Page 81 of Cruel Kiss

Because she came over here with anagenda.

"Ronan, sweetheart," she says, her voice like a warm, dark tidepool I would not trust to be free of eels. "There you are! You always find the darkest corner and stand in it. Just like Igor."

His hand tightens fractionally on my hip. "Vera," he says stiffly. "You look well. Blue suits you."

"Oh, this old thing? Hardly. But you're kind." She reaches up and touches his cheek, her thumb grazing the line of his jaw with a little too much familiarity. "Look at you. It's been too long. Igor's little protege, all grown into the biggest man in the room. Why don't you ever come to see me anymore? I used to have to kick you out of my apartment!" She laughs with obvious implication.

I get a pang of thatpunched-in-the-stomachfeeling.

She came sashaying over here just to lob that exact grenade, I'm sure.

Well, mission accomplished, girlfriend. Damage done. It hurts way more than I'd ever admit out loud.

What I'm not sure about is whether I trust it. I have one observation—a beautiful woman touching my husband's face and referencing a past that involves her bedroom—and from that single point I could build any curve I want. I could decide they were lovers. Or that she's lying. I could decide Ronan is squirming because he's guilty, or because he's uncomfortable, or simply becausen=1and I'm doing bad science again, denying him the benefit of the doubt.

So I do the only thing that's ever worked for me. I stay very still and I gather.

Observation the first: Ronan hasn't leaned into her touch. His jaw is a slab of granite under her thumb, and his weight has actually shifted a half-inch towardme.

Observation the second: he called her Semyon's sister. Does that make her off-limits, sexually speaking? What are the rules of this world?

Observation the third, and the important one: Vera keeps checkingme.Every time she says something loaded, her eyes flick over to see if it blew up in my face like she wanted it to do.

So that's how I decide:It's a test.

Same as Marisha's little stunt when I walked in. This whole room is one long entrance exam, and Vera is the essay portion.

Knowing that doesn't help as much as it should. Because knowing a thing is a test doesn't stop it fromhurting,and it does indeed hurt. The image assembles itself whether I like it or not. Young Ronan, gorgeous and dangerous, in some moodily-lit apartment with this gorgeous creature draped over him and moaning.

It presents a question: What kind of woman am I?

Do I yield?

Do I fight?

Do I own him?

Does he own me?

"You must have a wonderful memory, Vera," I say, warm as I can make it. "Ronan barely tells me anything about his life before me. It's like pulling teeth. So I'm always grateful when someone fills in the picture."

Vera's smile falters by a degree. "Oh, there's plenty of picture to fill you in on," she says, recovering. "Whole galleries."

"I'm sure." I tilt my head, friendly, curious, entirely unbothered, a woman who is not remotely threatened because she has nothing to be threatened by. "He was young once. So was I. We've all got apartments we kicked people out of." I lean, just slightly, into Ronan's side—a claiming so light it could be an accident. "The nice part is getting to decide who you keep the sheets warm for now."

Vera's eyes tick between us. She purses her plump lips. "He's lucky," she says finally. "You're not at all what I expected."

"I keep hearing that," I laugh. "Maybe one day, Ronan's friends will get a better set of expectations for me. In the meantime, I guess I'll keep surprising."

She eyes me for another few taut seconds. And then she floats off into the room the same way she came, a mirage of blue silk and secrets, and I let out a breath I've been holding since she first approached.

Ronan's thumb resumes its slow line up my spine.

"You didn't need me for that one," he murmurs with obvious pride.

"No," I say. My hand isn't quite steady around the flute, so I give it up to a passing server. "I handled it myself."

But my heart is still going too fast, and I hate that it is, because I can't tell anymore which part was the performance and which part was the truth, and I have a horrible feeling they've stopped being two different things.