Page 65 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
“I chose not to marry a man who betrayed me,” Anya says. “Everything after that became less simple.”
Larisa leans back slightly. There’s approval there, though she hides it well. “Did you love him?”
Anya goes quiet.
It’s not a soft silence. It’s controlled, uncomfortable, honest.
“I thought I did.”
Larisa nods slowly. “That is usually worse.”
Anya looks at her for a second too long, as if she hadn’t expected understanding from this woman.
Neither had I.
Larisa turns her knife between her fingers, then asks, “What did your father tell you about the Volkovs?”
“Very little.”
“Interesting.”
“No,” Anya says. “Cowardly.”
The word lands cleanly.
Alexei’s eyes flick toward me. I keep my face still.
Larisa looks pleased now. “You dislike your father.”
“I’m married today because of his debt,” Anya says. “Dislike feels polite.”
Larisa’s gaze shifts to me.
There it is again. That look. Boring into me from across the table like she’s trying to peel my intentions open in front of everyone. I cut into my fish and pretend not to feel it.
For a while, she returns to Anya. Questions about her mother, her education, what she reads, what languages she speaks, whether she has ever managed money, whether she knows the difference between loyalty and obedience.
Anya answers carefully at first. Then less carefully. By the time coffee is served, there is more steel in her voice.
My phone buzzes beside my plate.
Viktor.
I glance at the message, then stand. “Excuse me.”
Larisa’s eyes lift. “Work?”
“Yes.”
“On your wedding day?”
“Especially today.”
Anya looks at me, but says nothing.
I leave them with Alexei, which is either wise or a mistake. Hard to tell.
Viktor waits in the hall near my study, phone in hand, expression controlled.
