22. Evelyn
22
EVELYN
“ Y ou shouldn’t piss him off so much.”
I glance sideways at Gus, who is standing stiffly at one side of the elevator, looking none too happy with this entire situation. “You cannot be on his side.”
He cuts a look my way. “I can, actually. He’s my boss. And he’s also the pakhan ’s son. If I screw up, it’s my ass. If you screw up, and I don’t stop the fallout, it’s my ass.”
I swallow hard, feeling that jolt of guilt again. I haven’t forgotten Dimitri telling me that Gus’s punishment for letting me leave without a bodyguard could have been a bullet. It's a stark reminder of how very different this world is that I’ve stepped into, and how different the rules are. How much more violent it all is.
“He can’t tell me who to go to lunch with.”
“He can do whatever he wants.” Gus looks straight ahead, at the elevator doors.
A chill runs through me at that. He can do whatever he wants. Dimitri has a kind of power that I’ve never imagined another person having. “He can do whatever he wants with his Bratva,” I murmur stiffly. “Not me.”
Gus chuckles. “Mrs. Yashkova, you have no idea what the Bratva even is.”
He probably shouldn’t talk to me like that, but I appreciate his cando. And he’s right. I don’t understand what this crime family is that Dimitri runs. It’s like another world, and it’s one that I want to be able to walk away from when the time comes.
That’s also the second time in the last ten minutes that I’ve heard Dimitri’s last name tacked onto mine. If I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t mind the way it sounds. Especially when Dimitri said it.
Evelyn Yashkova . There’s a ring to it, for sure. But I’ll be the one to decide when I change my last name.
We head out into the cold, Gus opening the back door of the car for me before sliding into the passenger’s seat. I rub my hands together, letting the warmth of the interior sink into me as I lean back against the leather seat and try to calm my nerves.
I felt like there was something off about Nicci’s invitation, too. I don’t run in the same kind of circles she does—or at least I didn’t, before my engagement and marriage to Dimitri, but I’ve encountered plenty of women like her in my business as a fashion designer and sewist. They’re usually self-centered and spoiled, and quick to blame others for anything that goes wrong. I can’t count the number of clients who have been upset with a detail that they claimed was “missed”, or done incorrectly, when I followed their instructions and was never told what they actually wanted. But it’s still always somehow my fault.
Nicci struck me as that kind of woman. Not one who admits to personal failings or apologizes. But I could be wrong. And I’m honestly curious about the woman who was supposed to marry Dimitri before me, who he wanted to get away from so badly that he was willing to spend an insane amount of money on rebuilding my shop and commit to years of celibacy until our eventual divorce.
Although, we haven’t been doing great in the celibacy department.
My skin tingles with the memory of what we did last night. The fact that Dimitri was willing to get me off and leave himself unfinished has lingered in my head. I’ve never known a man to be selfless with pleasure before. Usually, in my experience, they barely care if their partner comes at all. It feels like it means something, that he was more concerned with my pleasure than his.
It doesn’t mean anything, you idiot, I tell myself as the car turns down the street that leads to the bistro I’m meeting Nicci at. It means he’s a good lover, but it doesn’t mean anything for our greater relationship. And I need to remember that.
We don’t have a relationship. Not a real one. Even if we fight like a married couple and fuck like we’re having an affair, none of it is real. And it’s going to end, sooner or later.
No matter how real it feels when he’s inside of me.
That can’t happen again. Not sex, and not any of the very tempting alternatives he’s offered that won’t result in pregnancy. Letting him make me come in other ways might not tie me to him with a child, but it will tie me to him in ways that aren’t so easily broken, either.
Dimtri’s heart might not be on the line, but mine is. I know myself. And I know that as much as he pisses me off, there’s things about him that I could fall for, too. His generosity. His willingness to defend me. The way he makes me feel safe. The way that sometimes, when his guard drops just a little, I can see a part of him that I think might come out, if he had someone who loved him.
He’s a good man, deep down. An honorable one. And even if those words don’t quite line up in my head with someone who commits the kind of violence he does, I’m getting the idea that in his world, he’s a better man than most.
The car pulls up to the curb, and Gus gets out as the driver comes around to open my door. I step out, tugging my coat around me, and walk towards the front door of the cute little bistro that Nicci chose for our lunch.
“I’m meeting Ms. Armand,” I tell the petite, perky hostess who is standing at the front, and she smiles, picking up a menu and rolled silverware and leading me back into the small, fragrant restaurant.
It’s all dark wood and iron, with fresh greenery everywhere, laced with white twinkle lights and garlands for the season, a large Christmas tree near the bar at the back, all decorated in white and gold and silver. I see Nicci sitting at a table along the far wall, her blonde hair in a smooth twist at the back of her head, her fox-like features accented with soft makeup. She’s wearing a cashmere wrap sweater in a soft dove grey and jeans, sapphire studs in her ears and a few rings dotting her fingers that probably each cost as much as my rent for a year. She has that look of understated wealth that very rich women have, and I remind myself that regardless of who I used to be, now I’m Dimitri’s wife. I can’t let her run over me.
Nicci smiles as I sit down, but I notice that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s tension in her face, although that doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong. “Evelyn,” she says, her voice slightly accented with a hint of French. “I’m glad you came.”
“You thought I wouldn’t?” I guess that’s a fair assumption. Even though I told her I would, I can imagine plenty of women might decide to ghost a lunch date with their husband’s ex.
Nicci shrugs. “I thought you might not. Or that Dimitri might not let you come.”
“He doesn’t tell me what to do.” The words come out snappishly enough that it’s clear that he tried, and I wish I did a better job of keeping a poker face. Especially when I see a slight, smirking tilt to Nicci’s lips.
“Of course not,” she says smoothly. “Anyway, I’m grateful you agreed to meet me.”
“Why?” I blurt out. “I know you said you wanted to apologize, but—” I break off, because there’s no real polite way to say but you don’t really seem like the type.
“We’ll talk about that once we have some wine.” That smile lingers on her lips. “I ordered a bottle of red. Malbec. I hope that’s alright—I don’t know if you have preferences in wine. And an appetizer.”
Her tone clearly insinuates that she doesn’t think I’m sophisticated enough to have a preference in wine, and unfortunately, she’s right. I know I like red better than white, and that’s it. But I just smile, nodding agreeably.
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”
“Good.” Nicci looks pleased. “We can talk once we’ve got a glass of wine and some nibbles. Oh look—there’s the server. Perfect.”
The server coming over to our table has a bottle of red wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, another woman in the same uniform behind him with a white china plate. She sets the plate down between us, and I see it has a mound of what looks like raw beef in the center, a perfectly round, orange egg yolk in the center, surrounded by delicate crisps. A smaller plate is set down next to it, with two small porcelain ramekins of dips.
“Horseradish cream and maple mustard,” the server says with a smile, before backing up to let the wine be served. Nicci doesn’t say a word until the wine is poured, swirling hers in her glass and watching me intently as I ask for a glass of ice water with lemon as well. The last thing I want is to get overly tipsy on wine.
“Mm. My favorite.” She nods at the beef, which I’m very uncertain about, but I can’t exactly let on. I have a feeling that I’m going to be at a disadvantage if I let on that I’m uncertain about anything during this lunch, which is irritating, because I don’t even know what game I’m supposed to be playing. As far as I’m aware, this is supposed to be so that Nicci can apologize, not so that we can bat thinly veiled insults back and forth.
I watch as she breaks the yolk with the tip of a crisp, before scooping up a bit of the beef and egg and reaching for one of the tiny teaspoons to drizzle the mustard sauce over it. “Beef tartare,” she says, glancing at me, and I’m aware that once again I’ve failed to hide my reaction to anything that’s going on. It’s evident, clearly, that I’m unfamiliar with what’s on the table. “I know eating raw meat can seem a little strange, but it’s actually delicious. Do you like sushi? It’s not much different from that. And just a little…primal, don’t you think? A little bit of blood in our elegant world.”
Her smile sharpens as she pops the crisp into her mouth, chewing delicately before swallowing and taking another sip of her wine. “But then again, you’ve married Dimitri, haven’t you? There’s more than a little blood in his world.”
“I don’t know much about that.” I scoop up a bit of the meat and egg, eyeing both sauces before deciding on the horseradish. “I’m not involved in Dimitri’s business.” That much is true, at least.
Nicci looks at me narrowly. “Ah, so you’re one of those wives who prefers to not take an interest in her husband’s work. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to tell you?” She smiles, reaching for another crisp. “He was always a bit closemouthed about it all around me. Just— it’s business, Nicci , all of the time. He never wanted to talk about it.”
There’s a thin irritation to her voice that tells me exactly what she thought about that. I pop the bite into my mouth, hoping that I can mask it if I don’t like the food. But surprisingly, it’s actually very good. Rich and sharp, and I let out a surprised hum of pleasure, reaching for my wine glass.
“I have my own business,” I tell her calmly. “I don’t need to know about Dimitri’s. And given what little I do know, I’d really rather not.” I’m not sure if that’s something I should reveal or not, but what I do know is that I’m not particularly good at playing this kind of game. I’m not going to reveal everything about our relationship to her, but trying to be coy and cagey is probably not going to work out well for me, either.
And I still don’t know what she really wants. I’m starting to regret not listening to Dimitri and staying home, and that pisses me off, too, because I don’t want him to be right about this.
“That’s right. The clothing boutique—” Nicci snaps her fingers, as if trying to remember the name.
“Pearls and Lace,” I supply.
“That’s right. Didn’t it have an unfortunate accident recently?”
“It did. Dimitri is helping me remodel. As a wedding present.” I smile at her. “It was very generous of him.”
“A wedding present. It was a quick wedding, wasn’t it?” Nicci’s gaze sharpens again, and I see her eyes drop down to my waistline hidden by the edge of the table. “Almost as if the two of you had been seeing each other for a long time, and had reason to get married in a whirlwind.”
Slowly, I finish another bite of the meat, taking a sip of my wine before answering. “The romance was a whirlwind,” I say calmly, and I see Nicci’s gaze flick to the large ring on my left hand. “Unexpected for both of us. But what the heart wants…”
She nods. “Of course.”
The server comes back just then, and I’m grateful for a moment to compose myself. Nicci orders duck breast with blueberry sauce and a side of green beans, and I order a chicken Caesar salad. When the server walks away, I look back at her.
“I’m not pregnant,” I tell her coolly. “And you said you asked me here because you wanted to apologize, not because you wanted to continue to insult me. If that’s not the case, Nicci, then I might as well just thank you for the…interesting lunch, and go.”
“I’m sorry.” She blurts it out, so suddenly that it catches me off guard, and I blink as she reaches up, toying with the corner of her napkin. “It’s not that I really wanted Dimitri. It was an arrangement. I mean, he’s handsome enough, and I didn’t mind the idea of being a Bratva wife, but?—”
I watch her, and I’m not as good at reading people as Dahlia is. But I think she looks sincere. She bites the edge of her perfectly made-up lip, the nude lipstick there smearing a bit, and she reaches up, dabbing at it automatically as she looks at me. “Our marriage was meant to secure a deal between my father and his,” she explains. “And my father was very disappointed when I failed to do that. It’s…difficult, you know? Having a parent disappointed in you.”
“I do know, actually.” I feel a pang of sympathy towards her, because I’ve been nothing but a disappointment to my parents, really, since I decided to open Pearls and Lace. They wanted security for me, and I chose art. “I’m sorry that happened. But isn’t it better than being married to someone who didn’t really want you?”
My chest tightens as I say it, because isn’t that also what’s happening to me? Dimitri might lust after me, but he doesn’t want me forever. He doesn’t want me as a partner, a real wife, and while that shouldn’t bother me, I feel a pang at the thought all the same.
“My father is not a very understanding man.” Nicci reaches for her wine glass a little too quickly, taking a longer sip this time. “He’s not very pleasant when he’s disappointed. So if I was rude to you at the party, that’s why. But I know that’s not an excuse.”
I glance over her quickly, as unobtrusively as I can, wondering if I’ll see any hints of bruises. Anything to indicate that she’s really hinting at what I think she is. I don’t see anything, but that’s not necessarily a tell. Good makeup application can hide a world of sins.
“You were rude,” I say slowly. “And it was hurtful, to be honest. I didn’t ask for what happened between Dimitri and I. It just…happened.” That’s also true, technically. “He told me the two of you were never officially engaged.”
There’s a brief spark in Nicci’s eyes, something angry, but she quickly douses it. “We had an understanding,” she says. “But I suppose yes, that’s true. We were never officially engaged.” Her mouth tilts downwards slightly. “I was expecting the proposal over Christmas. Or maybe at New Year’s.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to step on anyone’s toes,” I say carefully. “Or break your engagement. But…”
“You fell in love. I get it.” Nicci waves a hand, her shiny red manicure flashing in the sunlight. “I didn’t love Dimitri, and he didn’t love me. It was business.”
Business. That’s what our marriage is, too. But I try not to let that show on my face, the odd pang in my chest that I feel when I hear that word.
It didn’t feel very businesslike last night when he had his face between my legs on the rooftop. But I try not to let that show, either.
“What is it you want, Nicci?” I ask curiously. “Is it really just to apologize?”
Her smile falters again, the tiniest bit. “I want closure,” she says. “Dimitri and I might not have been officially engaged, but we were together. He was supposed to ask me to marry him. Our fathers had a deal. And yes, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry for how rude I was to you, but I also…I suppose I wanted to get a closer look at who swiped Dimitri out from under me.”
That’s fair. After all, I came to this lunch for the same reason. Not because I really care about an apology from her, but because I wanted to see her in a closer light. I was curious.
“Well, you’ve apologized.” Our food is all but finished now, and I take the last sip of my wine. “And you’ve seen me. So…”
Nicci bites the corner of her lip again. “Could we get coffee? There’s a cute little coffee shop next door. I’d like to hear more about your boutique. I’ll need some dresses for next year, and once you’re up and running again, I thought I’d stop by. We could have a little consultation. My way of really apologizing. Money is better than words, isn’t it?”
She would think that. It fits the kind of woman she seems to be. But she’s also not entirely wrong. Money is better than words, coming from her, because I’m not really interested in whether she’s sorry or not. But her business could be very good for the boutique. Especially if others see someone from the Armand family wearing my designs, and come my way.
Dimitri’s giving me what I need to get back in business, but it’s up to me to make the most of that. And if I can make some money off of his ex-almost-fiancee, that feels like a small victory.
Especially after she embarrassed me at that party.
“Okay.” I nod, as she tosses a black credit card down on the bill and the server scoops it up. “Coffee sounds nice. We can discuss what you’re thinking.”
She finishes the last sip of her wine, standing up smoothly, and I follow her to the door. I don’t bother looking for Gus, since I know he’s here somewhere, and he’ll follow me.
We’re two steps out onto the sidewalk when I remember looking around as my car pulled up to the curb earlier, and not seeing any coffee shop anywhere nearby.
A black SUV with tinted windows swings up to the curb, the side door flinging open. I stumble backwards, only to feel two hard hands grabbing my arms, the fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. Any thought that it might be Gus flies out of my mind then, and I twist to one side, trying to get a good look at who my attacker is.
“Gus!” I shout his name, but my voice is drowned out by the sound of two quick gunshots, one after the other.
The hands holding me abruptly drop, and I feel something wet soak through the back of the knee of my jeans. I stumble forward, thrown off balance by the sudden push and pull, nearly falling before I grab one of the streetlight posts and keep myself from going down to the concrete.
Blood is spattered over the sidewalk. I twist around and see Gus, his gun lowering as he stands over two bodies. Blood is rushing in my ears, and I dimly hear screams, someone yelling for the police, but all I can focus on is the death in front of me—and then the sight of Nicci, moving at a fast clip down the sidewalk towards another waiting car.
“Gus!” I gasp his name, and he turns, seeing Nicci jump into the second SUV. He raises his gun, firing twice, but the car pulls away, and he lowers it again. It’s easy to see why—there’s too many obstacles. Other cars, pedestrians, collateral damage that I’m grateful he seems to care about.
My leg feels wet, and when I look down, I see that it’s soaked through with blood—presumably from the man who grabbed me. Nausea wells up in my throat, and I bend over, vomiting into the cooling puddle of blood seeping out from his body as I see Gus’s boots headed in my direction.
“We have to go.” He tugs on my arm, hard enough to jolt me out of my haze. “ Now , Mrs. Yashkova.”
I blink up at him, and he tugs again. “Evelyn.”
The sound of my name does it. I see the black town car that brought us here, the driver already out, opening a door for me. I follow Gus blindly, letting him lead me to the car, and I can feel my hands trembling.
“It was Nicci,” I blurt out as I slip inside. “Nicci had something to do with this.”
“I know,” he says grimly. “Dimitri will handle it.”
And then he shuts the door, blocking out the sounds of the chaos outside.