But under it, there’s something else. Something restless and reckless that has been growing since I woke up alone in his bed.
“You can’t keep everyone away from me,” I say.
“I can keep you away from animals that break fingers.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
We stand beside the stall, close enough that I can smell him again. Clean smoke. Leather. Cold air. Last night rushes back so quickly my breath catches.
His mouth on me. My hands in his hair. The way he left.
His eyes drop briefly to my mouth.
So he remembers too.
Good. I want him to.
I want him to suffer a little with it.
“Your maid measured me for dresses,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Can’t I go out and get them myself?”
“No. But we are going out tonight.”
That stops me. “What?”
“Tonight,” he says. “You and I.”
My anger falters, replaced by something more complicated. Surprise first. Then suspicion. Then a nervous little pull low in my stomach that I refuse to call excitement.
“Where?”
Yaromir is quiet for half a second too long.
“What?” I ask.
“There’s a gala.”
“A gala.”
“And an auction.”
I stare at him. “You’re taking me to an auction?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of auction?”
“Art. Jewelry. Rare books. Some charity attached to it so everyone can pretend they are not laundering influence in evening wear.”
Despite myself, I almost smile. He says it so dryly, like it bores him and disgusts him at the same time.
“Sounds charming,” I say.