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“I can speak to Mrs. Harrington,” she says. “She knows me.”

I glance at her. “Perfect.”

Irina wants to be seen as the person who understands Nikolai, the person who can manage Anya’s world, the person who belongs beside both of them. Fine. Let her want that. Right now, her ego is the only door in this house that might open without Nikolai holding the key.

“We should also choose the timing carefully,” I say.

Irina looks back at me. “What do you mean?”

“Nikolai will be less likely to object if the plan doesn’t disrupt his security schedule. If he’s already out for meetings, we can have everything ready for his approval by the time he checks in.”

Irina nods as though I have said something extremely reasonable.

Good.

Anya, however, is staring at me a little too closely. I give her a look.

Don’t be clever right now.

Unfortunately, she is Anya Volkov, so being clever appears to be her default setting.

“Papa has meetings Friday morning,” she says slowly.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s why Friday is a good day to finalize the plan.”

“The party is Friday,” Anya says.

Irina frowns. “It begins at four.”

“Exactly,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “So, we have two days to prepare everything properly.”

Anya’s mouth parts. Then she understands.

Not all of it, maybe, but enough.

Her eyes brighten.

I immediately point a finger at her. “Don’t look that excited.”

She presses her lips together.

It doesn’t help.

Irina misses the entire exchange because she’s too busy checking her phone. “I will contact Mrs. Harrington this afternoon,” she says. “If the guest list is small and the house is suitable, Nikolai may be persuaded.”

“Especially if you present it,” I say.

Her gaze lifts to mine. There it is again. The little gleam of satisfaction. “Yes,” she says. “Perhaps.”

I hate how easy this is. I hate more that I am good at it.

The door opens before I can say anything else.

Viktor walks in with a book in one hand, takes one look at Irina standing beside Anya’s chair and me smiling like an idiot, then slows near the threshold.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say too quickly.