44. Laila
44
LAILA
I feel like Cinderella, hustling down the stairs as I race the clock. Except, instead of a shoe, I’m about to leave the shreds of a silver dress behind. I’ll bust through these very stressed seams, and Arsen will have to go door-to-door, looking for which ginormously pregnant woman can fit into the gown.
And it sure as hell won’t be me.
Because I don’t fit in the gown. Not even a little bit.
I had to have Polina zip me up, and she did so against her better judgment, with no small amount of sweat and muttered cursing under her breath. I’m almost positive she magicked a pair of maternity leggings into my tiny handbag when I wasn’t looking just in case I accidentally take a deep breath and need some emergency clothing.
But the second I step onto the porch and see Arsen waiting for me against the Bugatti, I’m grateful I didn’t give into Polina’s concerns and change.
A dress like this is meant to stand next to a man like him.
Arsen cuts a handsome figure in his navy suit, obviously, but it’s the tousled auburn hair and hungry smile that does it for me. “You look beautiful.” He opens the passenger door, perusing me slowly from head to toe before doubling back to the black diamond pendant around my neck. Per usual with his gifts, it’s in the shape of a rose.
I press a hand to the necklace. “Thanks for this. Should I read into the black diamonds?”
“Only in that they’re rare and precious.” He lowers me into the passenger seat, bringing my knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. “Just like you.”
Fifteen minutes later, when we walk through the gilded doors of some fine dining restaurant I’m too winded to catch the name of, I don’t feel rare and precious. I feel like an overstuffed sausage.
We’re two steps into the establishment and I’m already eyeing the tables in the back corner where I might be able to discreetly unzip the back of my dress and let it all hang out, when a couple slides into our path.
She’s in a red cocktail dress with diamonds sparkling from her ears, neck, and hands. He’s wearing a tailored three-piece suit with the largest and most ostentatious diamond watch I’ve ever seen.
“Frederick,” Arsen greets, shaking hands with the man reluctantly. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Laila Adamov. Laila, this is Frederick and Alicia Stewart.”
Laila Adamov.
It’s the first time I’ve heard my name that way, and it’s surreal enough that I have to blink back to reality as Alicia Stewart turns her assessing gaze on me.
“How lovely you look, Laila.”
“That’s generous of you.” I pat my bump.
“Nonsense. You’re glowing,” she says kindly. “Although, I’m sorry it’s preventing you from tasting the fruit of your husband’s labors.”
My zipper is starting to dig into my side, and in the hustle to get from physical therapy to here, my hip has started aching. Which must be why I blurt out, “Is that a euphemism?”
Frederick spits back into the glass he’s been drinking from, and Alicia rears back. “Oh my.”
Arsen, on the other hand, snorts with laughter.
My face is on fire. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
That’s a lie. I did. I just didn’t realize this was the entirely wrong crowd for crude humor.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Arsen says, placing his hand on the small of my back, “I need to get my wife off her feet.”
I manage a half-hearted, apologetic wave in their direction before Arsen steers me towards our table. “You should get your wife away from the civilized humans,” I groan. “That was mortifying.”
“I found it entertaining.”
“What did she mean?” I ask, looking around the room so that I can avoid the amused glint in my husband’s eyes.
“She meant you can’t sample any of the new products Adamov Liquor is working on. She and her husband were early investors in Pobeda.”
“Oh. Oh . That makes a lot more sense.” I drop my face into my hands. “I must have sounded like a complete idiot.”
“You certainly made an impression.”
He takes my hand and helps me into the booth, then follows in after me. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my fingers. To my surprise, it feels natural. Easy. Like he wants to hold my hand for no other reason than I’m his wife and he can.
Now, if only my dress wasn’t cutting off blood flow to my extremities, I might be able to appreciate this moment.
As dinner progresses, things go downhill.
Eating makes the already dire situation even worse, and while I was hoping for a shadowy corner where my exposed back might go unnoticed, Arsen and I could not be any more in the center of things. If seams start ripping, the entire restaurant is going to get one hell of a show.
When the dessert menus are doled out, I decline.
“You never turn down dessert,” Arsen remarks with a raised brow.
“I’m too full,” I lie. Well, more like the dress I’m wearing is too full of me, but hey—details, shmetails.
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t push the issue as he pays the bill and we stride out of the restaurant. I’m silently counting down the minutes until we’re back on home turf. Just one short drive, and then I can she-Hulk out of the gown and put on one of Arsen’s baggy t-shirts.
Except, fifteen minutes later, we aren’t anywhere close to home. Instead, Arsen stops the car in front of a very familiar ice cream parlor.
“You said this was the best pistachio gelato in the world, if I recall correctly.” He kills the engine and turns to me with a warm smile. “Still not interested in dessert?”
My dress is aggressively sawing into my back. I’m almost positive it’s sliced through the first two layers of skin and one bite of gelato will send it through the third and fourth. But Arsen is watching me with something like hope in his eyes, and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth.
Ignoring the pain in my back and ribcage, I smile back. “I’ve never turned down fresh pistachio gelato and I’m not about to start now.”
We order two servings and take a table by the window. I grab my spoon with the care of someone about to dismantle a bomb. I can barely breathe.
“Are you okay? You look… off.”
“If you’re trying to sweet talk me, you’ll have to do better than that.”
He laughs. “If it’s your hip?—”
“It’s not my hip. It’s just…” I look down at my gorgeous designer dress and finger the romantic fabric regretfully. “The dress is a little tight.”
His eyes narrow. “How tight?”
“It’s a little hard to breathe, but otherwise, I’m—” Suddenly, Arsen is out of his seat and walking around the back of mine. “What are you doing? I’m fine. You don’t have to?—”
He tugs, there’s a rip, and all at once, I can breathe.
“For Christ’s sake, Laila,” he growls, “the straps were cutting into you. Damn near bloody.”
I don’t care that he’s frustrated with me. All I care about is oxygen. My eyes flutter closed as I breathe. “Not anymore. I feel amazing now.”
“This is why you’ve been so uncomfortable all night? You should have said something!”
Here I thought I was hiding it so well. “You were in such a good mood telling me about Pobeda and the launch, I didn’t want to ruin the evening.” He curses softly under his breath and pulls my zipper even lower. “Arsen, unless you plan to charge for this peepshow, you should zip me back up.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he hisses. “Let people look. I want you to be comfortable.”
There are a few other patrons in the parlor, but they’re doing a good job pretending to ignore us.
Arsen slides his chair closer to mine and lifts my feet into his lap. My ankles are puffy and swollen, and the elevation is another sweet relief.
“Now,” he grits out, “eat your gelato.”
I bite back a smile. “I’ve never heard gelato sound so menacing before. It feels like I’m in trouble.”
“You aren’t in trouble,” he says. “What you are is stubborn. You need to tell me when you’re uncomfortable so I can fix it.”
“Oh, and how exactly do you plan to fix this?” I gesture to the bump so big I can’t even scoot up to the table. My gelato is resting on my stomach.
“I can make sure you have a dress that fits you, for one.”
“Or,” I counter, “we could go somewhere casual for once. I mean, what’s up with the suits and diamonds 24/7? Do you eat anywhere without a dress code?”
“No, but only because those places end up getting closed by health inspectors.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a snob. I’d rather eat some previously frozen beef than, like, duck foam or gold leaf foie gras or whatever.”
“How would you know? You were too busy trying to inhale oxygen to even taste the duck foam.” He gently massages my swollen ankle.
“You’re the one who told me to tell you when I’m uncomfortable. Newsflash: I’m uncomfortable a lot now. You better get used to it.”
“Is that a threat?” he teases.
“You’re damn right it’s a threat. This is all your fault! You’re the one that knocked me up! The only reason I can’t fit into this dress is because of you.”
“You think it serves me right?” His hand slides up my leg until it disappears under my dress.
I swallow hard. “Maybe…”
He smirks, his fingers stroking around my thigh. “Then I think it’s time we got you out of that dress. Don’t you agree?” Right on cue, he slips his fingers between my legs.
I yelp, ripping myself away from him.
“No,” I say in a choked voice. “I want to sit here and finish my ice cream like normal people.”
“We’re not normal people. And you’re too uncomfortable in that dress to enjoy anything right now, anyway. Come, roza .”
“Make me.”
A wicked smile spreads across his face. “It would be my pleasure.”