Vera stopped talking about the linen closet. Kiril's question, and the sudden intensity in his eyes, shocked her. His eyes were usually guarded, but now they were wide, green, and a little scared.
"What?" she asked, her own voice sharp with panic. She hated that he could see her fear.
"Nikolai. Pavel," Kiril repeated, lowering his voice even though they were alone in the huge, empty hallway. "They just started talking downstairs, right as we left. They looked... serious. Not like friends. Do you know what's going on?"
Vera instantly thought of the look on Pavel's face—that deep, knotting worry she trusted more than any bodyguard.
"No," she admitted, shaking her head quickly. "But Pavel—my brother—he was worried about something before you even asked me to show you around. I saw it. He looked tense. He tried to hide it from me."
Kiril's gaze didn't waver. He was actually looking at her, not through her. For the first time all evening, the silence between them wasn't awkward; it was shared fear.
"My brother, Nikolai, is like that," Kiril muttered, stepping closer to the massive wall where the shadows were thick. "He handles everything for my father. If there's a problem, he handles it first. And when he gets that look, it means trouble. The kind of trouble they don't tell me about."
He paused, a flicker of pain crossing his face. "The kind of trouble they don't tell the fiancé about."
Vera understood that perfectly. They were the children who were supposed to be pretty and quiet, the perfect pawns. The real work—the dangerous, secret business—was for the eldest sons and the fathers.
"It's just business, probably," Vera lied, mostly to herself. "A big deal. Our families are getting closer. It's just stress."
"No," Kiril insisted, his voice barely a whisper. "Your brother doesn't get stressed over money deals. He gets stressed over threats. And Nikolai doesn't walk away from a party to talk about logistics. He does it to talk about a mess."
Vera felt a sudden, strange pull toward Kiril. He wasn't the strong, sexy danger of Nikolai, but he was real. He saw the danger, and he was admitting his fear, just like her. He felt useless, just like her.
"If you know something, Kiril, you have to tell me," she whispered, her fingers nervously gripping the railing.
He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I don't know anything, Vera. That's the problem. I'm marrying you to join two of the biggest families in Moscow, and I'm still treated like a kid they can't trust with the truth." He looked back at her, his eyes full of frustrated anger. "I want to protect you. How can I protect you if they don't tell me who the danger is?"
Vera felt a blush rise on her neck. Protect her? No one had ever said that to her before. It wasn't love, but it was loyalty, a kind of bond born from shared powerlessness.
"We stick together," she decided quickly. "Pavel and I have a secret way of talking—we can ask him later. For now, we finish the tour. Act bored. Act like we don't care."
Kiril nodded once, a quick, serious jerk of his head. He looked relieved to have a plan, even a small one. The fear was still there, but now it was a silent pact between them.
"So," Kiril said, trying to force a careless tone. "Where does this hallway lead? More guest rooms, or something actually interesting?"
Vera managed a small, tired smile. "Just a back staircase for the staff. Come on. I'll show you the roof access. It's the only view worth looking at in this giant, beautiful cage."
She turned, taking the lead again, but this time, Kiril was right beside her, walking not like a nervous fiancé, but like a partner in a secret.