Chapter 10 - Zara
With steady hands, I fasten the delicate clasp of my necklace, the cool pearls settling against my collarbone. I study my reflection, appreciating the beautiful woman staring back at me. The black sequence dress hugs every curve, a daring slit revealing a tantalizing glimpse of thigh. I've spent hours on my makeup, creating a sultry smokey eye and my classic deep red lip. My dark hair cascades in soft waves down my back.
Tonight, I’m ready to stand by Abram’s side—on my own terms. Attending this gala with Abram kind of solidifies things a little. It’s a first, and it’s nerve-wracking, but I’ll try not to let it show. Tonight is about him proving himself to me, and not the other way around.
A text from Abram lights up my phone: "I'm here."
Pulse quickening, I grab my clutch and hurry downstairs. I push open the heavy doors of my apartment building and freeze. But only momentarily.
A gleaming black stretch limo idles at the curb. And there's Abram, looking devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored grey tuxedo that matches his eyes. His short stubble, perfected just right, makes him look so damn gorgeous, that my knees almost buck.
How the hell did I land a guy like him? I restrain myself from pinching my arm, just to make sure I’m not in a dream.
Meanwhile, his eyes darken as they rake over me.
"You look breathtaking," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my cheek when I reach his side. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my skin.
"Thank you," I reply smoothly, meeting his eyes with a knowing smile. "I wasn’t expecting a limo, but I suppose we’re making a statement tonight?" I gesture at the limo.
Abram's lips quirk up in amusement. "It’s a fancy gala, and I’ve got a woman to impress."
I roll my eyes, but inside, I feel powerful. He may have arranged the limo, but I’m the one who’s setting the tone tonight.
He helps me into the plush interior, sliding in beside me. The leather seats are butter-soft against my bare skin. Abram pops open a bottle of champagne, the cork hitting the roof with a muted thunk.
"To second chances," he says, handing me a flute of bubbling golden liquid.
I take a sip, the champagne fizzing on my tongue. "So, how do you score invites to so many galas?"
Abram's hand settles on my thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles. Heat blooms under my skin. "I have my ways," he says cryptically.
I shift, hyper-aware of his touch. My breath catches as his hand inches higher. Our eyes lock, and the air between us crackles with tension. But then he pulls away, leaving me aching for more.
"There are going to be lovely pieces tonight," Abram says casually, as if he hadn't just set my body on fire with a simple touch. “You should take this opportunity to look around for your gallery.”
I try to focus, to remember why I'm really here. But all I can think about is Abram's hand on my thigh and the promise of what might come later.
***
As we pull up to the gala, it takes all my willpower to not let my jaw drop. The mansion before us is a modern masterpiece of glass and steel, illuminated by strategically placed spotlights that make it glow like a jewel against the night sky.
"Oh my god," I breathe, taking in the scene. I’ve seen this house before, in magazines. Studied it. "This is Matteo Ricci’s estate. How did you—"
Abram's hand finds the small of my back as we step out of the limo. "I told you, I have connections." His voice is a low rumble in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He has connections, of course. With billionaires, too, evidently.
We enter the grand foyer, and I'm immediately overwhelmed by the opulence surrounding us. Priceless artwork adorns every wall, sculptures occupy corners, and a massive chandelier drips crystals overhead. The air buzzes with excitement and the clink of champagne glasses.
"This is incredible," I say enthusiastically, like a child at Disneyland, my eyes wide as I try to take it all in. "I had no idea the gala was being held here. Ricci's collection is legendary in the art world and my gallery has been trying to score an invite to his showcases for years, but we never managed to get one."
Abram's lips curl into a smirk. "Shall we explore?"
Just then, a group of men pull Abram into their midst. Abram keeps his hand on my back. “This, gentleman,” he says, “is Zara Lyons.”
They smile at me politely, though unable to hide their curiosity. Abram doesn’t linger long, moving us forward. Over a dozen people stop him in his path before we finally make it to the first exhibit.
All the while, I’m wondering how he knows so many people.
We wander through the exhibits, pausing to admire various pieces. At a striking abstract painting, I can't help but comment, "The use of color here is breathtaking. It's like the artist captured raw emotion on canvas."
"Much like you've captured mine," Abram says, his intense gaze fixed on me rather than the artwork.
I feel a blush creeping up my neck. "Smooth talker. But tell me, what do you see when you look at this piece?"
His brow furrows in concentration. "Chaos. But also… hope. Like even in the darkest moments, there's a glimmer of light trying to break through."
I'm surprised by the depth of his response. "That's… unexpectedly poetic."
"I'm full of surprises, Solnyshko," he winks, leading me to the next piece.
As we continue our tour, I find myself increasingly drawn to Abram. His sharp wit outmatches none other, and he makes terrific company. The more time I spend with him, the more I want to get to know him.
"So, Mr. Mysterious," I tease, sipping champagne, "are you going to tell me how you really scored an invite to this exclusive event?"
Abram's eyes darken slightly. "Let's just say Matteo and I have a… mutually beneficial relationship."
I raise an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous. And how do you have so many friends?"
He chuckles and leans forward in a conspiratorial whisper. "Half these people are dull as hell. I wouldn’t necessarily call them friends. But let this be our little secret."
I laugh just as he pulls away. From the corner of my eye, I catch a group of women looking in our direction, whispering. For some reason, I feel as though they’re whispering about us.
Abram’s eyes follow my gaze, and his hands find mine, intertwining our fingers. “Don’t pay them any attention,” he tells me rather loudly. The women look shocked and turn their backs to us.
I try not to laugh. The simple gesture of protectiveness makes me crave him even more, and I lean right into him.
***
As Abram leads me toward another section containing sculptures, a flash of movement catches my eye. My breath hitches. Standing near a striking abstract sculpture is a man who bears an uncanny resemblance to Abram. The same chiseled jawline, the same imposing height. I’ve seen him before… but where?
Suddenly, it comes back to me. This is his brother, Vladimir. He’d walked in on us once during a meeting at Abram’s home. There’s something unnerving about him and how he watches us. Where Abram exudes warmth, his brother radiates an icy chill.
"Abram," I whisper, tugging gently on his sleeve, “Your brother.”
His eyes follow my gaze, and I feel him tense beside me.
Vladimir's steely gaze locks onto us, his lips curling into what might be a smile but looks more like a sneer. I can't help but notice how Vladimir's eyes keep darting between us as he walks over to us.
"Is everything okay between you two?" I whisper, trying to keep my voice light.
Abram sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated, Zara. Family always is. But we are close."
Vladimir now stands before us. “Brother,” he says, his gaze lingering on me the whole time.
“I didn’t think you were coming tonight, Vlad,” Abram says.
“And I didn’t think you were bringing company.” He gives me a cold smile before turning back to Abram.
There’s a strange undercurrent of tension, yet I can’t put a cause behind it. The two brothers stand, having a strange, silent conversation through expressions I can’t decipher.
“The artwork is beautiful, isn’t it?” I add, trying to ease the tension.
“Valuable, yes,” Vladimir says, turning to face me. “Priceless, in fact. Costs a fortune.”
Beside me, Abram tenses. I frown as well, wondering what Vladimir is insinuating. I’m an art curator, for god's sake. I don’t need to be told how valuable the pieces are… in three different ways.
Before any of us can say another word, a portly man in an expensive suit approaches Abram. "Mr. Zolotov! Just the man I wanted to see. Can I borrow you for a moment?"
Abram hesitates, his eyes flickering between me and the man. "Of course, Pavel. Zara, will you be alright for a few minutes?"
“Don’t worry, Brother. I’ll keep her company,” Vladimir says, a little too fast.
I nod and give Abram a smile. "Go ahead. I'll be alright."
As Abram walks away, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up from how Vladimir speaks to me.
"So," he rumbles, "you're the little mouse my brother's been playing with."
His cold eyes appraise me like I'm a piece of merchandise, and it unnerves me. But, I don’t flinch. Instead, I tilt my head slightly, holding his gaze. "And you’re the brother who seems intent on making everyone uncomfortable." My tone is light but firm, not giving him an inch of power over me. “I’m Zara, by the way. I believe we’ve met before,” I extend out my hand.
Vladimir’s sneer falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. He, however, ignores my outstretched hand. "Tell me, Zara, does being with my brother feel… exciting?"
The insinuation is clear and I swallow hard, my heart racing as I try to process Vladimir's accusatory tone. His words echo in my mind, leaving me feeling small and exposed. The champagne glass in my hand trembles slightly as I struggle to maintain my composure.
I want nothing more than to put Vladimir in place here and now. But if things are to progress between Abram and I, I can’t exactly act on impulse. Not all bridges must be burned.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. "Wealth is fleeting. But I assure you, Vladimir, I’m here for far more than that." I meet his eyes, letting him know I won’t be intimidated. “He’s a lovely person, and Abram and I are just getting to know each other.”
Vladimir's lips curl into a sneer. "Of course. And I'm sure access to parties like this and fancy dinners have nothing to do with your interest."
His insinuation stings and I feel a lump forming in my throat. I want to defend myself, to explain that I’ve turned down every expensive gift Abram’s ever tried giving me, but the words won't come. Instead, I say a hurried goodbye and turn away, pretending to study a nearby painting as I blink back tears.
For a few minutes, I wander through the gala in a daze, barely registering the beautiful artwork around me. My mind keeps replaying Vladimir's words, casting a shadow over everything I imagined Abram’s family to be.
In my heart, this is a greater dream shattering than just hoping that the man I’m seeing has a good family. This is about the hope I clung on to, that other families aren’t all about money like mine were. And slowly, the reality I wanted to run from seems to become ever-present. His too, clearly, keeps money at the forefront. I wipe away tears, praying no one notices.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Abram's voice startles me out of my reverie.
I plaster on a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. I don’t want to cause any undue conflict between Abram and his brother. Whatever Vladimir said, it’s between him and I. "Yes, it's… lovely."
Abram's brow furrows as he studies my face and sees the tints of red in my eyes. "Zara, what's wrong? You seem… different."
"It's nothing," I lie, avoiding his gaze. "Just a bit tired."
He gently takes my elbow, guiding me toward a quiet corner. "No, it's more than that. Did something happen while I was gone?"
I bite my lip, torn between my desire to be honest and my fear of causing trouble. "I… no, nothing, just…" I can’t bring myself to admit the truth.
Abram's eyes narrow, and I see a flash of something dangerous in them. "You were speaking with my brother when I left you. What did Vladimir say to you?"
“Nothing, really,” I protest, trying to turn away, but he grabs my hand. “Zara…” he says, his voice a slow growl of warning. “If it’s honesty you want, then it’s your turn to come clean now.”
To defy that logic with a lie would go against the very grain of what I expect from him.
“He had his doubts about why I’m with you,” I admit, lowering my gaze. “Something about enjoying your wealth,” I manage to say.
Abram's jaw clenches as he processes my words. His eyes soften as they meet mine, a mix of regret and tenderness swirling in their depths.
"Zara, I'm so sorry," he says, his voice low and sincere. "My brother… he can be difficult. Whatever he said, please know that I don't share his suspicions."
I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "He thinks I'm after your money. But Abram, I swear I have never—"
"Shh," he soothes, placing a finger gently on my lips. "I know. I've never doubted your intentions for a second. You never let me, Zara. In fact, sometimes, I feel angry that you don’t enjoy the things I can offer."
His touch feels like a warm blanket, and I find myself leaning into him. Abram wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
"The truth is," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper, "I've been guarded for so long. But with you, I feel… different. Vulnerable, even. It scares me—but in the best way possible. I know that the only way to keep your interest is by being interesting. You keep me on my toes, Sweetheart."
My heart races at his admission. "I feel the same," I breathe.
Abram's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my lower lip. The world around us fades away as I lose myself in the intensity of his gaze.
Not caring if the world sees, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is tender, sweet. Nothing matters anymore. The world and its opinions can go to hell. I melt into his embrace, savoring the way his strong arms make me feel safe.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his, our breaths mingling. "What are we doing, Abram?" I whisper, equal parts exhilarated and terrified.
He pulls back slightly, cupping my face in both hands. "I don't know," he admits with a soft chuckle. "But I do know that I want to find out. With you."