Chapter 16 - Fyodor #2
She didn’t hear me at first, or at least pretended not to, so I leaned against the doorframe silently watching.
I loved watching her work, or read, or simply go about her day.
It grounded me. She’d transformed the room entirely.
Drop cloths covered the floor, and sketches were pinned to the walls.
Fabric was draped over the dress form in the corner.
It was no longer just another room in the penthouse, but it belonged completely to her.
The anger in her movements had softened even when it was not gone. But it was now refined and clearly directed towards art. Everything about what she was doing seemed rather intentional now. She stepped back slightly to assess the canvas, and only then did her gaze flick toward the doorway.
She didn’t jump. She rarely did anymore.
“You’re home late today. Where were you?” she asked, the question strangely domestic and intimate. She must have realized it too, because her eyes widened the moment it escaped her lips, but she didn’t try to overcorrect herself.
“Work.”
“Was there some sort of trouble?” She knew this world. She knew exactly what happened when men were late.
“There was, but it is contained now.”
She studied my expression for a moment longer than necessary.
“Are you alright?”
“Perfect,” I replied, walking inside the studio.
“You’re wet,” she observed.
“It’s raining outside.”
“You didn’t bring an umbrella?”
“Do I look like the kind of person who carries an umbrella?”
Her shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly as she kept staring at me, keeping the fabrics and needles down on the little table right beside her mannequin.
I already knew she had been a fashion student at university, but it was something else to witness her in her natural habitat. She looked completely at ease.
“You’re quieter than usual,” she added.
“I was thinking something.”
“What exactly were you thinking?” she asked.
“Kliment escalated an operation without consulting me.” Her head tilted slightly as she assessed me.
“That could not have been good. What did you do?”
“I did the only thing that felt right. I went ahead and de-escalated the operation and put a stop to it.”
“Will he not be angry with you over this? I am sure if one of my younger brothers ever went against Iosif, he would be furious.”
“He will be, of course.”
Her lips twitched faintly. “That sounds like treason on your part.”
“Perhaps it is.”
She faced me fully then, “Why are you fracturing your own family?”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“Oh, really? Who was this operation against then, and why did you stop it?”
“That is none of your business, Elisse.”
“Is that so, Fyodor? Because my instincts are telling me that Kliment went against the Chernykhs, and you jumped in to stop it.” I stayed silent, and she went on, reading it as an affirmation. “Did you do it for me?”
“You are making assumptions.”
She looked at me for a long moment, and I saw it again.
The way something in her gaze had changed over the past week.
There was a little less fury in her eyes and a little more curiosity.
For some reason, it unsettled me more than her anger ever had.
We both turned when there was a knock at the front door, and Mikhail entered moments later, holding a slim black box.
“We received this,” he said.
“From?” I asked.
“It’s a private courier for you sent by Viktor. He called and told me it has the tickets and essentials for the masked gala event that you wanted to attend.”
“Thank you, Mikhail.”
He set the box down on one of the tables in the studio and turned around to leave.
I picked it up and quickly opened it, finding two intricate masks inside.
Just how I wanted them to be. One of them was black with silver detailing, and another one was white, edged in gold.
It was true that this city never stopped performing, but the performance was not bad when it was with Elisse.
“Is the masquerade happening on Chernykh territory?” Elisse asked as she watched me survey the box.
“No. I had it checked. The territory is neutral.”
I picked up the black mask, running my thumb along the edge, remembering the last time I had attended a masquerade and worn a mask to hide my real self.
The last time I had been Nikolai instead of Fyodor.
She had been on the other side of the ballroom, and we had been unmarried and untethered, simply curious about what the other person had to offer.
“I actually got this for you,” I said finally, and she looked up. Her gaze moved from my face to the masks in my hands, and her brows drew together.
“You’re joking.”
“No.” I extended the white mask toward her, but she didn’t take it immediately. She surveyed my face to check if I was joking.
“The event is happening tomorrow night,” I continued. “Invitation only.”
She stared at the mask.
“And you want us to go.”
“Yes.”
She crossed the room slowly and walked towards me, her fingers brushing against mine as she took the mask from my hand. The contact lingered half a second longer than necessary.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
“Because everything we are today started at a masquerade quite like this one.”
Her eyes sharpened slightly at my explanation.
“So do you think this resets us and everything that has happened between us since?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I think I would just like to see you without the war between us for a few hours.”
She exhaled faintly.
“That’s na?ve and dangerous and reckless. I didn’t think you were going to let me go out of this penthouse until my brothers actually came to rescue me, and here you are, inviting me to go out with you.”
“Yes.”
She turned the mask over in her hands.
“You think if we dress up and pretend,” she said softly, “we can go back to who we were.”
“No.”
“Then what’s the point?” I stepped closer.
“Because the one thing I know for certain,” I said quietly, “is that you were drawn to me that night.”
Her gaze snapped to mine.
“That doesn’t mean—”
Before she could finish, my phone vibrated sharply in my pocket; the timing was almost ironic. I glanced at the screen, noticing that it was Viktor. He wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent after we had just met, especially. Her eyes flicked to it as well.
“Guess war doesn’t pause for romance, hunh?” She murmured.
“No,” I agreed.
I stepped away, answering the call as I moved toward the hallway.
“Yes?”
Viktor’s voice was tight.
“Kliment is lashing out.”
Of course he was. I walked further out, but behind me, I felt her gaze lingering.
She was still neither angry nor sad but something in between those two things.
And for the first time, the thought of her choosing to stand beside me at that masquerade felt more dangerous than any war waiting outside.