Chapter 18
18
“ I brought wine!” Cherie announces the moment Roman pulls open the front door of the manor, brandishing a bottle of Rosé from behind her back and waving it back and forth.
“Great!” I reply with all the fake enthusiasm I can muster. I force a smile to my lips, trying to match her energy, but this woman takes perky to a whole new level. If she were a dog, she’d be a chihuahua.
Anton tosses an arm over his wife’s shoulders, grinning like a fool in love as he tucks her in tighter and lifts his gaze to Roman.
“Please, come in,” my husband prompts, his own arm dangling loosely around my waist. I’ll bet we look like the perfect couple right now, smiling and greeting our guests at the threshold of our home. From outward appearances, nobody would know this is all a facade.
The hem of Cherie’s short lavender dress swishes around her thighs as Anton steers her inside, her eyes widening in awe when she glances around the expansive foyer. “This place is incredible,” she breathes, long lashes fluttering as she blinks to take it all in. “How long have you lived here?”
“The manor has been in the family for generations,” Roman replies proudly, fingers tightening around my hip. He pulls me in closer to his side, prompting me to crane my neck and look up at him. “Why don’t you show Cherie to the terrace?” he suggests.
Of course, this was all previously orchestrated. Roman asked Anton to the manor to discuss business, and evidently Cherie insisted on tagging along under the guise of ‘female bonding’. I’m not sure what exactly we’ll be bonding over since I barely know the woman, but far be it for me to pass up a chance at making a connection with someone other than the cast of souls trapped on the estate. I’ve been so isolated lately that I’m slowly starting to lose my mind here.
Roman ushers Anton to his office while I’m left to lead Cherie through the winding halls of the manor, her head on a swivel as she ooh- s and ahh- s in fascination at every portrait and room we pass. To her, this place is a spectacle; a time-capsule of generational wealth. She has no idea how creepy it is to actually live here.
The horrors persist, but so do I.
“I had Clara make chicken marsala,” I say as we approach the door to the terrace, glancing back at Cherie over my shoulder. “I doubt it’ll hold a candle to the one you had in Italy, but I figured it was a safe bet since you’d mentioned you liked it.”
She beams a smile at me. “Italian food, Italian wine, sounds like my kind of afternoon!” Cherie sing-songs as she follows me outside. It’s unseasonably warm today, so when Clara suggested moving our luncheon to the terrace, I jumped at the opportunity. Any excuse to get out of the gloom of the manor.
The red soles of Cherie’s designer heels click against the stamped concrete as we move across the terrace, echoing my own. “Okay, this place is amazing,” she gushes, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she sweeps her appreciative gaze over the perfectly-clipped lawn and thick forest beyond. “Ugh, you’re like right in the middle of nature out here! We definitely don’t get this in the city.”
“You live in the city?” I ask, interest piqued.
“Part time, yeah,” she breathes, tucking an espresso strand of hair behind her ear as she spins to face me. “It was a hike to get out here, but Anton told me it was worth it, and he’s totally right.”
I fake a smile and nod in agreement, biting back the sarcastic retort on the tip of my tongue. Cherie seems sweet, but given her husband’s affiliation with mine, I’d be an idiot not to keep my guard up around her. The role I play for Roman as his demure, compliant wife extends to his associates, too.
We take our seats on opposite sides of the square wrought-iron table, already pristinely set with a short vase of black dahlias as the centerpiece. They’re currently in bloom in the gardens, so I asked Lev to cut some for the occasion– because despite my miserable existence here at the manor, I’m nothing short of an impeccable hostess. Those ridiculous etiquette lessons I was forced to endure in my early teens are finally paying off.
Clara must’ve been spying when our guests arrived, because she quickly appears with a wine key and two glasses, uncorking and pouring the Rosé while Cherie tells me all about the vineyard she and Anton procured it from in Italy. I feign interest, smiling and nodding as I sip from my glass. She’s still going on about how quaint and picturesque the winery is when Clara returns with our plates of food, barely even looking my way as she sets them down on the table in front of us.
I definitely didn’t earn any points with Clara when I tattled to Roman about giving her my list.
If I didn’t resent her so much, I’d try to smooth things over. As it is, though, I’m not really interested in putting forth effort with the housemaid when she’s been so cold and distant from day one. And besides, I’ve got a much better prospective friend sitting right across from me.
Cherie and I pick at our meals as we chat about the shift in the weather and Anton’s plans to whisk her away to the Maldives for the holidays, the conversation flowing more easily with each glass of wine we sink. It isn’t long before we reach the bottom of the bottle, a giggle slipping from my throat as I split the last of it between our glasses.
I can’t remember the last time I was this buzzed in the middle of the afternoon. Considering how bleak my life has become, perhaps I should day drink more often.
“So, what’s your place like in the city?” I ask, toying with the stem of my glass as I relax back in my chair.
“Oh, it’s lush,” she quips, hazel eyes sparkling. “Our building’s in Central Park South with a view of fifth avenue. Anton paid a small fortune, but it’s worth every penny. You two should come over for dinner sometime, see it for yourself!”
“I’d love that,” I reply enthusiastically, head bobbing up and down. There’s lots of traffic and people in the city. I’ll bet I could disappear easily there, if given the chance.
“I’ll make sure it happens, then,” she replies with a wink, and I have no doubt that’s true. Cherie seems like the type of woman who can bat her lashes and flirt her way into getting whatever she desires. Not only is she ridiculously beautiful, but her husband seems to be completely enamored with her. If only all of us could be so lucky.
“So, how’s married life?” she asks, as if she’s reading my damn mind.
“Great,” I chirp, forcing a brittle smile as I lift my glass to my lips.
Cherie leans forward conspiratorially, dropping her voice low. “I’ll bet Roman’s wild in bed, isn’t he?” she probes, wagging her brows.
I choke on the sip of wine I was taking, sputtering to catch my breath as Cherie loses herself in a fit of giggles.
“What? It’s just us girls!” she laughs. “C’mon, satisfy my curiosity. If we can’t dish about our husbands, then what else is there?”
She’s right– the two of us don’t have much in common other than who we’re married to. This is a friendship based purely on circumstance, and if I want to give it a chance to grow and thrive, then I need to water the seeds we’ve planted. Lord knows I could use a friend.
“Yeah, he’s…” I set my wine glass back down as I trail off, clearing my throat while I consider an appropriate way to respond. I settle on, “The sex is good,” though that’s a colossal understatement. The sex is fucking phenomenal . Every time Roman’s inside me, I forget why I hate him so much.
“I knew it!” she squeals, grinning like a cat as a blush heats my cheeks. “He’s probably one of those super bossy, dominant types, isn’t he?”
I avoid her question by draining the rest of the wine in my glass, though I’m sure my reddened face is answer enough.
“Fine, you don’t have to give me all the details,” she giggles, waving me off. “For the record, Anton’s an incredible lover. I’m convinced that all men in their line of work are. All that pent-up aggression needs an outlet, right?”
I shake my head with a soft chuckle. Though my own experience is limited, I can’t disagree.
Cherie grins smugly as she raises her glass and sips the last of her Rosé, turning to gaze out over the lawn. I flinch when she suddenly jolts forward in her chair, eyes widening in fear. “Oh my god, is that a bear?” she gasps.
I snap my head sideways to follow her line of sight, and this girl’s lucky she’s pretty, because she’s definitely not the brightest. “No, that’s just one of the dogs,” I reassure, a smile coming to my lips as I watch Nox trotting happily along the perimeter of the hedges. “There’s another around here somewhere, the two of them guard the property.”
She swings her nervous gaze back on me. “Oh. I guess that makes sense, considering you’re out here in the middle of nowhere. Though I don’t really do dogs. I’d just have Anton hire security.”
“My husband likes his privacy,” I murmur, glancing across the lawn again. “And they may look mean, but they’re both big babies. Vesper takes a little more warming up, but Nox took to me right away.”
“Nox?” Cherie repeats, snorting a laugh. “Wow, egomaniac much?”
I turn to meet her eyes, brow creasing in confusion. Before she can elaborate further, though, we’re interrupted by the familiar clack of Clara’s Mary Janes as she emerges from the house, crossing the terrace to come collect our plates.
“Tell me you’ve got more wine?” Cherie pouts, eyeing the empty Rosé bottle wistfully.
“I’m not sure if we have Rosé, but…” I trail off, looking to Clara for confirmation as she begins clearing the table. Unsurprisingly, she gives me nothing, not even making eye contact.
“How about white?” Cherie prompts.
“Clara?” I ask, and she begrudgingly turns her gaze on me, silently awaiting my directive. “Can you bring us a bottle of white, please?”
“Of course, Mrs. Volkov,” she replies politely, giving me a curt nod before turning on a heel and heading back inside.
“You’ll have to give me a tour of this place,” Cherie comments as she watches Clara disappear into the manor. “The boys will be busy with business for a while, and I’ve always been fascinated with old architecture. It’s so delightfully spooky.”
“It’s definitely taken some getting used to,” I murmur, eyeing the crumbling stone exterior of the manor with disdain.
“Do you think it’s haunted?” she asks excitedly.
Definitely. “Maybe,” I shrug.
Cherie’s eyes suddenly pop wide, as if a lightbulb has just gone off in her head. “Oh my gosh, you should host a big Halloween party here!” she suggests eagerly. “I know it’s less than a month away, but you wouldn’t even have to do much to decorate, this place already has the perfect vibe.”
“We do have a ballroom,” I muse, fingering the stem of my empty wine glass and wishing Clara would hurry back with the new bottle. Discussing my prison so casually definitely warrants more wine.
“Seriously?” Cherie gasps, blinking her big hazel eyes at me. “Okay, then you definitely need to have a party.”
“We’ll see,” I chuckle, exhaling a breath of relief when Clara steps out onto the terrace with a bottle of white in her grasp. Swinging my gaze back over to Cherie, I add, “Like I said, my husband enjoys his privacy.”
“Don’t they all?” she sighs, lips curving in a mischievous smirk. “Okay, that’s a lie, Anton’s as flashy as they come. You know he bought me this gaudy thing just so he could show it off?” She raises her left hand, the obscenely large yellow diamond on her finger glittering as it catches the light. “I’m not even big on canary diamonds, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him when he gave it to me. He said his rare jewel deserved one of her own…” she leans in, narrowing her eyes, “which would be a whole lot sweeter if he didn’t always recycle that line with his business associates just so he can brag about how much it cost him.”
The two of us share a laugh as Clara refills our glasses, leaving us with the bottle and heading back inside. Reaching for my wine, I eye the massive rock sitting on my own ring finger, suddenly wishing I had a cute anecdote to add to our conversation. Somehow, I doubt even Cherie could romanticize Roman tossing the ring box at me in the back of a car and demanding I put it on.
“Does Anton ever work with Niko?” I ask casually, changing the subject to avoid her asking about my own proposal– or lack thereof.
“Sometimes,” she shrugs. “He typically deals with Roman directly. Hierarchy, and all that.” She waves a hand dismissively as she takes a big sip of wine, her delicate throat bobbing with her swallow as she lowers her glass and licks the residue from her lips. “I don’t typically go for blondes, but for Niko, I’d make an exception. That man can get it.”
Yeah he can. A blush unwittingly rises to my cheeks, which I quickly cover up by raising my glass and downing more wine.
“He must be over here a lot for how closely he works with the Volkovs, huh?” Cherie muses.
I nod as I swallow, setting my glass back down on the table in front of me. “Yeah, he said he was practically raised here. Something about their fathers being in business together, I think.”
Cherie shrugs, evidently not knowing any more about the inner workings of the organization than I do. Pity . “Anton’s second is a complete ogre,” she remarks, grimacing. “You should count yourself lucky for the eye candy. Not that you need it, considering who you’re married to.”
“Speaking of,” I mumble, darting a quick glance toward the door to ensure nobody’s listening in. “You mentioned at dinner that you knew Roman’s ex?”
Cherie gives me a pitying look as she nods. “I only met her once. So sad what happened. But hey, at least he found you , right?”
She knows something.
I sit up straighter, opening my mouth to ask what happened to the woman I replaced when I startle at the sound of a throat clearing, whipping my head side sideways to see Roman and Anton emerging from the manor.
“Sorry to cut this short, ladies, but we’ve had some urgent business come up and Anton needs to get back to the city,” Roman informs us as the two of them stride in our direction, looking like a pair of GQ models in their well-tailored suits.
Cherie looks to her husband, shoving her lower lip out in a pout of protest.
“Tell me you’re not on your second bottle,” Anton murmurs as he advances toward her, a teasing lilt to his tone.
Her lips split into a wide grin. “Guilty,” she giggles, batting her lashes and tossing back her dark hair.
“We really should get going then, she’s far too chatty when she drinks wine,” Anton jokes, sliding Roman a smirk.
“I was enjoying our chat,” I say with a genuine smile. “Your wife’s lovely.”
“Don’t I know it,” Anton quips. He pulls Cherie up from her seat, yanking her in close and smacking a kiss on her lips.
“We’ll walk you out,” Roman murmurs as he comes over to my chair and extends a hand toward me.
I place mine in his and he helps me to my feet like a perfect gentleman, guiding me away from the table with a hand on the small of my back. I’m actually grateful for it since I’m a bit wobbly after all the wine. It feels like I’m floating alongside Roman as we lead our guests through the manor to the foyer, Cherie chattering animatedly the entire way. When we go to say our goodbyes, she catches me off guard by throwing her arms around my neck, yanking me in for a hug like we’re best friends.
“Next time, dinner at our place,” she insists as she pulls back from the embrace, dazzling me with one last smile.
“Absolutely,” I agree, nodding emphatically.
Anton ushers her out the door with a muttered apology to Roman, who closes it behind them and engages the deadbolt before turning to face me, his expression impassive.
My face flushes hot as I hold his stare, suddenly all too aware of how close we’re standing to one another. With our guest’s departure, our ruse of being a happy couple has officially ended– yet for some reason, I don’t make any move to back away from him. I’m trapped in that emerald-eyed gaze, my palms turning clammy and my pulse picking up speed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Roman grumbles.
“Like what?” I ask breathily.
He steps in closer and leans down, his lips tickling the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Like you want to get fucked.”
My heart stutters in my chest, a flood of heat rushing to my core. He pulls back to meet my eyes, my mouth hanging open as I struggle for the words to respond.
My body language must tell him all he needs to know, because the corner of his mouth lifts infinitesimally, his hand returning to my lower back. “Come to my office,” he commands in a low, gravelly tone, his palm pressing forward firmly to guide me down the hall with him.
And I hate that I go willingly.