Page 110 of Sweet Deception
“Anna, right?”
“Yes,” I said, my smile unwavering.
Something was off. Her tone, her body language, she was too composed, too unaffected. Had she been coached? Was she wired?
I reached for my phone and quickly typed:
“I’m Gleb Romanov’s wife. He sent me to save you. I do not work for my parents.”
I tilted the screen toward her, making sure not to hold it out too obviously.
She read it, then subtly shifted in her seat. Her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of her dress. She glanced around, once, twice, then settled on a specific spot before looking back at me.
She began tapping her foot in an irregular rhythm. A signal? A warning?
I played along. “My father said he hasn’t harmed you. Is that true?”
Her answer came smoothly. “Your father is a good man. “ A beat of silence. “He would never do such a thing. I fell in love with him a long time ago. As you saw in the video, it wasn’t forced.”
A rehearsed line.
I leaned back and nodded, acting as if I bought her response. “I always knew my father was a good man, but the Russians made me believe otherwise.”
She didn’t react.
I typed again:
“Do you know where they’re keeping you? The location?”
I tilted the screen toward her. She lowered her gaze and shook her head slightly.
I exhaled slowly. She didn’t know.
I typed:
“I have a ring with a tracker. Keep it on you at all times. We’ll find you through it.”
She sat still for a long moment. Then, in a voice loud enough to be overheard, she said, “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to return.” She hesitated, then added, “And tell my brother that I will never forgive him for abandoning me. I’m happy here. I’ve moved on. I don’t need his help.”
I slid the ring onto the ground, nudging it toward her with the tip of my shoe. She didn’t look down. Instead, she stepped forward, pressing the ring under the toe of her heel before dragging it back toward her.
She bent down, pretending to scratch her ankle, and in one swift motion, palmed the ring.
“Please don’t ask to see me again. If you’re looking for friends, I’m not the right person.”
She turned away, walking back toward the car.
I called after her. “Tatiana, I’m not looking for friends. I just wanted to see if my father is truly not the man the Russians claimed he was.”
She paused, just for a second, then said over her shoulder, “And now you have your answer.”
She climbed into the car without another glance back.
I watched as Stefano and my father walked toward the vehicle. Tatiana slid into the backseat while Stefano took the wheel. A moment later, the engine roared to life, and the car disappeared down the driveway.
I let out a slow breath. The game had begun.
“Still have doubts?” my father asked.
