Page 139 of Bride By Coronation

"Thank a Petrov?" Dante seethes.

"Yes. Thank my husband," I add, pissed at this entire situation. I'm not going to allow them to disrespect Kirill.

They glare more daggers at me, so I return to staring out the window.

Time passes slowly. There's finally a knock on the glass.

Dante opens the door.

Patrick informs us, "You're free to go upstairs."

"How many did you find?" Dante asks.

"Eight."

"Eight?" Mom frets.

Dante clenches his jaw, gets out, then reaches in for Mom. She takes his hand and slides out. I follow, and we get into the elevator.

The ride upstairs is just as tense. Relief hits me when the doors open. I brush past them, happy to be out of the small box, inhale the fresh air, and continue into the main living area.

Dante tells Mom, "I need to deal with security. I'll be back later." He kisses Mom on the cheek and then turns to me. "Fiona, as angry as I am with you, I need to ensure you're okay. Did he do anything to you? Did he..." Dante swallows hard.

Appalled, I claim, "No! Stop insinuating Kirill is a vile man. Just because he's a Petrov doesn't mean that he does the things that his family members do."

Dante's eyes narrow.

Mom puts her hand on his arm. "Go take care of security."

He hesitates.

She adds, "Please go. I need to speak with Fiona alone."

He gives me a disappointed look, shakes his head again, and disappears.

I go over to the window and cross my arms, staring out at the blinking lights of the city.

Mom steps next to me, repeating the same question. "How did this happen, Fiona?"

I close my eyes, wishing this were a bad dream I could wake up from. I knew it wouldn't be pretty, but this is worse than I imagined.

She pushes, her voice turning emotional again, "Fiona, how did you end up married to a Petrov?"

I open my eyes. "Mom, there are things I can't tell you. I wish I could, but I can't."

Her expression morphs from one of confusion and concern to one of anger. "Don't you dare use the same tired rhetoric Sean and Zara used on me."

I'm assaulted by another wave of guilt. When they initially got married and couldn't tell me anything, I was hurt like Mom. Now, things make sense, even though I still have a thousand questions running through my mind about The Underworld and the intricate workings of the secret organization my father created.

Mom warns, "I mean it, Fiona."

I spin away from her, feeling hot and needing space. I walk across the room, remove my coat, and put it on the couch. I slip into the kitchen and say, "I'm having a glass of wine. Do you want one?" even though I assume it's past midnight.

She doesn't answer.

"Yes or no?" I call out as I grab two glasses.

She paces the penthouse.

---