Page 93 of Point of No Return

Her frown remains, green eyes flashing: “Not particularly.”

I bull-doze forward. “I think you’d get bored if we weren’t always at each other’s throats.” My eyes dip to her mouth as I say it, and I realize just how much I’m dying to taste her again.

Her breath catches, just the slightest inhale, but it all but confirms my theory: She wants this just as badly as I do.

So say it,I dare her.

Her eyes rake over me, catching on my tattoos before meeting my heated gaze again. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

She twists on her heel, leaving me alone and all too tempted to chase after her. Maybe I’ll throw her over my shoulder and fuck the truth out of her. But that has to wait. Even if she never forgives me for tonight, there’s no changing what I have to do.

A servant greets me at the door, bowing as they allow me inside. Firelight streams in through the living room, the only source of light, and the darkness is so at odds with what I remember from my last visit.

“She’s just this way,” the servant directs me down the hall.

Meaning Charles Orlova won’t be joining us tonight. I smile to myself. The woman pulling the strings has come out to play after all. I only hope she knows who she’s toying with.

The servant leads me down the white and black checkered hall toward the study where we dined before. The fire casts a faint red glow over the leather sofa and Eva sits cross-legged in the middle of it, twirling a glass of wine filled nearly to the brim. Plates chock full of food sit at the table, but I think we both know I have no intention of staying.

“Skar.” Her voice is sickly sweet. “Please. Sit.” She motions to the chair opposite her without looking at me.

“You know why I’m here” is all I say, not making any move closer.

Her answering sigh is heavy, and with it, the facade slips away. “I’ve been wondering when you might come and visit.”

“Then we can skip the bullshit,” I stroll toward the sofa, unbuttoning my suit jacket as I sit back and watch her.

She’s smiling, and she takes a long draw of her wine, twirling a strand of faux-black hair around her finger. “What is it you think you want, Oskar?”

“I want to know what it is that my father promised you in exchange for her hand in marriage.”

Eva turns toward me, leaning back fully as she assesses me in the lowlight. “Have you tired of her already?”

The fucking gall of this woman.

“The exchange,” I repeat, which only seems to amuse her more.

“I thought we were skipping the bullshit.” She swallows another slow sip of wine. “You already bought my dear husband out of any contractual obligations just before Tyson died. Which means that you must know what she’s been traded for.”

Traded for.

Anger simmers beneath my skin, ready to make an appearance, but I contain it.

She continues, “Which means you also know my family has little need of your money.”

I tip my chin toward her. “You’re right. I’m not here for that.”

Her teeth are too-white as her lips pull back in a near-snarl. “You know… your father and I were quite close once upon a time. He confided in me a time or two. I know how taxing losing Lorelai was for him,” she picks at her dark nails, looking bored. “Losing the mother of your children like that.”

I prepared myself to hear many things tonight, but the mention of my mother is not one of them.

“I never did like the way he talked about her. Never knew whether he was glad when she was finally gone.” My anger rolls into a boil. “You’re aware of how she died, aren’t you? You found her- all cut up like that. Horrible.”

Eva swallows a smile, spinning the stem of her glass. It’s enough confirmation for me to realize two things: It was not just a coincidence my father married me to a Prevyain woman. And my mother’s killer is not the person who slit her throat. The realization burns, but I reveal nothing.

“We required assurances, of course. You of all people should know that nothing comes free.”

My marriage isn’t just about money. It isn’t just about politics. My father married me off as payment for killing my mother.

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