“That is what I am trying to determine.”
I turned my head.
“You do not know?”
“No.”
“But you married me.”
“Yes.”
“Without knowing why he was frightened?”
“I knew why the agreement was necessary.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
The senator concluded. Applause filled the room.
Niko raised his glass but did not drink.
“What agreement?” I asked.
“Not here.”
“That is what people say when they never intend to answer.”
“It is what people say when the man three seats away is pretending not to listen.”
I followed his gaze.
A thin man with silver spectacles immediately turned toward the orchestra.
“Who is he?”
“A journalist.”
“He was invited?”
“He came with a judge.”
“You invited judges?”
“My mother invited everyone who might later claim they were excluded.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Something in his tone surprised me.
Not irritation.
Weariness.
For the first time, I considered that Niko Santoro might also be trapped inside the ceremony, though his prison had better tailoring and armed men at the doors.
