Vassily said, pale eyes glittering. “I knew I could count on you, dushka. It is meant, my dear. Never tamper with fate; you will only get hurt. It is one of life’s harshest lessons.”He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. His voice was louder than usual and his arm around her was so tight it almost hurt. There was something odd about him, something almost feverish, so unlike the normal, coolly rational Vassily Charity knew. She wondered if he were ill, coming down with flu.He was holding her so tightly his fingers bit into her shoulder. Charity breathed deeply, thinking perhaps that would discreetly dislodge his hand, but it didn’t work. It only made his grip more painful.There was the strangest vibe coming from Vassily—it was as if he were…excited. Or worked up, or overwrought. It felt as if he were losing his grip on himself. His breathing was speeded up. She could feel his rib cage rising and falling against her side, so quickly he was almost panting. He looked agitated, restless, and fitful.If she’d felt any better, she would have inquired after his health.
