Page 24 of Savage Beauty

* * *

Inside, there’s a ruckus coming from upstairs. The other Kislevs are all gathered in the kitchen, with the sounds of clattering and laughter filling the air. We climb the stairs, and as we approach the kitchen door, Dulcie’s voice rises above the commotion.

“Avel! There’s bruschetta on the table. You so much as touch that zabaglione, and I’ll—”

Sasha slaps the door open. “Do it,brat,” he says to his youngest brother. “Show her who’s boss!”

Dulcie turns around, pointing a playful finger at Sasha. “Keep your handsome beak out,piccolo cuoco!” She laughs, and Avel takes advantage of the distraction to dip a spoon into the custard, eliciting uproarious laughter from the table. Vlad shakes his head.

“I just wanted some supper,” he says with a chuckle. “Why is this house always a fucking circus?”

I throw Morgana a wave as Sasha closes the kitchen door behind us.

“We’re not joining them?” I ask.

“Not yet. I’ve got something to show you.”

* * *

At the door to our suite, Sasha steps behind me and puts his hand over my eyes.

“Woah. What are you doing?”

“Like I said—it’s a surprise.” I hear him opening the door, and he walks me forward. “You ready?”

“I don’t know. Is it something really awesome, like divorce papers?”

“Notthatgood.” He sounds genuinely wounded, and I feel bad for the quip. “But I hope you’ll like it anyway.”

He removes his hand, and I blink, looking around in shock. The cold, clean lines are gone, and the room is unrecognizable.

The dark wood floor is adorned with a stunning Persian rug beneath the king-size bed. The walls are painted a rich claret hue, and the new mahogany bed is covered in sumptuous fabrics, from a gold velvet throw to an opulent satin bedspread. The closet has been replaced with a discreet built-in space with a sliding mirrored door, and a crystal chandelier sparkles overhead.

I release a long, slow exhale, and Sasha watches me closely. “Do you like it?” he asks. “You told me you hated this room, and I want you to understand I’m willing to compromise.”

I burst into laughter. “It’s perfect, Sasha. I can’t believe it. If I’d designed it myself, it couldn’t have been better. But how is it a compromise? You haven’t kept anything!”

He takes my hand, pressing his lips to my palm. “There’s nothing I want that comes at the expense of your happiness,” he says. “In our marriage, it works like this: My wife likes something. I do not. We compromise.” He gives a little bow. “Andmoya zhenagets what she wants. That’s how it’s going to be, now and always.”

I run my hand over the luxurious bed linens. “Is this how it feels to be wealthy? You snap your fingers, and an army of decorators and interior designers descends upon you, transforming everything in record time?”

Sasha feigns confusion. “How else is it done?” he says with a mischievous smirk. “I wouldn’t know which way to hold a paintbrush,zolotse.”

As I continue to admire the room, I notice the intricate details. A vintage dresser with a gilt-edged mirror, a lamp on the nightstand with a base shaped like—

“Is that what I think it is?” I ask, drawing closer. It’s a mermaid sitting on a rock, cast in bronze. Beside it is an antique hardback copy of The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson.

Sasha removes the band from his hair, shaking it loose. “Ah, yeah. I remember seeing you reading a battered paperback copy once at your desk when you were eating lunch. Well-loved books tend to get dogeared, so I figured it was a favorite.”

Sasha’s brash arrogance seems to have deserted him. It’s as though he’s given himself away somehow. He absorbed every little detail about me—the things I like, my style, my quirks.

“It’s so generous of you to indulge me like this,” I say, my voice wobbling. “No one ever did something so kind for me, not since my mom.”

Sasha frowns and looks like he’s about to ask me a question, but he doesn’t. “Go and see the bathroom,” he says, nodding at the ensuite door.

The bathroom is no longer the sterile space it was. It’s still the same cream marble wet room, but now there’s a stunning claw-foot bathtub in a rosy copper, with matching fittings in the shower alcove. I look closer at the bathtub’s feet and notice they’re mermaids, like the figureheads on old ships.

“I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d want,” Sasha admits, “but when I thought about it, I realized I knew quite a bit about you.”

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