Page 31 of Seduction (Wicked Vows)

“Wow,” I say as we warm up with a casual jog, trying to shake off the tension. “It’s so bright already.”

“In the summer, the sun rises in Moscow around four a.m.,” Markov says, his voice surprisingly gentle. He gestures for me to follow him to the left when we hit a fork in the road. “Sunrise was almost an hour ago.”

“Wow,” I breathe. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“There are city parks suitable for a run, but I favor the parks around the Kremlin. Quieter this time of day.”

Ah. So he insisted on early morning so that we could avoid crowds. I can get behind that.

We start to pick up our pace. The soft, diffused light and nearly vacant streets make it calm and peaceful here. I like it.

That said, nature is very much awake. Birds sing, and little critters trot between green bushes, dipping in and out. There’s hardly any traffic.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “Gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” he says, as if I just paid him a personal compliment. “It’s different later in the day, but this time of year is the warmest. We’ll have to visit some of the parks, too. We will not run the same route every day, Vera.”

Was he picking on me? How does he know I stick to one route all the time? Does he?

“Why?’

“It makes you harder to predict if someone’s after you,” he says with a shake of his head. “Your guards at home should’ve told you these things.”

“I don’t have guards at home; I have one guard, and he’s old, nearly deaf, and half-asses everything. My father doesn’t care. All he cares about is the money in his wallet, how he looks to the public, and his reputation.”

Markov doesn’t reply but a muscle ticks in his jaw as we slow down near an intersection that has a few shops already open.

“Now are you hungry?” I nod, my stomach churning at this point.

“I would kill for a cup of coffee.”

Markov smirks. “I’d kill for a lot less.”

I snort, but a part of me can’t decide if he’s joking or not.

He steers us to a vacant shop with little seats on a paved patio out front and a small menu. My mouth waters at the smell of newly-baked pastries and the rich, warm scent of fresh-brewed coffee.

“I don’t have any money with me,” I tell him.

He gives me a withering look. “Have you not figured out by now that I’m a very old-fashioned husband, Vera? You won’t pay for anything with me. Let’s get coffee and food so we can head back and get ready before your first session.”

We’re both covered in sweat, and my hair’s a mess, but no one seems to mind. I predictably choose an Americano to his classic black espresso, and we buy a few traditional sweet buns.

As we leave, Markov looks both ways, up and down, practically in every darkened doorway and behind every bush. I’m not sure why he’d think anyone would follow us here, but if they did, they’re invisible.

“Why are you constantly checking to see if anyone’s following us?”

“Vera,” he grunts.

“I know. I know it’s your job, but no one’s here. No one’s followed us.”

“Anyone good at what they do can practically blend into a crowd,” he says tightly. “Believe me, I’m very good at it myself.”

Finally satisfied we aren’t going to be bombed, shot at, or abducted in the near future, we walk back to campus, eating our sweet buns and drinking our coffees. “Tell me about the work you’ll do today,” he says, sipping his coffee. I’ll have just enough time for a quick shower before we meet.

“I’ll have to check back to the itinerary to see what’s next.”

“Can you tell me the gist of it?”

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