Page 130 of Ivory Ashes

Mikhail carries Dante into the house and I slump along slowly behind them. The first day we arrived, walking into the mansion felt like walking into my own prison cell and locking the door behind me.

Now, it feels like stepping into my own coffin.

Mikhail and I just had four of the best days I’ve ever had. In my entire life. I’d naively hoped we were past the hot and cold part of our relationship. That every high didn’t need to come with an equal but opposite low. Apparently not.

Worst-case scenarios rip through my head on fast forward.

He isn’t just going to avoid me for the next few days; he’s going to kick me out of the house. Mikhail is going to annul our marriage, take custody of Dante, and boot me to the curb. He’s going to sic bloodthirsty hounds on me and feed my body to vultures and make sure all my favorite TV shows get canceled—not necessarily in that order.

The house is quiet. I assume it’s because everyone is asleep, but when I walk past the kitchen, I hear hushed voices.

“… didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow,” Anatoly whispers.

“Me, either,” Stella says. “Mr. Novikov changed our departure time. He wanted to leave as soon as possible.”

Mikhail said he has business to take care of. Is it me? Am I the business?

“You know how he gets,” Anatoly muses. “He likes to nip things in the bud as soon as possible.”

“But tonight?” Stella lets out a long sigh, her voice dropping even lower. I lean towards the doorway to hear better. “Viviana is tired. He should let her sleep before he?—”

“Did you forget something in the car, Miss?” Pyotr asks.

I practically jump out of my skin, yelping and stumbling into the doorway in full view of Stella and Anatoly.

The two of them are huddled over the island. When they see me, they spring away from each other.

Pyotr is standing in the entryway, smiling and completely oblivious.

“No, I didn’t forget anything,” I mumble before rushing down the hall to the living room.

I try to sit on the sofa, but my body is buzzing. I can’t relax. What was Stella going to say? Mikhail should let me sleep before he…?

Murders me?

Breaks up with me?

Ties me up in the dungeon and tortures me?

The plausible options aren’t great. What’s even worse is that I’m not sure which of them is the most terrifying.

The possibility that this could have something to do with Trofim’s murder isn’t off the table, but I don’t know how I’d ask about that without putting the idea into Mikhail’s head that I have something to do with Trofim’s murder.

When Mikhail walks into the living room, I’m a bundle of exposed nerves. My hands are shaking and my stomach twists. I feel sick.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says. “It’s been a long weekend and I know you’re tired, but?—”

“I should go to bed,” I blurt. “We both should. I’m not in the right headspace to talk. We should do this in the morning.”

Yes, my life crumbling around me will feel better in the morning.

He shakes his head. “No. We’re doing it tonight. It’s important.”

My throat closes up. I seriously consider stuffing my fingers in my ears and singing la la la until he goes away. Would that work? I guess you never know until you try.

My fingers twitch towards my ears just as Mikhail continues. “I have a gift for you.”

I freeze. “A gift?”

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