air tilts around me.

I stumble to the bed and sit down slowly, half-expecting the mattress to be as hard and foreboding as everything else in this mausoleum of a house. Instead, I sink into somethingsoft. Luxurious. The sheets are like cream against my palms, smooth and cool to the touch.

The contrast stuns me. Everything in this place is sharp corners, and yet the bed—hisbed—is the only thing that feels like it wants to hold me.