Page 154 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
“I know you’re insulting her.”
“She’s standing there wearing your shirt after spending the night on a rug.” Larisa’s eyes flick to me again. “If she feels insulted, perhaps she should consider her own conduct.”
My fingers curl into the fabric of the throw. “My conduct?” I say.
Yaromir turns his head slightly.
Not stopping me. Just noticing.
Larisa looks at me with faint surprise, as if she had forgotten I could speak. “Yes,” she says. “Your conduct.”
I lift my chin though my whole body feels exposed under his shirt. “You were the one who insisted I sleep in his room.”
“I didn’t insist you turn the house into a brothel.”
“Enough.”
It’s not loud. It doesn’t need to be.
Larisa goes still.
I have seen Yaromir angry. I have seen him violent. I have seen blood on his hands. This is different. This is control being pulled so tight it might cut through the room.
Larisa sees it too. For the first time, she stops speaking.
Yaromir turns back to me. His face softens by almost nothing, but his voice changes. “Go upstairs.”
I stare at him. “No.”
“Anya.”
“I said no.”
His eyes hold mine. “This conversation is not for you.”
“That never seems to stop anyone from making me the subject of it.”
Something flashes across his face. Maybe guilt. Maybe frustration.
Maybe both.
Larisa makes a small sound behind him. “She’s right about one thing.”
Yaromir doesn’t look away from me. “Don’t?—”
I grip the throw tighter. “I don’t want to be sent away.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t send me.”
His jaw tightens. For a moment, I think he might relent. Then his hand rises to my face. He doesn’t touch me at first. His fingers hover near my jaw, close enough that I feel the warmth of him. When he finally brushes his thumb over my cheek, it’s so brief I might imagine it.
“Go upstairs,” he says quietly. “Anya, please.”
I look past him at Larisa. She stands there with her cane and her cold eyes, displeased and watchful, waiting for me to crumble or strike back badly enough to embarrass myself.
I will not give her that.
