Page 108 of A Love Most Fatal

“He’s got power,” I say simply. “People. Bodies. They’re in markets we haven’t even thought to touch.” I’m unsure why I have to defend myself to him. He may be a friend, but he’s related by marriage, not blood and though we are allies, he cannot pretend to have control over my dealings.

He smiles like I’m playing a joke on him, but when I remain silent his face falls again. He goes preternaturally still. “You’re not serious.”

“What part of my situation is unserious to you, Cillian?”

Cillian blinks, then pushes shut the library door so it’s quieter. I still hear faint noise of the festivities beyond.

“This is a horrible idea,” he says, and I cross my arms over my chest.

I wonder how many more people will be chomping at the bit to tell me the same thing before the night is over, before I marry Maxim in a month’s time.

“You know nothing about the man,” Cillian says.

“I know enough.”

“He’s an Orlov, darling. He’s a loose cannon. How can you be sure he won’t take everything from you?”

“There are safeguards in place,” I say. “It’s in both of our best interests if he doesn’t. I trust that.”

“Don’t be stupid, Vanessa. Why him? Why now?”

“You know I’ve been searching for a husband; this isn’t news to you.”

“So that the neighborhood mammies stop bothering you? Please, you have more power than a gaggle of sixty-year-old women.”

“It’s not just that?—”

“Is this about Washington Street? Because that’s just a minor setback, just a team of thugs trying to make you sweat, how do you know that wasn’t Orlov’s guys trying to make you feel desperate? He could take everything?—”

“If I don’t marry him, there will be nothing to take!”

We fall silent following my outburst, and I try to maintain my composure. I shouldn’t have to defend myself to him, not when he knows as well as me what we’ve been going through all summer.

“Marry me instead.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“No, I mean it,” Cillian stands taller. “I will treat you well, I respect you, I care about you already, you can trust me more than a stranger.”

“And what of all your women?”

“What about them?”

“You cannot be married to me while keeping up the revolving door of beautiful strangers coming into your home.” He opens his mouth to rebut, but I go on. “And I’ve told you that as your friend I would never ask you to commit yourself to a loveless partnership.”

“You have no such reservations for the Russian.”

“He knows what he’s getting into. It’s as worthwhile for him as it will be for me.” My heart is too tender now to imagine that I’ll ever be in love again, but maybe there will one day be tenderness for Maxim. Over time, maybe. “Now, if you’ll excuse?—”

“And what if there could be love?”

I halt my exit and turn back to him. With just the low yellow lamp light illuminating his bright blue eyes he looks like a man possessed. A section of his blond hair has escaped the gel and hangs over his forehead.

“I have always admired you and that respect has turned to friendship. Why couldn’t it also turn to love?”

I’m speechless for once, imagining it again. First a wedding, companionship instead of just partnership, eventually intimacy when a child is needed. But love? The thought slashes through my abdomen, a reminder of who I really want this with, who would be my pick over all of them if I could only be right for him.

“We could be so good together,” Cillian insists. “I’ve been trying to tell you. To show you.”

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