8. Dimitri
8
DIMITRI
T he sight of my mother’s ring on Evelyn’s hand does something to me. I watch her as she sits there, her face pale, her fingers wrapped tightly around her wine glass, and I look at it sparkling on her hand.
It looks right. Like it belongs there. And my stomach twists as I remind myself that this is business. That no matter how much I might want Evelyn, I can’t allow myself to mistake it for something else.
All my life, I’ve avoided love. I’ve avoided attachments. There’s very little that I’ve taken to heart from my father, who I’ve watched decline over the years, going from a once-respected man to a leader who others ignore. But I remember what he told me about relationships in this world, and of all the things I disagree with him about, that one I’ve held onto.
Love is dangerous. It’s a weapon others can use against you. Women are for pleasure. For fun. A wife is for status. For heirs. But love has no place in this world for men like us.
There was no love between my parents, only duty. I was a teenager when my mother died, of a brutal and fast-moving cancer, it wasn’t love that caused my father to never marry again. He didn’t remarry because he had his heir, and there was no need to.
And I’ve seen what love can do. I saw what it did to my brother, the path it led him down. I know it’s why he’s lost to us. And I refuse to make the same mistakes.
I can protect Evelyn. I believe I can keep her safe. But if she matters to me, if I were to love her—if I were to love any woman, then my decision-making is affected. My choices will be different, because I would be desperate not to lose her. A head addled with love can’t ever think clearly.
Even if I feel like I might come to care for her, the best thing I can do for her is keep my emotions divorced from the situation.
And, eventually—divorce her . Set her free, so she knows I’m a man of my word, and we can both go on with our lives. That’s what I’ve promised, and it’s what I’ll do.
So why, as I look at her across the table, her black hair gleaming in the low light and my mother’s ring sparkling on her finger, does that thought make my chest tighten, resistance to the very idea sweeping through me?
Marriage is a duty. And keeping my word to her, in this, is the essence of my duty.
I keep that in mind all through the rest of the evening, as we order dinner, as Evelyn tells me about how she dreamed of opening her own boutique all through fashion school, how her parents didn’t think it was a good idea, but let her use three thousand dollars from her grandmother’s inheritance to go towards it.
“It wasn’t nearly enough, of course,” she says, taking a bite of the lamb chops over gorgonzola mashed potatoes that she ordered. “I had to take out a loan. It felt like a miracle that I got it at all, since they weren’t willing to cosign for it. I felt so lucky to have succeeded at something that I could have so easily failed at.” She bites her lip, looking up at me as she reaches for her wine. “I was so angry that night at the shop. When it burned.” She swallows, and I can see her mouth tighten, the flash of that remembered anger in her eyes. “That someone could take all of that away from me so quickly. Just because they decided I seemed weak enough to pick on.”
“You’re not weak.” It comes out more sharply than I intended, and I try to soften my voice. “You’re not weak in the slightest, Evelyn. Someone weak wouldn’t keep trying to figure out how to come back from that. And they certainly wouldn’t do what you’re doing right now.”
“Marrying someone I barely know?” She gives me a thin smile. “I guess maybe you’re right.”
As promised, I give her the contract to sign over dessert—a coconut creme brulee with fresh berries and glasses of port. Evelyn reads through it, a small line forming between her eyebrows as she studies the pages, and I feel a sudden, unexpected anxiety.
What if she changes her mind? I’ve already told Nicci that I’m marrying someone else. I told my father the engagement was done. And my mother’s ring is on her finger. She could give it back—but my stomach twists at the thought, and I have a feeling that it’s for more reasons than just the practical ones.
I like Evelyn Ashburn far too much for my own good. And as I watch her, her slim fingers picking up the pen to sign, her soft black hair falling in heavy waves into her face, brushing against her high cheekbones, desire sweeps through me like a tide.
Keeping my hands off of my wife is going to be no easy feat. Living in the same house with her and being unable to touch her, I’m beginning to realize, is going to be tantamount to torture. Especially when I’ve sentenced myself to celibacy, while our marriage is in effect.
That knowledge is only emphasized on Friday night, when I pick her up for the gala. She reluctantly gave me her address, and I gave her the credit card that I authorized for her, telling her to use it to get whatever she needed for the evening. And if I had any question as to whether or not it was worth it, it all vanishes the moment I see her step out of the old elevator into the lobby of her apartment building.
She looks like she’s stepped out of a fairytale, like Snow White come to life. She’s wearing a bright red dress made out of silk that cascades over her perfect body like it was made for her, with a slit up one side that reveals a length of perfect, creamy thigh. The long sleeves of the dress are off the shoulder, with a sharp v in the center that shows off the curving sides of her perfect cleavage, topped with the slashes of her collarbones. Her inky black hair drapes over her shoulders, in the thick waves that I’ve seen her wear it in every time I’ve met her, the front pulled back on one side with a sparkling golden clip. Gold thread earrings drape from her ears nearly down to her shoulders, and her lips are painted a brilliant red, the same color as her dress.
The instant I look at her mouth, I feel my cock twitch. Evelyn is off-limits, but that red lipstick is a siren call, my head instantly filled with thoughts of what those brightly painted lips would look like wrapped around me. The answering throb is almost painful, my cock swelling against my thigh, and I have to resist the urge to reach down and adjust it.
Evelyn has a coat thrown over one arm, and as she starts to slip it on, I take the opportunity for distraction. I quickly walk to her side, taking one edge of the coat and helping her slip it on. She raises an eyebrow, a smirk on her lips as she shrugs it the rest of the way on.
“Very gentlemanly of you,” she teases. “Are all organized criminals this polite?”
“Just me,” I assure her, looping my arm through hers as we walk towards the front door. “Besides, it could be a front. I might just be trying to charm you.”
“It won’t work.” She flashes me a smile as the driver opens the door for her, sliding into the warm interior of the town car. “I’m immune.”
“We’ll see.” I slide in next to her, and I catch a whiff of that orange-spiced perfume, the scent heating my blood. I want to bury my nose in her neck, run my hands through her hair and feel how soft she is against me, and it already feels as if it’s driving me insane. I curl my fingers against my palms, just to stop myself from reaching out and touching her leg.
“So this gala—it’s something you’re required to go to?” She looks at me curiously, and I shrug.
“We donate to this particular charity. It looks good to show up. Part of maintaining the illusion of respectability is rubbing elbows with the social elite, putting some of our money in places where it does good. It puts a sheen on all the things that we do that aren’t as—legal.”
“Do I want to know what those are?” Evelyn smooths her hands over her skirt, and I could swear I see her fingers trembling slightly.
“Do you?” I look at her, taking in the sight of her in the dim light of the car. She’s so beautiful it hurts, and not for the first time, I question the wisdom of what I’m doing. We’re both using each other—me to get out of an arrangement I don’t want and Evelyn to get her boutique back—but she doesn’t seem to be having the same difficulty resisting me that I am with her. It’s a blow to the ego, certainly, but it’s also clear that the next months—or years, even—will be much harder for one half of this arrangement than the other.
“Should I?” She fires back another question, turning to look at me. “Do I need to know?”
I shake my head. “I think most wives have some idea, particularly if they’re raised in this world. But you’d do just fine looking the other way, if that’s what you want. As long as you’re on my arm for these events, no one will suggest that you should have a stronger hand in the business of things.”
Evelyn nods, and I watch as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, looking out of the window. Just that small movement makes desire pulse through me, and I take a deep, slow breath, trying to get control of my own reactions. I’ve never had this much difficulty before. I’ve never struggled to control myself, but Evelyn makes me feel as if my self-control is fraying at the edges.
“I think I’d rather not,” she says, finally. “At least not right now.”
I watch her stare out of the window, wondering what her reasoning is, and wondering if I should ask. Is she afraid of finding out something that she can’t stomach? Afraid of knowing something that might get her into trouble later? Or is it just that she simply doesn’t care, and wants to keep her distance from both me, and everything that my life entails?
I have a feeling that it’s the latter. It shouldn’t bother me, and yet, it does. She’s right to keep her distance, but with every moment I spend with her, I’m fighting the urge to want to bring her closer.
The car pulls up in front of the venue, and the driver comes around, opening the door. I slide out, offering Evelyn my hand, and I’m surprised when she takes it. She must see the look on my face, because she smirks, her head tipping back slightly as she looks up at me.
“Can’t risk falling on the ice.”
The sidewalk is slippery, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing she was taking my hand because she wants to, and not because she thinks she might need help in the sky-high heels she’s wearing. They make her nearly as tall as I am.
I glance over at her as we check our coats, unable to take my eyes off of her for more than a few moments. She looks slightly uneasy, and I wonder how often she’s been to events like this. I met her at one, with her friend Dahlia, and she looked far more comfortable. But I imagine that had something to do with the company she was with.
“You don’t need to do much,” I murmur to her as we walk into the main room, the sound of string instruments and the scent of pine hitting me as we step inside. “Smile, say hello, maybe make some small talk. We’ll have a couple of drinks, eat, dance a little, and then head out. We don’t need to stay all night, just make an appearance.”
“And appear to be happily engaged. I know.” Evelyn nods, but I can see the nervousness in her face. She swallows hard, her throat tightening, and when I reach for her hand, threading it through the crook of my arm, I see her flinch slightly.
“I know what you’ve said about this in private,” I murmur to her. “But while there was no official engagement between myself and Nicci to break, it still needs to look like I and the woman I left her for are madly in love with each other. No one will believe we’re really together if you jump every time I touch you.”
Evelyn glances over at me, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Are you suggesting we should practice in private, before the next event like this?”
The sarcasm in her tone is evident, but my body reacts all the same, a jolt of desire sweeping down my spine and thickening my cock. “Are you offering?” I retort, and I see her lips thin.
“No,” she says shortly, and I chuckle. I shouldn’t like getting under her skin, but I can’t help it. There’s something about the way she sparks to life when I irritate her that’s intoxicating, like a drug I know I shouldn’t take another hit of but just can’t quit.
I want to needle her again, but I force myself to stop. “Let’s get another drink,” I suggest instead, and Evelyn nods, a look of relief washing across her face.
“I could use one,” she admits, and I lead her to the bar that’s been set up on one side of the venue. “Something stronger than wine,” she adds with a small laugh.
“I can manage that. Vodka with lime for me, and a gin and tonic for my fiance?—”
“Your fiance?” A gruff voice from behind us interrupts, and I turn to see Colin Davis, a man who I know well from our business dealings. He runs a fine art business that we often use as a means to cover up other money that changes hands, and he’s always been easy to work with. He knows the benefits of staying on our good side. But he also knows Mr. Armand, Nicci’s father, and I wince inwardly. This will be the first evidence of how easily—or not—this change in circumstances will go over in the greater social sphere I move through.
And whether or not it will affect our business as badly as my father thinks it will.
To my surprise, Evelyn speaks up before I can. “Evelyn Ashburn,” she says smoothly, holding out a hand to shake Colin’s. “I know this all seems a bit sudden. Trust me, I’ve had my reservations, too. When a man like Dimitri catches you off guard, a girl has to wonder if some things are just too good to be true.’
“Hm.” Colin grunts. “Last I knew, he was seeing my friend Jean’s daughter. Nicci. This is—quite a surprise. Weren’t you out at a party with her just last week? We all thought there would be a formal engagement over the holidays.”
“Nicci and I were seeing each other, yes.” My voice is stiff, irritated, and I try to mellow it. I don’t enjoy these events all that much, and the third degree that I’m likely to get at first makes it much less palatable. “There was nothing confirmed, however. And when I met Evelyn?—”
“Yes, how did the two of you meet?” Colin’s gaze swings back to Evelyn, a look in his eyes that sends a hot flare of jealousy through me. He doesn’t seem to want to take his eyes off of her for long—but then again, I can hardly blame him. I don’t want to, either.
Shit. We didn’t come up with a firm backstory for what we would tell others, and it occurs to me in that moment that we should have. I was too concerned with other facets of our deal—the ring, the contract, sending out men to look into what’s happening with the Crows, arranging to make sure Evelyn is taken care of. It slipped my mind entirely that these are the questions others would ask, and my stomach tightens, dread slipping through my veins.
And then, to my surprise, Evelyn speaks up again, as smoothly as if we rehearsed this a dozen times.
“It was at the Met,” she says with a smile, and my stomach dips again. If she tells the truth—that we met a year ago at a party, the rumors will start to circulate that I’ve been seeing her behind Nicci’s back all of this time. The exact opposite of what I need.
I open my mouth to interrupt, but Evelyn is still talking—and it’s not what I feared.
“A close friend of mine is a curator there,” she says brightly. “So I go there just to wander through fairly often. Sometimes before or after we grab lunch. And Dimitri happened to be there that day, walking through—which exhibit was it?” She turns towards me, and I blink, momentarily astonished at how quickly she’s pieced together a story for us.
“The—exhibit on Japanese calligraphy, I think?” I have no idea if that’s even an exhibit at the Met, but I think I recall seeing something about it. A sign that I passed by one day, maybe.
Evelyn snaps her fingers, nodding. “That’s right. We started talking about it, and just didn’t stop. Got a drink at the cafe, and before we knew it, a few hours had passed. It was just—one of those moments.” She turns, looking at me with such sudden adoration that I feel as if the air is momentarily sucked out of my lungs.
I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before. It’s not real—it’s a masterful performance on her part, but the effect of it, of Evelyn looking at me as if I’ve hung the moon and stars for her, feels like a punch.
That adoration shifts slightly, a hint of expectation in her face, and I know that’s my cue. I’m expected to keep up my half of this verbal ping-pong, but I’m so caught off guard by her that it’s difficult for me to keep up.
“She says I swept her off her feet, but really, it’s the other way around,” I manage with a smile, reaching down to take Evelyn’s hand. Her fingers thread through mine without hesitation this time, the warmth of her palm against mine sending a shock through me at that simple touch. “Sometimes it’s just a matter of knowing when you meet the right one.”
Colin’s eyebrows rise. “I would have expected you to pick a wife for more practical reasons, Dimitri,” he says wryly. “Nicci made sense. But I’m happy for you, if this is what you want. Wouldn’t have wanted to be in the room when you broke the news to your father, though.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks away, and I see Evelyn’s shoulders drop as she lets out a breath.
“Well, one down,” she says with a small laugh, as I turn to get our drinks from the bartender.
“That was impressive.” I hand her the gin and tonic, looking at her with a new appreciation. She’s caught me off guard more than I would have expected in such a brief time, and that was yet another example of how clear it is that I can’t be sure of what to expect with her. “I didn’t think of coming up with a story of how we met. You were remarkably smooth with it.”
“You get used to thinking on your feet in customer service.” Evelyn laughs, taking a sip of her drink. “Should we go dance? Just so everyone can see that whatever Mr. Davis is saying now, it’s actually true.”
She’s right, although I feel a sharp twinge of apprehension at the thought of being so close to her. My self-control feels fragile right now, desire humming through my veins just from being near Evelyn. I can’t remember the last time I was this easily aroused—maybe never. I’m not sure anyone has made me feel this kind of desire in my entire life.
We find our table, setting our drinks down, and I lead Evelyn out to the dance floor. It brings back the memories of our first dance at the Met all too quickly, and my chest tightens as she moves close to me, the orange spiced scent of her perfume filling my senses. My fingers brush against her spine, soft silk against my rougher fingertips, and my pulse hammers in my ears.
God , I want her. We haven’t so much as kissed, and the need for her feels like an inferno in my blood. Her body is nearly brushing mine, her eyes drifting off somewhere over my shoulder, and her lack of attention on me gives me a moment to simply soak her in. Her scent, the shape of her body, the curve of her waist as I slide my hand around it—she’s utter perfection, and she’s the only woman who has ever been off-limits to me.
I know that’s likely part of the appeal. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter why .
It only matters that I find a way to keep those desires in check.
I’m so caught up in her that I don’t see the woman walking towards us in time to warn Evelyn or head off the confrontation before it starts. I’m dragged out of my haze by the sound of Nicci’s voice, instead, cutting through the air like the crack of a whip.
“Dimitri, who the fuck is this?”