"I wanted to thank you again," he says. "For tonight. For everything you did to make it perfect."
"It was just a party." I move to sit on the edge of the bed, needing the distance since I suddenly feel shy. Embarrassed at his praise. "I picked flowers and approved menus. Not exactly rocket science."
"It was more than that." He moves closer but stops a few feet away, giving me space. "You played your part perfectly. Made everyone believe we're really together. That takes skill."
"Or desperation." The words come out more bitter than I intend. "Hard to mess up when the alternative is being seen as your prisoner."
His jaw tightens. "Is that what you think you are? My prisoner?"
"I don't know what I am." I look down at my hands, at the way my fingers twist together. "Your fake fiancée. Your protection detail's assignment. The woman you're keeping alive because it's convenient."
"Lena." He closes the distance between us, kneeling in front of me so we're eye level. The position puts him between my knees, close enough that I can smell his cologne and see the flecks of darker gold in his eyes. "You're not convenient. You're complicated and difficult and you make me question everything I thought I knew about myself."
My breath catches. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's the truth." His hands rest on my knees, warm through the thin fabric of my sleep pants. "Did you have pets growing up?"
The question is so unexpected that I blink. "What?"
"Pets. I'm trying to have a normal conversation with you. Trying to be something other than the Pakhan for five minutes." His mouth quirks. "Humor me."
"A cat." I find myself smiling despite everything. "Her name was Duchess, and she was the most spoiled animal on the planet. She only ate tuna, refused to use a litter box if it wasn't perfectly clean, and slept on my pillow every night."
"Sounds like a nightmare."
"She was perfect." The memory makes my chest ache. "I had to leave her behind when I ran. My mom promised to take care of her, but I don't know if…" I trail off, the familiar guilt rising.
"I had a dog," Aleksandr says quietly. He stands, then sits next to me on the bed. "When I was maybe eight or nine. Stray mutt I found in an alley, half-starved and mean as hell. I brought him home, and my father beat me for wasting food on a useless animal."
My heart clenches. "What happened to the dog?"
"I kept him anyway. Hid him in an abandoned building, brought him scraps, and taught him to trust me." His hands tighten slightly on my knees. "He was the first thing I ever protected. The first time I chose something vulnerable over something easy."
"What was his name?"
"Volk. Wolf." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Not very creative, but I was eight."
"What happened to him?"
"He lived to be fifteen. Died in his sleep in my first apartment." His eyes meet mine. "I buried him in a park he used to love, under a tree where he'd chase squirrels."
The image of a young Aleksandr, already dangerous but still capable of loving a stray dog, makes something in my chest crack open.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice shifting to something more serious. "Really feeling, not the polite answer you give everyone else."
"Tired." It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth, either.
"You still look pale." His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Like you haven't recovered from that flu."
I look away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm fine. Just need more rest."
"Lena." His voice drops lower, more intense. "Look at me."
I force myself to meet his gaze, and the intelligence I see there makes my stomach drop. He knows I'm pregnant. Or suspects. Or he is close enough to the truth that lying won't work much longer.
"You're holding something back," he says quietly. "I can see it in your eyes, in the way you won't quite look at me when I ask about your health."
"I'm just tired," I repeat, but my voice quavers.