Page 2 of Split

He doesn’t say hello back or give me any sort of greeting. When his eyes slowly traverse up to meet my own once more, he just gives me a shallow nod.

“I approve,” he announces, the deep timbre of his voice echoing through the dining room and sending a chill skittering up my spine. With that simple statement, he drops into his seat at the table, picking up the cloth napkin, fanning it out, and setting it on his lap. “Should we do it this afternoon?”

My mouth falls agape, shock and horror gripping me. I can’t believe he’s being so cavalier about this, like he’s simply trading stock rather than taking a wife.

“I’ll see if Father James is available,” Magnus replies eagerly, rising from his chair and buttoning his suit jacket. “Victor, shall we give these two some privacy?”

“Absolutely,” my father agrees happily. He stands and takes my hand, playing the role of the doting father and leaning in like he’s going to kiss my cheek. Instead, he squeezes my hand tightly in his grip, the bones of my knuckles grinding together as I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. “Behave,” he hisses in my ear before brushing his lips against my cheek, abruptly releasing my hand, and turning to follow Magnus out of the room.

“I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised when you came to me with this,” Magnus comments to my father as he pulls the door open and steps through. “I’d thought you already struck a deal with Ilya Belov.”

“All deals are up for negotiation, and you happened to outbid him,” my father responds diplomatically, following him out.

My hands clench into fists at my sides.

The door swings closed behind them and then it’s just me and Roman, alone in the dining room with four gorgeous plates of chicken kiev and roast vegetables spread out on the table. The older men’s meals remain untouched while Roman picks up his silverware and begins cutting into his chicken.

I sink back into my chair across from him, smoothing down the front of my dress and lifting my napkin to place it on my lap. The dining room is silent save for the scrape of Roman’ssilverware against the plate as he carves off a piece of chicken, bringing his fork to his mouth to take a bite.

“So, um, this is a little weird, huh?” I ask, chuckling uncomfortably as I pick up my own silverware.

He doesn’t even look up. Roman just finishes chewing, swallows, and slices off another piece of meat.

My own stomach is painfully empty, and sitting in this room with a plate of food in front of me for the last twenty minutes was akin to torture. I delicately cut into a green bean, spearing a tiny piece with my fork and bringing it to my mouth.

It tastes like heaven. Buttery and fresh, with the perfect amount of seasoning. I chew it slowly, minding my table manners rather than wolfing down the meal in front of me like I really want to.

After I swallow the bite, I decide to make another attempt at conversation. “So, do you live nearby, or…?”

I flinch as he drops his fork to his plate with a heavy clatter, his emerald eyes darting up to meet mine.

“Do I look like the sort of man who would have any trouble getting a woman on my own?”

My mouth drops open in shock as I stare back at him, wondering if it’s a trick question. But he doesn’t elaborate further, and every tense beat of silence makes me grow increasingly uncomfortable as his gaze remains fixed on mine.

“No,” I finally respond.

He purses his lips, tilting his head. “So do you know why I agreed to this arrangement?”

“I… I’m not sure,” I stammer, my knee starting to bounce beneath the table again anxiously. “Alliances? Power?”

He lifts his knife, pointing the tip in my direction. “Because women in this life know their role. To be seen and not heard.”

Roman stares at me for a moment longer, as if to make sure his message sinks in. Then he picks up his fork, resuming eating his lunch.

I’ve lost my appetite.

Still, I pick up my own fork, pushing a green bean around my plate idly while I sneak another glance at the man seated across from me through my eyelashes.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t speak again.

He just keeps eating his food, as if I’m not even in the room.

I’m not sure how much time passes. It can only be ten minutes or so, but it feels like hours. I nibble on another green bean, then pick up my water glass, wetting my parched throat with a sip.

Finally, the dining room door opens again and Magnus strides in with my father in tow, both looking positively gleeful.

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