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.
“Mila is vegan,” Kat announced proudly.
“That is . . . cute.” The wrinkling of Nadia’s nose told the opposite. She waved a hand toward the coffee table. “Is this all vegan?”
“Yep,” Kat said.
As the opera singer took in the knowledge, an ounce of resentment came alive in her eyes. One would think she was starving and had an allergy to all things vegan, but I knew the real reason she was filling with ire. She hated the fact I had any impact on Ronan’s household.
“That is . . .” Nadia was so flustered, I thought she was going to say “cute” again, but she stopped herself and forced a smile instead. “I do appreciate the humanitarian effort,” she told me, “but do you not think it is slightly . . . selfish to subject the whole house to your views?” She put a manicured hand on mine in concern. “Though I am sure you did not consider that.”
This was the first time I’d ever had the urge to stab someone with a fork. Instead, I brushed her hand off mine before her fakeness rubbed off on me.
“I’m not the one doing the subjecting here. Captive, remember?”
She frowned. “Obviously, the staff feels bad for you . . . Just think of the hassle your diet must