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.