Page 191 of Bride By Coronation

A tiny smile curves her lips. "You weren't."

"I'm afraid I was," I admit.

She hesitates.

"What is it, Arina?"

She stares at me for a moment. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

"Yes, but thank you. I just need to be alone."

She nods and makes herself scarce.

The flight seems to take forever. When I finally land in New York, my anxiety's at an all-time high. The claw in my gut scraped so deep during the flight that it's now raw. Worse, there are no answers to any of my problems.

I get into my SUV and direct my driver to the Marino estate. When we arrive at the gate, Dante's men glare at me.

I announce, "Kirill Petrov. I'm here to see Fiona."

"Petrov? We don't allow Petrov's on this estate." He spits on the ground, scowling.

I squeeze my fist and demand, "Call Dante."

He doesn't move. "You're not on the list. Turn around."

"I don't need to be on the list. My wife is in there, so call Dante or Bridget!" I roar.

He stays planted, his expression darkening.

"Call them now or all hell is going to break loose on this estate," I threaten.

He narrows his eyes in disgust but picks up the phone. "Sir, Kirill Petrov is here. Says he's here to see Fiona."

Silence ensues for what feels like endless moments.

"Yes, sir," he says, then hangs up the phone and presses a button. He orders, "Drive straight. Take the first curve to the right."

My driver obeys and stops next to the ornate front porch.

I jump out of the SUV, and the front door opens.

Bridget steps outside and shuts the door. She comes down the steps, glaring at me.

Shame and guilt fill me. I take a deep breath. "Bridget?—"

"She doesn't want to talk to you right now," she states.

"Please. I love her. She's my wife. I need to talk to her. I promise you, I'm not my father," I repeat for what feels like the millionth time. I blink hard, feeling like I'm going to cry, which is another thing I detest.

Men don't cry in my world.

Bridget sighs, and a flash of compassion flits over her expression. "I'm sorry, Kirill. She doesn't want to see you. I have to respect my daughter's wishes. You should go home."

Panic resurfaces. "I'm not leaving New York until Fiona's with me."

She studies me.

"Please. I love her. And if I had known what they were going to do to—" I turn my head and cover my eyes, trying to control my overwhelming guilt and shame, but I can't.

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