Chapter Eighteen
In which some parties just suck and there’s better things to do, like staying home with a good book. Or drinking arsenic.
Liria…
A week later, the Universe has decided that I don't deserve happiness. Not a smidgeon of it.
"We have a family party tonight, the one Mother and Ava have been insisting on." Alexsey disappeared for a few days after that horrifying conversation. When he came back, we resumed our regularly scheduled program of avoidance and deep dislike.
He's been especially prickly today, a colder bastard than usual and since he'd already been at subpolar temperatures with me, I didn't know how it could get worse.
"Okay," I say carefully. I'd been sitting on the terrace that runs along the entire back of the building, overlooking our little backyard and a private park adjoining Alexsey's property.
I like it here, there's creaky rattan chairs with plump cushions and if I'm not hiding in my room, I'm out here, a refuge I'm grateful for.
Now, Alexsey is standing here in a dark gray suit and blue tie, looking like the CEO of hell, adjusting his cuffs.
"Any key people I need to know about," I ask, "or am I just there to nod and smile a lot?"
The summer I'd spent in the purgatory of my father's estate outside of Durres, I'd been forced to go into the city sometimes for "family" dinners with whoever my father was impressing or terrorizing that week. My job was always to, "Sit down, shut up, and look pretty."
Alexsey stops fussing with his cuffs and looks at me.
I really wish he hadn't. His gaze is especially frosty today.
"Everyone knows this is an arranged marriage," he says.
"No one's expecting any passionate declarations of love.
" He steps closer and I bump up against the black iron railing.
"Try not to flinch if I get within ten feet of you. "
Asshole.
"If you knew what you looked like, you'd flinch, too. You stare at me like you're trying to decide between stabbing me or dumping me in a landfill." I say it between tight lips so my mouth doesn't quiver like I'm about to cry.
"Then stay out of my business," he snaps, and I realize he's talking about my pathetic effort to get him to go to the wedding.
"Did you think I wanted to go to Violet and Roman's wedding, Beauford? Watch the joy of a genuinely happy marriage, knowing that’s something I’ll never have?
" I'm furious and my self-preservation has apparently given up on me.
"The difference is, I would have gone and celebrated with them because they're family and they deserved your presence there. "
He's staring at me like I'm a gerbil that suddenly morphed into a tiger and tried to eat his face. He isn't concerned, or shocked. More like clinical interest.
The heartless prick gives a little chuckle, but not like anything's funny. "Be ready at six." He strolls back into the loft, leaving me to stew in my humiliation.
I'm staring at three dresses laid out on my bed when Caroline calls that afternoon.
"So, tonight's the grand reveal, huh?" She's eating something crispy - probably Cheetos because she loves the flaming hot ones - and she gets a sentence in between crunches. The bag rattles as she pulls out another one. "How fancy is this shit show?"
"Violet checked in with me, thank god. I asked how dressy I should go, and she suggested one step below black tie.
" I hold up the blue dress against me, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
Too low-cut. "I'm not looking forward to it.
Alexsey's been extra bastard-ish today. His family flew home last night from Roman and Violet's wedding in St. Petersburg and he's been in meetings with his brothers all day. So that can't be helping his mood."
"Almost black tie?" She gives another thoughtful crunch. "This is a display of power, then. Do you have that red gown with you? The one with the back that plunges to just above your ass?"
That is the dress I'm currently examining. "Don't you think that's a bit much?" I ask dubiously.
"Hell, no. It's gonna get everyone looking at you and that perfect ass while making it clear to Mr. Heartless that his wife is smoking hot. Too hot for him and there's probably a man out there who is ready to take you in the back room and-"
"You can shove that monologue back into the gutter it crawled from," I say firmly. "Let's not give Alexsey another reason to hate me. He's doing just fine with what he has to work with right now."
"He has no business blaming you for the fact that your dead brother was a fucking idiot and your dad is a conduit for pure evil," Caroline snaps. "It's bad enough that he's sulking in a hell of his own making, but he's dragging you down there, too."
"I should hate him so much more than I do," I admit, rubbing my eyes. "But what he's lost… and it's Luan's fault and if I let myself think about it too long, I believe Father did know about it. The ambush at the restaurant."
There's silence. Even her crunching has stopped. "Holy shit," she whispers. "You think your dad planned this and then blamed it on Luan when it went south?"
"It's reckless and stupid as hell." There are black Louboutin’s that will go perfectly with the red dress.
I dig through my closet. "The Morozov Bratva is twice the size of the Krasniqi Fare.
From what I've heard though… If Luan and my father knew the biggest concentration of Morozov power was in that restaurant, I can absolutely believe they'd give it a try.
" I swallow, nauseated with disgust. "Father would consider the possibility of Luan getting killed an acceptable loss. "
"Because he knew he had a backup plan, another asset he could throw out there," Caroline sounds as nauseated as I do. "You."
We hang up and I focus on getting dressed.
Put on mascara and eyeliner. Red lipstick to go with the dress. Hair up to show off my back. Don't think about the fact that Father's games may not be over at all.
The ride to the rooftop restaurant is silent.
Alexsey took one look at my dress and narrowed his eyes, then turned away, leaving Danyl to help me into the Bentley.
A couple of blocks away from the venue, Alexsey grunts irritably and pulls open a compartment in the back.
There's a dress shirt there, still in its dry-cleaning bag and three ties.
Pulling off his blue one, he knots a red silk tie, one that matches my dress in its place.
It's silly to be warmed by this. But it feels like a connection. Even if it's a tenuous one.
***
The rooftop reception area where the Morozovs are hosting the party is comfortable in the late autumn evening, the breeze off the harbor is cool and salt-tinged.
It smells wonderful up here, too high for the constant fog of car exhaust to reach us, with huge pots of flowering plants, azaleas, peonies, and climbing roses scenting the air, and Edison bulbs strung above us.
The champagne is expensive enough that I savor every sip, because getting slightly drunk - in a well-bred sort of way - is going to be the best part of this soiree.
"We met - it was 2018, right, Alexsey? You were running that shipment of…" The red-faced man waves his hand around, nearly splashing his scotch on my dress. "A shipment of office supplies," he amends. "Office supplies. And hell, I'd been looking to get into-"
"Staplers," Alexsey cuts in, his bland social smile very much in place. "Michael here thought he could start his own stapler business until he found out how much skilled personnel it took to operate staplers."
Please, god. Kill me now.
There had been a long line of 'Michaels' tonight; arrogant rich men and their entitled blond dates.
There are some really fascinating exceptions, like a beautiful, older Russian woman named Lucya Turgenev.
She introduced herself, asking about my music.
It turns out she'd seen me perform in Boston a couple of years ago.
"I have two grand pianos in my conservatory," she says.
"You're always welcome to come by and play.
" She has a beautiful smile and such elegance.
I can tell she has family in the business, so to speak.
"That sounds wonderful," I say wistfully. " You said they were Bosendorfers? I've never played a Bosendorfer 290 Imperial. Eight full octaves? How gorgeous that you can play any time you like."
Her elegant brow rose. "You're a concert pianist. Have you not shipped your piano here yet?"
I don't want to explain that Satan, masquerading as my father, had stolen it. "Tell me," I deflect, "did you get a chance to hear Daniil Trifonov play when he was at Carnegie last-"
"I should have known you two would find each other." A pretty woman with the Morozov blue eyes comes over, linking her arm with Lucya's. "We haven't met." Her smile is so warm. "I'm Lucya, Maksim's sister and this gorgeous creature is my mother-in-law."
"Ah, I see. I'm still trying to construct the…" I wave my hand in an awkward circle, "construct the family architecture, so to speak."
"Once you remember that the older generation nearly all had arranged marriages," Mariya rolls her eyes as her mother-in-law looks on in amusement, "it's easier to track one family to the next. Though I must say, I feel like I got the best deal."
"A wise answer, since I'm Konstantin's mother," Lucya laughs.
"Arranged marriages aren't quite as common these days, but-" They both seem to remember at the same time that my marriage to Alexsey was not only arranged, but rather unwilling.
"At any rate," she continues, "you have married into a family with close connections and many loyal friends.
" She squeezes my hand. "There are many unions here that may have started as arranged marriages, but you'll find most of us have had very happy endings. "
"It's true," Mariya says pleasantly. "Even though I wanted to set Konstantin on fire for most of my teenage years."