24. Evelyn
24
EVELYN
I f there’s one thing that I know for certain, it’s that I have to regain some control in my marriage with Dimitri. If letting him fuck me in the ass proved anything, it’s that my desire for him is breaking down all my defenses. What started out as a fight turned into some of the best sex of my life—and the other best sex of my life was with him, too.
It’s not unthinkable that he does this to me. He’s gorgeous, infuriatingly frustrating and sexy all at the same time, a man in control of everything around him except his desire for me. That in and of itself is intoxicating, but there’s other things about him too, the things that make me worried that if I let this go on, I’ll fall for him irrevocably. His protectiveness, his strength, his confidence—all of it is getting under my skin, making me want him, and making me want to know him, too.
That’s more dangerous than lust. But I’ve never been good at separating the two, and I can’t imagine that I’ll start with him, a man who affects me in ways that no one else ever has.
The only recourse I have is to try to avoid him as much as possible. It’s difficult, even in a penthouse this size, but Dimtri seems to have the same idea. When he undoes the belt, letting me go, I scuttle off of the bed and into the bathroom, drawing a hot bath and lingering in it long after I hear the sounds of him going downstairs. When I finally venture down, the door to his office is closed, and it stays that way until after I’ve gone up to bed.
For the next few days, I do everything in my power to put distance between us. He always wakes up before me, and I avoid even going near his office, instead taking Buttons and Gus as soon as I’ve had breakfast and coffee and going to oversee the shop renovations. With all of the debris cleared out from the fire, and the repairs to the structure all but finished, I’m able to start working on wallpaper and paint in some sections, while builders start to add back in the front counter and other parts of the interior that were destroyed before. The fact that it was left a shell, while devastating, offered new opportunities with Dimitri’s money funding the renovations, and I’ve basically been able to recreate a new, ideal floor plan inside, different from what I was stuck with when I originally got the place.
As heartbreaking as losing the original shop was, it’s exciting to make the space all my own, exactly as I would have wanted it if it were built from scratch. Dimitri has made it clear that money is no object, and that I should spend as much of it as I want, and I refuse to feel guilty about it. Dahlia is more than encouraging of that, when she comes by after work one evening while I’m putting up wallpaper striped in dark and sage green.
“This is going to be stunning when it’s finished,” she says, turning in a circle as she looks around the main room. “I can definitely see the vision. Are you putting the consultation area in there?” She points to one corner of the large main area, where some boxes have been staged as a way to visualize where furniture might go.
I nod. “It used to be in that small room, because the way the floor plan was set up, there wasn’t enough space out here. But now that I can make this outer room larger, I like the idea of having consultations here. There’s more space, and it’s brighter. The light is so much better, and being able to see the view of the city outside feels like it really elevates the mood of the space. I’m still going to have a back room, besides the storage room, but I’m going to use it as a break room and kitchenette. So I can have tea, coffee, things like that during consults.”
Dahlia grins. “It sounds like you have it all set up. You’re good at this, Evelyn. It’s not often artists are also good at running the business side of things, but you’ve got both down pat.”
“Thanks.” I return the smile. “It’s good to have something to throw myself into again.”
“Speaking of—” Her smile turns mischievous. “How’s married life?”
I groan. There’s a lot that I haven’t told Dahlia, largely because I know what her reaction would be. I also don’t want to tell her that Dimitri and I have crossed the line physically, because while I’d love to gossip about it, I know she won’t encourage me to stop. Dahlia has always been good at keeping sex casual, and she’s never understood how I manage to tie myself up in knots over men that have been nothing but disappointing.
“That bad, huh?” She tucks a piece of blonde hair behind her ear, still smirking at me.
“We fight a lot.” I press my lips together. “He’s used to being in control, I think. And I’m stubborn. You know that. So?—”
“In control, hm?” Her eyes twinkle, and I desperately hope that the heat I can feel just under the collar of my sweater doesn’t creep up my neck. Dahlia knows me too well, and if I look even the slightest bit guilty, she’ll jump on it instantly. “Angry sex can be hot.”
“I told you, I put it in the contract that there’s no sex.” An evasion, but not a lie. I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, far more than I ever did before I met Dimitri. “It’s just…not a good idea.”
“Because you’ll get attached.” Dahlia blows out a breath. “You’re stronger than I am. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of a man like that, if I were sleeping in the same bed with him.”
“Hey. That’s my husband you’re talking about.” It’s meant to be a lackluster joke, but a tingle runs over my skin at the word husband . I never really imagined myself getting married, all of my attention and focus taken up by the shop. And now I’ve gotten married in the strangest way possible, with the promise of divorce baked into the pre-nup.
Thinking of Dimitri as my husband makes my stomach tighten into knots and my chest ache in a way that I don’t want to think too hard about, and I shove the thought away. Dahlia is looking at me curiously when I refocus on her, and I clear my throat, hoping that everything in my mind isn’t showing on my face.
“You looked like you went somewhere else for a minute, there.”
“Well, there’s a lot to think about.” I wave a hand around the shop, as if that’s what’s taking up all the space in my head. “I want this place to be perfect. This is my one chance to do it exactly how I would want. No limitations, nothing other than what I can dream up. So I don’t want to let that chance go to waste.”
“You won’t,” Dahlia says confidently. “You’re already off to a great start. Are you and Dimitri coming to the Met party this year?”
The abrupt change in topic throws me off balance for a moment. I hadn’t even thought about the Met party, which makes me feel guilty, since it’s a huge event at the place where Dahlia works. It’s also where Dimitri and I briefly met for the first time, and the thought of going with him makes my stomach squirm uncomfortably. The significance of going again together isn’t lost on me, and it won’t be on him, either.
But I can’t go alone, or with Dahlia this year, like I did last time. If I decide to go, I know Dimitri will insist on coming with me. In fact, I’m not at all sure that it isn’t on his list of holiday parties that we’re expected to attend.
“My dress this year isn’t nearly as good,” Dahlia laments. “But I’m not getting an award, so it’s fine. And it’s not your fault, of course. But there’s nothing like wearing something you’ve created for me.”
“Next year,” I promise her. “And I don’t know if I’m going. Dimitri hasn’t said anything about it, and if he’s not?—”
I trail off, knowing Dahlia will get it. I see a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but I know she understands. “I’ll miss you if you can’t go,” she says. “But trust me, I get it. Things are complicated right now.”
“They won’t be forever.” I feel an unexpected pang at that thought. When things are no longer complicated, it will be because Dimitri and I are divorced. Which is what I’m supposed to want. It’s what we agreed to.
So why does it feel like a fresh crack opens up in my heart now, every time I think about it?
—
As if the universe wants to torment me on purpose, Dimitri is downstairs when I come home that evening, standing at the counter eating a piece of pizza. It’s a prosciutto and fig pizza from what I can see, not Dominos, but it’s still startling to see him eating so casually, in chinos rolled up at the ankles and a shawl-collared sweater, relaxed and at ease. It’s a sharp reminder of what our life could be if we had a real, normal marriage, and I feel that pang in my chest again.
“Evelyn.” He says my name, startling me as I shrug off my coat and boots. I look up, the urge to snipe at him welling up despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t pick a fight.
“What did I do this time?” I narrow my eyes at him, and he frowns at me.
“We have a party to go to this weekend. The gala at the Met. If you don’t have a dress already, you should look into getting one. You can use my personal shopper, and of course, my credit card.”
A flicker of guilt runs through me at how quick I was to say something biting, but I can’t take it back now. I know it’s a defense mechanism, and not a particularly healthy one, but it feels like I have so little to defend myself with, these days. Dimitri keeps slipping past every wall I try to fling up.
“I’ll make sure to get a dress, then.” I walk quickly towards the stairs, avoiding looking at him as I go past. I hear him say my name, as I reach the edge of the staircase, but I keep walking, not pausing to look back.
The next day, Dahlia meets me after work to go dress shopping. I managed to avoid seeing Dimitri all day, and I’ve found that it’s actually remarkably easy to avoid seeing one’s spouse if that spouse also wants to avoid you. We seem to have reached an understanding in that, at least, and it’s a strange kind of relief. I’m glad not to have to constantly confront the way he makes me feel, but at the same time, I feel that pang of disappointment every time I come downstairs, or come back to the penthouse, and he’s not there.
Gus is stiffer with me, too. Before the incident when I tried to slip out without him, we had a sort of friendly camaraderie, even though I wasn’t thrilled with having him around constantly. But the more days that pass, the more terse and tense he becomes, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because there’s danger growing that I’m unaware of. If there’s things happening behind the scenes that I don’t know about, because Dimitri hasn’t told me.
But I’m not about to go find him in his office to ask. And the result is that I don’t see him until Friday evening, when I come down the stairs to meet him before the gala.
The dress I chose was heavy red satin, with a stiff, structured bodice and full skirt, with a one-shoulder neckline that curves enticingly just over my breasts. Scattered from one shoulder across the bodice and down over the skirt are intermittent sprays of silver sparkles, like snowflakes dusted over the stiff red satin. I took Dimitri’s offer of unlimited use of his credit card seriously, and bought a pair of red-bottomed silver strappy heels to go with it, along with a silver snowflake necklace and a pair of diamond studs to go with it.
He’s waiting downstairs, in a black suit that’s tailored perfectly to him, his dark blond hair styled away from his face and the hint of his tattoos at the edge of his collar, swirling over the backs of his hands. He looks up as he hears the click of my heels on the stairs, and I see the way his eyes darken, filling with heat as he takes in the sight of me.
I swallow hard, trying not to think about all the possibilities that come with that heat, all of the things we’ve already done. Dimitri hasn’t touched me since he tied me to the bed that afternoon, has barely even come near me, and that’s done nothing to quell the desire I feel for him. I thought distance would help, but instead I feel increasingly on edge, my body craving what I’ve learned he can give me—what it seems that only he can give me. Or at the very least, if someone else can, I’ve never met them.
“The party doesn’t even start for another three hours.” I frown at him as I reach the bottom step, trying to veer away from any possibility of him saying something that might stoke the heat I can already feel flaring between us. “Why did you want me to get ready so early?”
“You’ll see.” Dimitri’s gaze sweeps appreciatively over me once more before he turns, gesturing to the door. “Are you ready?”
I follow him out to the waiting car, Vik and Gus trailing behind us. I’m curious as to what’s going on, my stomach twisting in knots as I slide into the car next to Dimitri, the door closing behind him as he follows me in.
This is the closest I’ve been to him in days. His juniper and woods-scented cologne fills the warm space of the car, making my heart beat a little faster, my pulse fluttering in my throat. It makes me think of his arm around me, catching me as I slipped on ice, of his hand pressing against the small of my back every time we’ve danced, his body leaning over mine as he thrust into me. I’ve come to associate that scent with safety, with pleasure, with feelings that make my heart race, just like it is right now.
I twist my fingers together in my lap, trying not to look at Dimitri. I don’t want him to see how being close to him again is affecting me, or how oddly nervous I am. I don’t know what he has planned, and after spending the week pointedly avoiding each other, I don’t want him to realize that all the distance has done is make my body miss his more.
And—I’ve missed him , too. I’ve even missed the fighting. I’ve missed the way he brings every argument to a screeching halt by saying something so out of left field that it can’t do anything else, things that I shouldn’t like—like telling me he’ll kill anyone he needs to in order to keep me safe—but that I do, anyway. I’ve missed the way his confidence makes me feel as if everything will be alright, even when it feels like things are falling apart around us.
But I don’t want him to know any of that.
We ride in silence until the car finally rolls to a stop outside of a large restaurant called L’Vin, the outdoor patio empty but strung with bright, twinkling lights and dotted with heaters, the interior warm-looking, dim, and welcoming. The driver opens the door, and I slide out after Dimitri, following him as he leads us into the restaurant.
“Reservation for Yashkov,” he tells the hostess, and she nods immediately, gathering a menu and motioning to him.
“Follow me, sir,” she says, her bearing making it clear that she’s aware that Dimitri is someone of some importance, and I can’t help enjoying a little how it feels to be with someone that others take note of like that. I’ve never been one to care about social status, but it is a nice experience, much like living in the kind of luxury that Dimitri casually enjoys has been. I don’t need it, but while I have it—I don’t hate it.
She takes us up to the second level, up a spiral staircase of dark-varnished stairs, to a corner table with an incredible view of the city skyline. I frown at Dimitri as he pulls my chair out, still confused as to what’s going on.
“Did you just want to get dinner before the party?” I ask, as he sits down opposite me. “I didn’t realize?—”
“I wanted to spend some time with you.” He says it so plainly that it startles me, and I blink at him, momentarily thrown off-guard.
“Why?” The single word comes out more bluntly than I meant for it to, but Dimitri doesn’t seem to take it the wrong way. He just lets out a breath, rubbing one hand over his mouth as he settles into his chair.
“We didn’t start out as enemies,” he says quietly. “When we first met. Or that night when your shop burned down, when we met for the second time.”
“ Enemies feels like a strong word,” I start to say, and he shakes his head. I fall silent again, waiting to hear what else he has to say.
“We’re not there yet. But there’s plenty of time left on our marriage’s clock. And we’ve been at each other’s throats. This world is strange to you, and I’ve been strained, trying to maintain what I promised you. Trying to keep you safe.” Dimitri pauses. “I don’t want us to end as enemies. So I want to know more about you. About your world. About what you want while we’re doing—this.”
I blink at him, still startled into silence. I don’t think, in all the dates I’ve been on, that a man has ever asked me so plainly to talk about myself. “I—what do you want to know?”
He pauses, as the server comes by. He orders an old fashioned and I ask for red wine, and we order appetizers of crispy shrimp with a spicy sauce and scallop crostini with balsamic glaze. “What made you decide on fashion?” Dimitri asks as the server walks away, and I pause, thinking back to when I first picked what I wanted to do.
“It’s art,” I say finally. “Dahlia focused on art, too—she did art history. But all of that kind of art, as beautiful as it is, always seemed static to me. Paintings, sculpture, photography—it’s all incredible, don’t get me wrong. I’m wowed by those who are good at it…but fashion felt like living art, to me. Seeing something you designed on the person wearing it, moving, out in the world—it felt like an entirely different kind of art. And it made me excited to create it.”
Dimitri is looking at me as if he’s never seen me before, something soft in his expression that I don’t dare let myself think about for too long. “I’ve never thought of it like that,” he says, reaching for his drink. “That’s a beautiful way of describing it.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “I would ask you what made you pick your line of work. But I don’t think you did, did you?”
Dimitri chuckles. “No, I didn’t. I was born into this. I suppose I could have gotten out of it, although I can’t say I’ve ever known an eldest son of a mob family who tried to leave and made it out alive.”
“Wow.” I blink at him, startled by the casual way he says it. “That’s—intense. I can’t imagine my life being on the line for my career choices.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Well, it’s not exactly a choice then, is it? My younger brother could have taken over, I suppose, if I’d left and chosen not to do my duty. But he died some years back. So even that option was taken away.”
My mouth parts slightly in shock. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”
Dimitri swallows a sip of his drink, and he looks calm, but I can see the tension in his jaw. I’ve begun to notice things like that. Small things, things that feel intimate if I think about them for too long. “It was five years ago. It still hurts, if I let myself linger on it, so I don’t. As with many things in this life.” He sets his drink down, reaching for a piece of crostini and setting it on his plate. “This life is brutal. You become accustomed to the brutality. I don’t know that I’ve really thought about just how much, until I met you and brought you into it. It’s become more—apparent, since then.”
“I’m…sorry?” I don’t know what I should say to that. It sounds as if I’ve made his life more difficult, but he doesn’t look as if that’s what he means. If anything, he just looks…thoughtful.
“No need to be.” Dimitri finishes his drink with a long swallow, nudging it to the edge of the table for the server to see. “It’s good, I think. A reminder to keep the violence in check, when possible. My father was once one of the most brutal pakhan s the American Bratva had ever known. He slipped, in his later years. Became more paranoid, his hits based on emotion rather than fact. But I’ve always had it in my mind that I would try to be different. More measured. That I would mete out violence when necessary, but not as a first resort.”
It fits with what I know of him so far. “Like not punishing Gus for my mistake.”
Dimitri’s mouth twitches. “Yes. Like that.”
I reach for a bite of shrimp, unsure of how to feel. He asked me to open up to him, and I did, and he did the same for me. But where does that take us? What can come of this? I don’t know the answer to that. Nor do I know the answer to the question that’s much more frightening: what do I want to come of it?
I like him more than I should. More than I could have ever imagined liking a man like him—a man steeped in violence and a culture I can’t begin to wrap my head around, and that I don’t know if I ever want to. I liked him when we first met—his confidence and the gentlemanly sheen over a rougher side just beneath, his sense of humor and the way, when he looked at me, I felt like he was actually looking at me. Trying to see me, to understand who I really was, and not just who he hoped I’d be.
It was why I ran from him that first night, because I knew I could fall for him. It was why I tried to put up so many barriers between us for this marriage. And yet, he keeps breaking through them.
He still makes me feel the way he did that first night, before I realized what this marriage would mean. And now, sitting at this table with the city skyline stretching out around us, a smile on Dimitri’s lips and feeling like I can breathe for the first time in days—like I’m happy —I can’t help but wonder what it would be like for this to be real.
For us to go home together tonight, and fall into bed together without guilt, without worrying that it will tie us together in ways we can’t break.
For the ticking clock over our marriage to finally stop counting down.