Page 102 of A Love Most Fatal

Maxim says nothing for a time, which I take to be answer enough. Mary does not make herself easy to care for. This news would be refreshing if the situation wasn’t what it is.

“She’s come into my club before,” he explains, and this surprises me. Mary is the last person I would ever expect to come to a club alone, but she is a creature of many secrets, always skulking off into the night. To go clubbing, apparently. “She fascinates me, is all. It will pass.”

I don’t believe it will, but if he marries me, the object of his fascination will torment him forever. Mine will move to Connecticut. Not sure which of us is worse off.

“You can never have her if you’re with me.” I am sorry to say it.

“Of course,” he agrees. “It’s not something to worry about.”

I can sense his finality in this. Even if the discussion at hand wasn’t about our potential marriage, I wonder if he would see Mary as a viable option. She’s the blade of the family, honed to a fine point and sharp edge; she doesn’t go out of her way to be liked. In another life I might’ve enjoyed seeing this man, a decade older than her and double her size, try to win her. But we aren’t afforded a life where people like Maxim Orlov and me get to marry who we’d like.

“I’m doing what I can to keep business moving while searching for the people who want to see me fail. But until I do, this is my baggage,” I say.

“I will help you find them,” Maxim says, a new determined lilt to his voice. When I raise an eyebrow, he goes on, “It serves both of our best interests if we take them down quickly.”

Searching means more interrogations, more blood, more bodies. But he is right.

It never gets easier being the one with final say, the one who makes decisions, shakes hands, reports it to others. It’s a constant second guessing, imposter syndrome bubbling in my stomach that I must pretend doesn’t exist.

I wish again that my father was here to make this decision for me.

“You have until we announce the engagement to wrap up any romantic entanglements you may have,” I say.

He dips his chin in agreement. Steadying myself, I hold out a hand to Maxim.

“Maxim Orlov, will you marry me?”

A smile tugs on his lips. “I will,” he says, and shakes my hand.

36

VANESSA

Nate isawake when I get home, sitting at the island in the kitchen with a glass of water half empty on the counter in front of him. I can’t see Ranger but I hear his tiny snores coming from the dog bed in the living room.

A day ago he was telling me he loves me. Tonight I am engaged to someone else.

I want to retreat to avoid the conversation entirely. If I can sleep right now, it can stay a secret. If nobody knows for another six hours maybe it won’t be real until then, and maybe he won’t hate me more than he already does.

Or maybe Nate will feel relieved that he doesn’t have to go back on the promises he made last night before he knew.

I don’t know which is worse.

He looks over his shoulder at me standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” he says. It’s dark in here, dimmed cupboard lights and the moon on the countertops. It reminds me of the night of the Mayor’s Gala, the first time.

“Hi.” I make my way to the other side of the counter opposite him where we stay in silence until the sprinklers in the backyard click on.

We both start to speak at the same time and cut off. He waves at me to go first.

“I have to marry Maxim,” I say.

The look on his face is so much worse than I’d prepared for. He’s never been good at hiding how he feels—I’ve seen him angry, then nervous, then disgusted. I loved most to see him lustful, in love. He held a warm softness to his green eyes that saw his own feelings reflected in my own. Now, I see him gutted, and it turns my insides over to know I am the cause.

“Is that where you were?”

“Yes,” I say and my voice is so small.

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