“You don’t want that, Mila.” I didn’t turn, but I could hear the smile in Alexei’s voice. The man it was impossible to anger, because he always knew best and was always in control. Always. “You don’t know what you want.”
That made me turn, even though I knew I shouldn’t. His eyes sparkled. Enjoy your little tantrum? they asked.
“I want you to leave me alone,” I snarled. “Because I will never, ever, ever take you back.”
“I’m going to change your mind,” he said softly. “And, kroshka, you’re going to like it.”
“I AM REQUESTING Dr. Pavlichenko be removed from the list of those attending the opera tonight,” I told Krasavchenko in the embassy study he’d made his own. “I was instructed not to mention him publicly on this tour because the American press would disapprove of a woman who was separated from her husband. Very well, I want more distance between him and me on all forthcoming events.”
Krasavchenko looked confused. “He made it clear to me that the two of you were considering reconciliation.”
“I am not considering anything. He is pressing me when I am trying to focus on my duties, and you are to see that this stops.”
I could see the look in Krasavchenko’s gaze: Look at her, overreacting just like a woman. “If you would perhaps be calmer about this—”
“I am very calm, I assure you. Unless provoked, I am an exceptionally reasonable, calm, and quiet person. Dr. Pavlichenko, however, is beginning to provoke me. I guarantee that if he and I are in the same place, there will be a scene.”
A sigh. “He will not attend the opera tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Just get through the conference, I told myself as I went back to my hotel room. Once I returned home and then to the front, Alexei would know my chances of surviving were too minimal to get much out of my fame before I was killed . . .
I paused, yanking a comb through my short hair, realizing it had been a while since I felt death’s quiet shadow at my shoulder reminding me how little time I had left. I had this short space before battle consumed my life again; maybe it was all right to enjoy it for what it was: the long final breath before the last plunge down.
So enjoy the opera, I thought with a surge of tentative pleasure, and unwrapped the yellow satin dress I’d purchased from the boutique. The first pretty thing I’d bought myself in so long—I hung it up so the creases would fall out, then shimmied into my slip and spent some time powdering my face, applying lipstick. My hair was still cut short to the nape of my neck, but it had curl and shine in it again, and you could hardly see where it had once been shaved away from a splinter wound. I clipped it back on one side and let it fall on the other, over the ear that had nearly been ripped off by mortar fire and still showed stitch marks. Scars safely hidden, I pulled the dress over my head and reached behind me to do up the dozen little satin-covered buttons.
A knock sounded. Strange how you can know a man from his knock—Krasavchenko’s knock was as self-important as he was; Alexei’s knock insinuated, nearly curling itself under the door. Kostia’s was almost inaudible, hardly more than a brush of knuckles. He didn’t need to call out for me to know it was my partner.
“I’ll be down soon.” The room had only one small mirror; I stood twisting in front of it, trying to see my back. “Tell Krasavchenko I have to change.”
Kostia’s voice floated. “Why?”
I couldn’t see my back. I blew out a frustrated breath. “Would you mind coming in?”
My partner came into the room, and the sight of him made my brows fly up: severe black-and-white evening clothes setting off his sun-swarthy face, the dark cane like a knight’s sword rather than an aid to lean on. “I’ve never seen a wolf in black tie before,” I joked.