Chapter Thirty-Three
In which there are oligarchs, obscene wealth and Jeremy is such a choad.
Iris…
"You know I was raised in a wealthy household," I say, "and I know you were, too. But I kind of feel like my childhood was spent in a backyard shed when I'm introduced to yet another Morozov castle."
"Oh, I hear you," says Caroline. "It is distinctly humbling. Until you realize we totally own these men. They would instantly sign over any of these mansions to us if we asked for one."
"It is very satisfying," I agree.
The very sweet housekeeper showed us to our suites, but we still migrated back into my sitting room. It is ridiculously opulent. Beautiful leaded glass windows that look out over the cityscape, with marble floors, which makes no sense to me, because that must be so cold in winter.
"So, what's the plan for tonight?" I ask. "Sightseeing? Dancing?"
Caroline scoffs. "No. We have dinner scheduled with some of the snooty families here. There's a lot of pomp and grandeur here that we don't have to endure at home. You'll meet a shit ton of people. Very few will speak English, even if they know it."
"I've been working on my Russian for two years now," I say. "I'm dreading talking to anyone because I know my grammar is shit."
My phone buzzes angrily, it's Rose.
"Hey, sweetie, what's up?" Her tearful, furious face makes it clear it's nothing good.
"Fucking Jeremy! That fucking…" She's so angry that she's making noises instead of actual words.
Melina steps next to me. "I just got word from Leonid. There was a kidnapping attempt on Miss Rose today, she is safe and unharmed."
"What?" Caroline and I screech the word together.
"There was no danger," Melina says quickly. "But during the initial attack, Jeremy -"
"Jeremy ran screaming!" Rose shouts. "Can you believe that shit? He just left me there on the sidewalk and took off. He didn't even look back!"
"He is such a choad," I snarl.
Caroline glances at me. "Choad? Oh, yeah. That's the perfect description for him, that guy’s definitely benefiting from the low effort dating economy."
Melina tries to look soothing but it's not her thing. "Miss Rose's security did exactly what they needed to. She was never in danger."
"Do we know who it is? Why did they go after Rose?" I ask.
Smiling in a way that would be creepy on anyone but Melina, she says, "We're gathering that information now."
"Yeah, in the basement at Gordi's Sandwich Paradise," Caroline mumbles. “I’ll never look at a rib roast the same way again.”
Rose and I talk for a while until she sobs herself dry, drinks a bottle of water and starts crying again.
"Tell me one thing," I ask. "Are you more upset that Jeremy ran away, or that it's kind of clear he's a fucking asshole?"
"Both," she says despondently. "I'm embarrassed and irritated that you and Violet were right about him."
"Honey, it's not like I'm happy to be right."
"I know." She blows her nose loudly.
Andrey walks into the sitting room, raising a brow when he hears her.
"Rosie, I have to go," I say regretfully. "We have some stuffy-ass dinner to attend. Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah," she sighs. "I'm going over to Violet's and smothering the baby with affection."
"Good choice," I say. "I love you. Always and forever."
"Right back at you," she sniffles.
It's very late when we get into one of the Morozov armor-plated vehicles, heading to dinner.
"Is there anything special you need me to know tonight?" I ask. "I'm amazed that Jessica didn't hand me a spreadsheet." Andrey puts my hand on his thigh, the feel of his thick muscles is extremely distracting. He looks so handsome tonight in his coal-black suit and blue tie.
You should tell him, Morally Responsible Iris urges. He deserves to know about the baby. I tell Morally Responsible Iris to shut the hell up and give a little laugh. "Are you trying to distract me with your gorgeous musculature right now?"
"Is it working?" he asks.
"Yeah." My hand squeezes his leg a little.
"This might have been a bad idea," he muses. Glancing at his crotch, I see he's already hard.
"Well, now you're distracted," I smile smugly.
We're ushered into a beautiful restaurant that's been closed to the public for tonight. It's in a former church, and the stained-glass windows are glorious, the arched ceilings and gold gilded trim are awe-inspiring.
"This must have been a beautiful cathedral," I whisper.
"It is now deconsecrated and it is an even more beautiful restaurant," Andrey murmurs. "I think you're going to love the Karelian trout rissole; they add an apple confit that-"
"Did we miss anything?" Nikandr steps up, guiding a slightly disheveled Caroline, who's trying to smooth her hair. I see why they drove separately.
I press my lips together, trying to hold back a smile. "Hey girl, let's visit the ladies' room."
"That's a good idea," Caroline sighs.
Andrey…
Dinner is a multi-course affair, with countless toasts and the careful observation of an endless stream of the courtesies and rituals these oligarchs hold so dear. Moscow is its own separate kingdom where these families have ruled for generations.
Iris is having a good time, talking with some of the daughters who surrounded her, seemingly fascinated by her and Caroline. This meal feels endless. I want to take my wife home and defile her.
Ivan Bukharov leans closer, his face flushed with expensive vodka and good cheer. "Your wife, she's lovely. This is a fine match, though I am surprised to find you married."
"Traditionally, I'm not hasty." I acknowledge.
Ivan snorts into his drink.
"All right, I am never hasty. With Iris, I knew it was inevitable. She is quite extraordinary."
There's not many love matches in the Moscow Six, but Ivan has one of them. Looking down the table at his wife Anastasia, he smiles, his sharp eyes softening. "This, I understand."