10
A lessandra was fixing a few stands of hair in front of the mirror when there was a knock on the open bathroom door. Roman stood at the threshold, taking her in.
“Ready?”
“Almost.” She met his eyes in the mirror then grabbed her tube of lipstick from the vanity. She applied a coat of the nude color on her lips, pausing to give herself one last look before they had to leave.
“You look beautiful,” Roman complimented, hands tucked into his pockets.
“Thank you.” She smiled, turning around to face him. His gaze descended from her face to the small slit in her dress. The light-blue piece was decent and classy, but he still stared. A flush tinted her cheeks when her husband's heated eyes lingered on her partly exposed thigh.
A week into their marriage, she was still trying to get used to the man standing in front of her.
In that short amount of time, she had learned a few basic things about him.
He was usually laid-back in the privacy of his own home and more open-minded than she had expected from a man in his position.
Also, he smoked too much for her liking.
And last, but certainly not least, he was a passionate lover between the sheets.
Not that she had anything to compare to, but even her inexperienced body could recognize the intensity behind his touches.
They were attracted to each other, at least on a sexual level, and it made for a good start in their relationship, despite the circumstances.
With a palm against her lower back, Roman led her outside to his waiting car. She stuck close to his side as they walked, enjoying his proximity and the warmth of his touch.
“Do you have a license?” he asked sometime later, on their way to Vitaly Leskov's house.
She moved her gaze away from her window to look at his profile. “No. My Papà didn't think it necessary. We had a chauffeur.”
His expression gave nothing away, but she had the feeling he didn’t like her answer.
“You should know how to drive,” he said tonelessly. “I'll look into lessons for you next week.”
Alessandra was surprised that he cared about such things when her father hadn’t.
She was starting to discover that Roman was nothing like she had expected.
He was even willing to let her go to college, and that was something she still couldn’t believe.
She tried to keep her excitement in check regarding college, part of her still fearing that he might change his mind at any time, because in her limited experience, men were sometimes fickle like that.
“Thank you,” she settled for saying, not knowing how to feel about having her own car. She’d never really insisted much on it when her father decided she was better off with a driver.
“What type of car do you want?”
“I don't know,” she answered truthfully. “I never thought about it.”
“Now you have a reason to think about it. Do some research and let me know when you've decided on a car, or at least a brand.”
About twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a three-story mansion.
Roman parked the car in the circular drive, getting out and opening the passenger door for Alessandra.
Yet again, she was surprised by the chivalrous gesture, though she accepted his hand when he offered it, letting him help her out of the car.
They walked the short distance to the front door, Roman's palm pressed against her lower back, just a few inches shy of her ass, and she couldn't deny that she enjoyed his touch maybe a little too much.
Roman didn't bother to ring the doorbell. Grabbing the brass handle, he pushed the door open and ushered Alessandra inside. As they stepped into the spacious foyer, the sound of voices carried over from their left, where Alessandra assumed the living area was.
Heels clicking on the marble floor caught their attention. A tall blonde wearing a tight, red dress and matching stilettos crossed the foyer toward them.
“Roman.” Her smile was all white teeth and little sincerity. She stopped to kiss his cheek, which he allowed with a slight bend of his head. “Hello, Alessandra.”
“Hi, Yana,” Alessandra responded. They had been introduced at the wedding but had barely exchanged any words apart from a few customary pleasantries.
“Your father is waiting,” Yana said in her accented lilt, gesturing they should follow her.
The living room fell quiet when they entered. Vitaly Leskov was sitting in a leather armchair, nursing a tumbler of whiskey, his presence overtaking the large room. Tatyana and Alek, Roman's younger siblings, were also there, and a pretty redhead Alessandra didn't recognize.
“You're fifteen minutes late,” Vitaly said in lieu of a greeting, coiling a hand around Yana's slim waist when she sat on his lap with her arms around his neck. He hadn’t bothered to check the gold watch on his thick wrist, but somehow, Alessandra already knew his estimation was spot on.
“Traffic,” Roman offered, not sounding very concerned about his father's displeasure. In truth, they’d left home late because Alessandra had taken too long getting ready, but Roman hadn't seemed to mind.
Vitaly's icy eyes moved to her, taking inventory of her dress and heels as if evaluating an asset, and she tried not to squirm under the weight of his stare.
He was apparently satisfied with what he saw, because a moment later, he returned his gaze to his eldest, sparing her no more of his attention.
That seemed to be the extent of him acknowledging her presence in his home.
For the first time since being introduced to the Leskovs, Alessandra had a taste of just how deep animosities ran between their families.
She had to wonder why Roman was acting so normal around her, when his father seemed to barely tolerate the sight of her.
“Have you met your brother's date?” Vitaly asked Roman, gesturing to the girl sitting beside Alek. “She is a model .” He said the last word with thinly veiled derision.
The girl in question looked even more uncomfortable with being there than Alessandra. She fidgeted with the end of her long necklace and gave Roman a weak smile. No one bothered to introduce her by name.
Tatyana rolled her eyes and stood, looking annoyed by something. “Dinner must be ready by now. We should move to the dining room.” She paused to give Alessandra a kiss on the cheek, surprising everyone with the gesture. “It's nice to see you again.”
Then she walked out of the room, Alek following behind her with his date in tow.
Alessandra couldfeelVitaly's gaze heating the side of her face, though she didn’t look in his general direction again.
She didn’t think he was too happy about his daughter making friends with her.
Despite being Roman's wife, Alessandra was by no stretch of the imagination considered family.
If she'd had any doubts about Vitaly Leskov's feelings toward her, now she knew exactly where she stood with him.
Roman grabbing her hand interrupted her train of thought. Wordlessly, he pulled her along and essentially out of Vitaly’s field of vision, and she found refuge in his touch as she leaned into him almost instinctively.
As soon as everyone was seated around the large walnut table, two maids appeared with trays of food.
The first course placed in front of them was some kind of fish soup with a clear broth and brown sourdough rye bread.
Alessandra stared at her bowl, trying not to grimace at the smell reaching her nostrils.
She wasn't a fan of fish or any type of seafood.
“Is there a problem with the food?”
She looked up to find all six pairs of eyes on her. The question had come from her father-in-law, who was giving her his full attention again, eyes sharp and mouth set into a hard line.
It took her a moment to find the courage to answer the question. She wasn't going to force herself to ingest something that she couldn't stomach. “I don't eat fish.”
Vitaly stared at her as if she'd just told him she was a member of a satanic cult. “You don't eat fish,” he parroted, his gaze sliding over to his firstborn. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
Roman put down the tumbler of whiskey a maid had placed in front of him seconds before. “If she doesn't want the soup, she can wait for the main dish. What's the problem?”
“What is the problem?” Vitaly sneered. “The problem, Roman, is that your wife is insulting me by coming into my house and refusing the food I am providing for her. I will not tolerate being disrespected into my own home. She will eat everything that is put in front of her, like everyone else.”
Alessandra stiffened at the venom in his voice as a blush crawled up her neck and cheeks. She kept her eyes on her bowl and her hands clasped in her lap.
“Do you want her to eat the soup and be sick, Vitaly? You have some sadistic desire to see her throw up her meal, or what?”
“Mind your tongue,” his father seethed, fingers twitching on the table.
“Get off her back. She can decide whatever the fuck she wants to eat.”
Vitaly's meaty palm met the surface of the table with a loud thud, making dishes and silverware clank. Alessandra's heart raced, afraid of what would follow.
Before the argument could escalate even more, Yana had the good sense to step in. “ Lyubimiy .” Her artificially-enhanced lips curved into a pout, her hand reaching across the table to touch her husband’s. “Let's not ruin this evening, yes?”
Vitaly glanced at his young wife, and her little show of getting upset seemed to appease him. At least for the moment. With a gruff sound in the back of his throat, he gave Roman a warning look then returned his attention to his food.