“I’m not going to make you, you know,” Matvei interrupts.
Whatever choice I was going to make suddenly seems irrelevant. I frown. “Because you won’t, or because you can’t?”
The smile he flashes then is equal parts wicked and taunting. “Oh, dikarka, there are many things I could make you do. But I won’t do this one.” He glances down at my left hand where it’s lying limp in my lap, then nods and juts his chin toward it. “I’m guessing it has something to do with that, though, doesn’t it?”
I follow his gaze to see he’s talking about my wedding ring. Words can’t explain how much I hate this thing. It’s a four-carat emerald-cut diamond flanked by two smaller stones, set in platinum. Raymond picked it out himself. It cost half a million dollars, and he made damn sure that everyone knew that.
