23. Tatiana
23
Tatiana
T he kiss haunts me.
Much more even than physical release did. The kiss was passionate, claiming, and it meant something. I know it did.
And yet, his coldness after that, his distance... I guess... I guess it didn’t mean anything at all. I...
I’m just totally confused.
Two days later, and I can still feel the imprint of Dom’s mouth on mine. The pressure, the heat, the moment when anger transformed into something far more dangerous.
And I know I should stop thinking about it. I know it shouldn’t matter. And as much as I might claim otherwise, it was just a kiss at the end of the day. A momentary lapse in judgment during an argument.
People kiss people they shouldn’t all the time.
It’s practically a national pastime.
Hell, I kiss my besties full-on at nightclubs to tease guys all the time. And I’ve kissed my share of random dudes at said nightclubs as well.
Except you didn’t just kiss anyone, did you?
You kissed the man who gave you the best sex you’ve ever had in all your life.
The man you accidentally married.
The man who’s planning to annul said marriage in ten days.
The man who ran away immediately after the kiss and has been avoiding you ever since.
Great life choices, Tatiana.
Really stellar work.
I smooth down the front of my emerald silk gown, trying to focus on the charity gala ahead instead of the memory of Dom’s hands in my hair. The dress cost... well, a lot. It’s another extravagant purchase courtesy of my temporary husband’s advance. The bodice hugs my curves before flowing into a graceful skirt that whispers against my legs when I move. It’s the kind of dress that makes a statement, which is exactly what Camilla Thorne instructed when she called this morning.
“Tonight is damage control,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. “After the investor lunch debacle, we need to project unity and stability.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that “unity” was the last thing Dom and I were projecting after he fled the penthouse following our kiss. He’s barely spoken ten words to me since, most of them in terse text messages about his schedule. As for the “investor lunch debacle,” I actually have no idea what happened. Dom hasn’t exactly been what I’d call forthright lately, when he’s talking to me at all.
The car slows to a stop, and I take a steadying breath. Nichols opens my door, his expression professionally blank as he helps me out. The red carpet leading to the Metropolitan Museum’s entrance is lined with photographers, their flashes already popping as celebrities and socialites make their way inside.
“Ready, Mrs. Rossi?” he asks quietly.
No. Not remotely. But what choice do I have?
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, plastering on my best professional smile.
Dom is waiting at the top of the steps next to Jake. My temporary husband is devastatingly handsome in that black tuxedo of his. It emphasizes his broad shoulders just right.
His expression when he sees me shifts subtly. Surprise, appreciation, and something... hungrier... that makes my stomach flip.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low as he takes my hand.
“Thanks.” I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds. “You look pretty good yourself.”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, and for a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to mention the kiss.
Instead, he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Camilla briefed me. Tonight’s important. We need to sell this.”
Right. The facade. The performance. Just business.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper back, flashing an overly sweet smile. “I’m an excellent actress.”
His jaw tightens, but he says nothing as he guides me inside with his hand at the small of my back. The familiar weight should irritate me. Instead, it sends a flutter of unwanted awareness through my body.
The Metropolitan Museum’s Great Hall has been transformed for the gala, with floating floral arrangements and subtle lighting that casts everything in a golden glow. The air smells of perfume and champagne. A string quartet plays something classical that I probably should recognize but don’t.
Careful, Tatiana. Your Queens is showing.
“Drink?” Dom offers, snagging two champagne flutes from a passing waiter.
“God, yes,” I reply, accepting the glass and taking a larger sip than is probably appropriate for a billionaire’s wife. The bubbles hit my empty stomach, making my head spin slightly.
Dom’s eyes narrow. “When did you last eat?”
“I was busy,” I say with a shrug. “Christopher had an important call, then I had to get ready, and—”
“You need food,” he interrupts, guiding me toward the hors d’oeuvres. “The last thing we need is you passing out from low blood sugar in front of New York’s elite. Or getting accidentally drunk.”
Just like how I got accidentally married? I want to add, but bite my tongue.
Still, his concern, however practical, makes something twist in my chest. I accept a tiny tartlet from his hand, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact shouldn’t affect me. It’s nothing compared to the kiss we shared. And yet...
“Dom! Darling!”
The honeyed voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife.
I turn to see Sofiya Rowan gliding toward us, a vision in a silver dress that makes her look like some sort of Egyptian goddess. Her platinum blond bob gleams under the lights, her ice-blue eyes fixed predatorily on Dom.
Of course she’s here. Because this night wasn’t complicated enough already.
“Sofiya,” Dom acknowledges stiffly. “I didn’t know you were on the guest list.”
She laughs. “The Donovan Foundation has supported my work for years.” Her gaze slides to me, dismissive yet calculating. “And your... wife . How delightful to see you again so soon.”
I think of our bathroom encounter at The Modern, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my wrist as she hissed that she’d be waiting when Dom threw me away ‘like trash.’
“Likewise,” I lie, channeling every ounce of my professional training.
“Did she tell you?” Sofiya purrs, reaching out to straighten Dom’s already perfect bow tie. “That we met at The Modern? That we had the most fascinating chat? Girl talk.”
I notice two things simultaneously. The way Dom stiffens at her touch, and the subtle movement of our security detail closing ranks around us. Nichols materializes near my left elbow while Jake shifts position to maintain a sightline to both exits.
“Sofiya,” Dom says, his voice taking on an edge I’ve rarely heard. “Yes, my wife told me all about your encounter.”
He places deliberate emphasis on “wife” as his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side. The gesture is both protective and possessive.
“Great!” Sofiya says with a brittle smile. “I told Tatiana how excited I was to welcome her to our little circle. However temporary her stay might be.”
I feel Dom’s muscles tense beneath my hand. Before he can respond, I jump in.
“Thank you for your concern, Sofiya.” I smile sweetly. “But I’m quite comfortable exactly where I am.”
Dom’s arm tightens around me, and when I glance up, there’s a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes before he schools his expression.
“If you’ll excuse us,” he says to Sofiya, “I see someone we need to speak with.”
He smoothly guides me away, his hand a steady pressure at the small of my back. Once we’re safely across the room, he leans down.
“She can be quite the bitch when she wants to be,” he says.
“I noticed,” I tell him. “It’s too bad she looks like she takes her fashion advice straight out of ancient Egypt.”
He’s sipping champagne at that exact moment and nearly chokes as he spits out a mouthful, laughing. “She does look like the Sphinx of Giza with that bob, doesn’t she?”
I giggle. It’s always fun to get a reminder that Dom is capable of cracking jokes. That there’s an actual human being underneath all those tailored suits and power moves. The way his eyes crinkle when he genuinely laughs is... well, pretty damn appealing.
Dangerous territory, Tatiana.
I spot Camilla approaching with a determined expression, and nod her way. “We have an audience.”
Camilla reaches us, her professional smile firmly in place. “There you are. The Aldersons want to meet Dominic’s new wife. They’re major potential investors for Serenity Shores.”
Right. Back to work. This is why we’re here, after all.
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and carefully rehearsed stories. Dom and I move together like dancers who’ve practiced the steps... a touch here, a smile there, the occasional fond glance. It’s exhausting and exhilarating all at once.
And it almost feels... real .
Two glasses of champagne in, I’m starting to relax despite myself. Dom’s hand keeps finding the small of my back, his touch warming through the silk of my dress. Each time, I have to remind myself it’s just part of the performance.
We’re chatting with an older couple. He’s on the board of some financial institution, she’s on every charity committee in Manhattan. Then Dom says something that makes my brain short-circuit.
“Tatiana makes the most incredible osso buco,” he tells them, his voice warm with false intimacy. “Family recipe passed down from her grandmother. I’ve been begging her to make it for our anniversary.”
My mind races. Anniversary? We’ve been married less than a month. And osso buco? That’s a kind of veal, I think? I’ve never cooked it in my life.
Before I can stop myself, I laugh.
“Oh heavens no, I’m terribly allergic to veal!” The words tumble out.
There’s a frozen moment where Dom’s smile doesn’t falter, but something flickers in his eyes. The couple looks confused.
“She cooks the traditional version,” Dom smoothly interjects. “Her grandmother adapted it with beef. Isn’t that right, darling?”
I nod, but the damage is done. Across the room, I spot Camilla, her face ashen as she watches the exchange.
Way to go, genius. First public appearance after the investor disaster, and you’re already blowing it.
“Excuse me,” the woman says, touching my arm. “I believe my friend Margaret is trying to get my attention. So lovely meeting you both.”
As they walk away, Dom leans close. “What was that?”
“I panicked,” I whisper. “I don’t even know what osso buco is.”
“It’s a veal dish,” he hisses. “And we specifically discussed food preferences in the briefing.”
I look around to make sure no one overhears. Keeping my voice low, I say, “I know, but I thought we were sticking to our real backgrounds!”
He also looks around conspiratorially before answering. “You’ve never cooked osso buco?”
“No!”
“Oh.” Dom runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as frustration. He leans in again, whispering in my ear, and my stomach does that usual stupid thing. “Well, just try to roll with whatever I say, okay? There’s only so much I can remember from the brief you put together on your background. Ten more days...”
The reminder stings more than it should.
“Right," I whisper back.
Ten days.
Before he can respond, another couple approaches... middle-aged, dripping in old money from their perfectly coiffed hair to their hand-stitched shoes.
“That’s Mr. Chung and his wife,” Dom whispers. “One of our key investors. He’s the one we need to impress tonight.”
Oh great. The billionaire kingmaker himself. Just what we need after the osso buco disaster.
“Dominic,” Mr. Chung says, his voice measured and calm. His wife, a petite woman with shrewd eyes, nods beside him. “I was hoping we might continue our... conversation from Monday.”
There’s something in his tone that makes my spine stiffen. Dom’s hand presses more firmly against my back, and I feel a subtle tension ripple through him.
“Of course,” Dom replies smoothly, but I catch the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. “Mr. Chung, Mrs. Chung, allow me to properly introduce my wife, Tatiana.”
Mr. Chung studies me with the calculated assessment of a man who’s made billions by reading people accurately. “Yes, the woman who was unfortunately unable to join us for our lunch. A shame. The discussion took some... unexpected turns.”
What exactly happened at this lunch? I wonder as I extend my hand with my most professional smile. What’s Dom not telling me?
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chung. I’ve heard wonderful things about your involvement with Serenity Shores.”
“Indeed,” he replies, still assessing. “I understand you work closely with Christopher Blackwell? Business administration background, correct?”
It feels like a test.
No, it definitely is a test.
“Yes,” I reply, grateful for a question I can answer honestly. “I’ve been with Christopher for two years now.”
“Tatiana has an exceptional eye for numbers,” Dom interjects, his voice warm with something that sounds remarkably like pride. “Her insights on the financial projections for Serenity Shores have been invaluable. Her business administration background gives her a unique perspective on balancing sustainability with profitability. Something I’ve come to rely on.”
Wait, what? Is that what he really thinks of my contributions?
Or is it just part of the act?
The latter, most likely.
Mr. Chung’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware you were so involved in the project, Mrs. Rossi.”
Oh good lord, he’s testing both of us now.
“It’s been a natural evolution,” I say, finding my footing. “Dom’s vision for environmentally responsible luxury resonated with me from our first conversations about it. The challenge is making sure the sustainability elements don’t compromise the resort’s financial viability.”
Dom squeezes my waist gently, a silent signal of approval.
“And what about our concerns from Monday?” Mr. Chung asks, his eyes sharp on Dom. “The... familial issues?”
Familial issues? What the hell happened at that lunch?
Dom’s body tenses, but his voice remains steady. “Being addressed as we speak. Nothing that will impact the project timeline or viability.”
“I see,” Mr. Chung says, his attention swinging back to me. “And what of your own future, Mrs. Rossi? A career woman like yourself, suddenly thrust into the role of billionaire’s wife... how do you see your place in five years? Still working for Christopher while supporting your husband’s projects? Or perhaps starting a family?”
Another test. Or more likely, a trap. I can practically feel Camilla’s eyes boring into my back from across the room.
Something shifts inside me. Maybe it’s the two glasses of champagne, or maybe it’s the way Dom’s thumb is now tracing small circles against my back, but suddenly I’m tired of performing. So instead, I let a version of the truth slip through.
“Honestly, Mr. Chung,” I say, meeting his gaze directly, “I never expected to find myself here. My plans didn’t include marrying anyone, let alone someone like Dom.”
I feel Dom stiffen beside me, but I continue.
“But life has a funny way of surprising you. What I’ve discovered is that the right partnership doesn’t diminish your individual ambitions. It expands your possibilities.”
I glance up at Dom, surprised by the emotion behind my own words.
“So as for five years from now? I see myself still proving my worth on my own terms. Still balancing spreadsheets and sustainability metrics. Still challenging this man when he needs it.” I smile, genuine warmth creeping in despite my best efforts. “And probably still arguing about whether his architectural designs are financially feasible, even if they are breathtaking. All while juggling a family.”
Something flickers in Dom’s eyes. Surprise, perhaps. Or recognition. Maybe even... longing.
“She keeps me honest,” he says softly, his gaze lingering on mine a beat too long before turning back to Mr. Chung. “Always has. Even from the beginning.”
Mr. Chung studies us both, something shifting in his expression. “Interesting,” he murmurs. “Very interesting.”
His wife speaks for the first time. “You know, honesty in a partnership is everything. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
Is she... giving us relationship advice? Or is this some weird investor code language?
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dom replies, and for a moment, I swear I feel his grip on me tighten. Not possessively, but almost... protectively.
“Well,” Mr. Chung says after a moment, “I believe we’ve taken enough of your time at what should be a celebratory evening. We look forward to finalizing our discussion next week, Dominic.”
They drift away, leaving us standing in a strange bubble of tension and something else I can’t quite name.
“What happened at that lunch?” I whisper, turning to face Dom.
His expression clouds. “Later. Not here.”
“Dom—”
“You were brilliant,” he interrupts softly, his voice soft but intense. He looks around to make sure no one is listening, then leans in closer. “That answer about the future... where did that come from?”
I blink, surprised by the sudden shift. “I don’t know. I just... said what felt right in the moment.”
“Well, it worked. He was impressed.” Dom’s eyes search mine. “I think we may have just salvaged Monday’s disaster.”
“So there was a disaster?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Later, I promise. But right now, Camilla is signaling that we need to circulate.” His hand slides to the small of my back again, but something feels different. Like it’s less performative and more natural. “Together?”
The word hangs between us, weighted with more meaning than it should carry.
“Together,” I agree, and we move back into the crowd, a united front.
Something has shifted between us. For those few minutes with Mr. Chung, we weren’t just playing at being partners. We were actually functioning as a team. Protecting each other’s narratives. Filling in gaps. Reading cues.
It felt... real. Again.
And that’s the most dangerous thing of all.
Ten more days, I remind myself as we approach another group of glittering socialites.
But as Dom’s hand guides me through the crowd, steady and sure, I can’t help wondering if endings are always as simple as they seem.