Page 60 of Vendetta Crown

The simplicity of the cleverness to her idea is impressive.

"And naturally, their husbands would accompany them to our estate."

"Exactly." Her eyes sparkle with triumph. "The wives get to have a few moments of freedom, the husbands get the cover they need to pay a visit to you, and we get to have the next round of negotiations on our terms and territory."

I pull her closer, marveling at how perfectly our minds work together. "That's brilliant,zarechka."

Aurora nestles against my chest, her warmth seeping through my suit. "I thought you might say that."

I tilt her chin up, looking into those eyes that saw through me from the very beginning. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"You might have mentioned it," she whispers, leaning in until our lips almost touch. "But I never grow tired of hearing it."

I close the gap between us as I capture her lips against mine, overcome by the fierce certainty that with Aurora at my side, nothing—not Semyon, not Kristofer, not Tamara, and not even the ghosts of my past—can stop us now.

16

AURORA

"A small selection of pastries, ladies?"

I glide through the sitting room with practiced ease, balancing the silver tray stacked with delicate French confections.

Eleonora Voronin takes a macaron, her fingers no longer trembling as they brush against the tray.

"Thank you, Aurora Markovna." Her voice carries a warmth I've never heard before. "Alexei has been different these days. More considerate. I can even leave his sight without explaining my every movement."

My chest tightens with a fierce protectiveness. "I'm glad to hear it."

"It's because of you," she whispers. "And after what your husband did to mine. Alexei now understands that there are new rules."

I fight to suppress a smile, remembering Ruslan's unspoken threat to blind Alexei if he ever ogled another man's wife again.

Anastasia Svarikov actually laughs, a sound so unexpected I nearly trip over my own feet. I remember how at my wedding, Gregor pointed out that she hasn't spoken a word since her sister's murder two years ago.

"Ivan would have given his left nut to frame that moment," she says. "Who would've thought that after all the time he's forced me to my knees, the person hereallywanted to see there was that wrinkled old pervert?"

Natasha Korsakov cackles in delight, and I notice several others hide more demure smiles behind their teacups.

Hannah chokes on her tea, clearly unprepared for what she's hearing.

"I'm sorry," Hannah splutters, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "I guess I expected you all to be more..."

"Respectful of our husbands?" offers Natasha Korsakov with a raised eyebrow.

"I was gonna say terrified of them," Hannah admits. "But yeah. That works."

"Mrs. Dragunov?"

One of the production assistants—a young man named Jerome with a clipboard—approaches with a respectful nod.

"Auditions are due to start in the next fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Jerome. I'll be right there."

I squeeze Eleonora's hand gently before rising from my seat. "Ladies, please excuse me. I have some casting to attend to."

"Will you come back afterwards?" Varya asks, looking almost disappointed.

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