The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

We both stared at her. The only thing Ronan would do with a scarf was strangle someone with it.

“Wow,” Gianna deadpanned. “I am positive he will love it.”

Nadia smiled before saying, “God, I am famished.” Without another word, she began to load her plate with the bliny that weren’t rainbow-colored, apparently oblivious to the tension in the air.

“So what brings you here, Nadia, other than to give gifts?” Gianna sipped her tea. “I’m sure your French cook is just as good as Polina.”

Nadia’s perfect brows furrowed in concern. “I came to check on Ronan after what happened yesterday. I cannot believe that boy had the nerve to shoot him.” Then she added flippantly, “Though we all know it was Alexei who hired him.” Aloof, she rubbed a liberal amount of butter on her pancakes.

I stared at her impassively even as her words stomped on my heart: the fact my papa was the one who indirectly shot Ronan, and the inexplicable detail Nadia had been with him yesterday. If they had such a strong relationship, where was she last night when he was bleeding out?

The awkward silence must have alerted Nadia to the fact she’d hit a nerve—not that she didn’t already know. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time and feigned an apologetic pout.

“Oh, right. I forgot Alexei is your papa. Ronan does not talk much about you. It must have slipped my mind.”

I simply watched her. She was a natural beauty, but fakeness oozed from her like cloying perfume. When she shifted, I realized she was growing uncomfortable beneath my stare.

Maybe she’d heard I was a witch.

She glanced away with an awkward laugh and waved the hand holding her fork. “Anyway, I hope you take no offense. I am sure you understand why you may not be Ronan’s favorite topic.”

I almost laughed. I’d been surrounded by jaded high society women my entire life. I might have been the silent wallflower among them, but the position only gave me the opportunity to observe. I knew how to play this game.

“No offense taken,” I said sweetly. “It would be silly for me to not understand.”

“Absolutely silly,” she agreed with a hint of satisfaction.

“Although I’ve lived in the same house as Ronan for weeks now, and I haven’t heard him talk much about you either.” I frowned in thought. “In fact, when I think about it, never. I guess you and I have something in common, don’t we?”

The blin-filled fork paused at Nadia’s lips, her narrowed eyes sliding my way. “It is expected he would not share personal things with you. You are his enemy’s daughter . . .” Her gaze shimmered with pity. “I am sure it is not malicious intent on his part though. Merely captive/captor etiquette, would you not say?”

Gianna absently bit off the tip of a strawberry, her stare soaking in our conversation with relish.

“I would not say.” I laughed. “I’m not so sure Ronan knows much captive/captor etiquette.”

“Really? I always thought he would manage it just fine by all of our games together.”

Ignoring the nausea her words induced, I made a face of revelation. “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk about you. It doesn’t sound like there’d be anything appropriate to share.” My expression was sympathetic. “I’m sure it’s just because you come off so vacuous, he can’t see you on a deeper level.”

Kohled eyes spit fire.

“No offense, of course,” I added.

Nadia set her teacup on its saucer with more gusto than necessary, drawing Kat’s attention from her game. She gave the opera singer a single glance before returning to The Princess’s Reign of Terror and said, “Mamma, I don’t like her.”

I expected a scolding, but I forgot this world defied all norms.

“As much as I appreciate your honesty, cara,” Gianna said softly, “passive-aggressiveness gets the point across. It also makes us look like the better person in the end.”

“What’s passiveagressivness?”

“Sweetie, it’s been going on for the past few minutes. Pay attention.”

“Okay.”

Nadia and I pretended the conversation didn’t happen. I reached for a few more grapes. She set her half-full plate down with a frown as if she didn’t like the fare.

“Is there a reason the bliny taste like paper?” Nadia asked.