24. Lindsey
24
LINDSEY
S un filters in through the window and across my pillow, gently nudging me from my restless dreams, and as soon as I’m conscious, my pulse quickens. Today’s the day. The gala is tonight, and that means tomorrow, I’ll be on my way to New York to start a new life. Nervous anticipation rushes through my veins as a ball of sadness settles in the pit of my stomach.
Sitting up, I turn to look at Maks’s empty side of the bed. He’s slept there for the past three nights, rather than on the floor by the door, but even though I haven’t reconstructed the pillow barrier between us, he hasn’t touched me since the dangerously hot sex when he came inside me. Guilt tightens my chest when I think about it. I don’t like lying to Maks, or keeping secrets, but I let him buy a morning-after pill that I flushed down the toilet when he wasn’t looking so I wouldn’t have to tell him why what happened couldn’t cause any further damage.
Just the thought of it makes my temperature rise—the feel of him losing control inside me. I’d wanted it so badly, I’d almost begged him to do it. And when he did, for a moment, I thought we might be on the same page. But the way he reacted after made me realize he’s not going to change his mind. He doesn’t want me to stay, and when I said I still intend to go to New York, he didn’t argue.
That’s why I’m sure this is the right plan. It will be hard to let go, but in the long run, I’ll be happier if I can lead a normal life. My baby will be safer in a world that’s far from the violence and death that surrounds Maks, and maybe someday, I’ll even find a man who wants to be with me. Maks assured me that his cousin Dimitri will keep an eye on me from a distance so I’m safe, and when I figure out where I want to go from there, I can start fresh. This will be a good thing—or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Curbing my disappointment, I throw off the covers and get out of bed. Maks must be using his in-home gym, doing his daily workout. That’s become a standard practice since our impromptu wedding—Maks waking up before me and coming back to our room an hour later, covered in sweat and looking unforgivably fit and sexy. The timing couldn’t be more convenient, really, because otherwise, my clockwork morning sickness would be a lot harder to hide. He’s been distant enough lately, distracted by the upcoming assassination, that I’m not sure he would connect the dots even if he did catch me puking, and he spends enough time in his office—just like I’ve been working long hours to keep my mind off him—that I haven’t had to worry about it.
It would seem that today’s going to be just like every other day. That’s why I know the door will be locked until he gets back, but I need to stay busy until then, so I go into the bathroom, grab a trash bag, and take it to the bedroom so I can pack up the handful of belongings I intend to take with me. It’s not a lot—mainly my laptop and a bag of toiletries. I haven’t asked Maks what he intends to do with the clothes he’s kept on hand for me. I don’t even know if they’re old pieces from Kira’s closet or something he bought specifically for me. It feels wrong to ask, but I can’t deny I’ll miss the cozy outfits I’ve been wearing lately.
Chewing my lip, I look down at the sad collection of personal items, feeling like they can’t possibly represent everything I’ll be taking with me from this experience. Maks has changed my life in so many ways—permanently and, for the most part, for the better. My hand rests subconsciously on my belly as a knot of emotion forms in my throat, and because I’m feeling sentimental, I grab my favorite oversized sweater and fold it into the bag. I’ll ask him if I can keep it, but I can’t imagine he’ll say no. He’s just not that kind of guy.
The door clicks softly, and my heart skips a beat as Maks enters the room. He’s shirtless, his impressive muscles etched and hard beneath his tattoos, his gym shorts slung low around his hips, and his skin shiny with sweat. Dark hair falling across his forehead in damp curls, his blue eyes find mine, and a soft smile curves his lips as he catches me openly admiring him.
“Good morning,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d be up yet. You’ve been sleeping in more lately.”
The exhaustion is probably another side effect of being pregnant, but again, I can’t tell Maks that, and his casual observation of my routine makes my stomach flip-flop.
“I was going to ask if you’d like to get dinner with me before the gala tonight,” he continues.
Heat races across my skin at the invitation, and my pulse flutters. He’s never offered to take me out in public before, though I supposed tonight’s the night if he’s going to risk it. “That sounds nice?—”
My voice dies as his eyes drop to the open bag on the bed, the stack of personal items packed inside, and his smile fades, his face tensing.
I don’t know why I feel embarrassed about getting caught packing, but I squirm uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “I was going to ask before I took this,” I say, plucking at the soft cream-colored cashmere sweater I packed on top.
Maks swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he wipes the back of his neck with the towel in his hand. “Of course. You’re welcome to take any of the clothes I got for you. Pack a suitcase if you want.” He gestures to the closet, where he keeps his luggage tucked away. But the soft look in his eyes is gone, replaced by a cold apathy that makes my chest ache. Clearing his throat gruffly, Maks gives a single nod. “Let’s plan to leave for dinner at five.” Then he turns abruptly back toward the door.
“Okay,” I agree as my stomach drops. “Wait, where are you going?”
“Back to the gym,” he states, his voice flat, and he closes the door firmly behind him.
It takes a long time for my pulse to return to normal, and a sense of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. I don’t want my last day with Maks to be any harder than it has to be, but I don’t know how I ever thought it might be easy. Maybe it’s some twisted form of Stockholm syndrome, But when it comes down to it, I feel closer to Maks than anyone else in my life. I haven’t cared this much about anyone since my mother died, and walking away from him will mean leaving behind a part of me I think I’m going to miss being in touch with.
Sighing, I rest my palms on the flat of my stomach. “But I’ve got you, right, bud?” I murmur to my baby.
After loading a small suitcase with my favorite clothes, I get into the shower, taking my time as I let the water’s heat seep into my skin. I have hours to get ready, so I might as well take my time and enjoy the luxuries of Maks’s penthouse while I still can. But every step I take feels like it’s bringing me one foot closer to that invisible finish line, and I’m inexplicably anxious to cross it.
Towel wrapped around my head and bundled in my terry cloth robe, I head back into the bedroom to get dressed for the gala. At some point during my shower, Maks must have come in to retrieve his clothes, because the steel-gray suit he had hanging out is gone, and a Cristallini garment bag now lies across the foot of the bed, a shoe box and a black velvet jewelry box resting next to it. With shaking fingers, I open the velvet case and gasp at the diamond-encrusted ruby teardrop earrings inside. They’re bold and stunning—the perfect accent to my extravagant wedding ring—and they make me even more curious about the dress Maks picked out for me tonight.
Heart in my throat, I set aside the jewelry and slowly drag down the garment bag’s zipper. Flowing crimson velvet spills out, and my breath catches as I hold up the floor-length evening gown. Its long sleeves are fitted, and a smile tugs at my lips because he knows me so well. The fabric is soft and heavy enough I know it will keep me warm, even in the frigid Chicago chill. The open back means I’ll have to wear it without a bra, and as I hold it up against my body, I catch a glimpse of the generous side slit that’s going to reach nearly to the top of my thigh. Sexy but in a sophisticated, classy kind of way since the boat neck and simple sheath cut will give me a certain amount of modesty. Receiving a dress like this makes me feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman , and if we weren’t going to this gala with the single purpose of killing a man, I might actually feel like this could be straight out of the movies. But I rein in my excitement because it could be too easy to lose sight of what tonight’s really about.
I finish getting ready, blow drying my hair and taming it into soft waves with the straightener Kira left behind, and while I don’t have makeup here, I bite my lips and pinch my cheeks to give them a bit more color. Then I slip into the form-fitting dress. It grazes my ankles as I finish off the look with the strappy black high heels Maks left for me, and as I turn to the vanity to put in my earrings, I’m momentarily caught off guard by just how beautiful the dress makes me. It must be nearly as expensive as my wedding dress, and it brings out the color in my cheeks. As a final touch, I leave my glasses behind. It’s going to be a handicap, but if I have to wear a mask, it’s not like I could bring them with me anyway, and my eyesight isn't that bad.
Glancing at the clock, I take a deep breath. It’s time to go, and suddenly, I’m nervous enough to start sweating. A cool bead of moisture trickles down the line of my back when I think about the dinner I’m supposed to have with Maks. He’s been so cool and distant since we had sex. It makes me wonder how he sees this night unfolding, if he’s hoping we can have a nice last dinner together, or if he’s just doing this so we can hash out the details of what’s happening tomorrow. A flicker of panic squirms in my belly at the thought that he might intend to send me away right after dinner and not let me go to the gala. But I quickly brush that idea aside. He wouldn’t dress me up like this just to go back on his promise—even if he did seem reluctant to let me come with him.
Pull yourself together, Payne.
Taking a last fortifying breath, I grasp the bedroom door handle, and it gives willingly. A sense of deja vu sweeps over me as I step into the entryway and find Maks waiting for me. Rather than a black suit, he’s dressed in a charcoal gray suit, a black dress shirt and a crimson tie tucked neatly beneath the jacket, and he looks as dangerous and appealing as the night I first met him. Those sharp blue eyes sweep down my body, that glimmer of appreciation making my stomach quiver. I can see the desire in his face, and it makes me melt inside.
This undeniable attraction is something we’ll always have, and it makes me giddy—even as it makes me sad. This feels like the finish line, the final moments we’ll be together, and I’m scared that I made the wrong choice. It feels wrong to keep a secret from Maks—especially one as big as the fact that I’m carrying his child. But even if it feels wrong in this moment, when I’m faced with the full force of his attention, I know it’s the right thing to do.
“Maybe I should have picked something a little less eye-catching,” he observes dryly. “Tonight’s supposed to be discrete.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I glance down at my flattering dress. “I think it’s perfect. Thank you.”
He gives a single nod and presses the call button before offering me his arm. Heart palpitating, I take it, and we ride down to the lobby in silence. Again, the tension pulsing between us reminds me of our wedding day. But tonight, Maks looks more distracted, like his mind is on Don Costanzo and what’s supposed to happen.
I glance around as the car door closes behind us and our limo pulls away from the curb. It’s the first time I’ve been in one, but it would feel girlish and silly to gush over the experience when I’m sitting next to Maks. Everything about him exudes casual indifference. No doubt he’s ridden in limos countless times, and I don’t want to give him any excuse to not bring me to the gala.
“Are you nervous?” I ask. “About tonight?” He hasn’t told me any of the details—probably to ensure I can’t mess them up, and the mystery of it all makes me feel that much more jumpy.
“Nervous, no. But I have been waiting for this for a long time.” His fist clenches as he looks out the window, then he schools his expression into a smile. “Let’s not talk about it. I was hoping we could have a nice dinner together.”
Stomach fluttering, I nod and return his smile. “Okay.”
When the limo pulls up outside the building that holds the Skyline Lounge, I glance up at the towering skyscraper as Maks opens the door and steps out. He offers me his hand, and my pulse jumps nervously as I take it, a spark of anticipation racing across my palm and up my arm. As I straighten, he tucks my fingers into the crook of his elbow and leads me inside.
“Have you ever been here before?” he asks as we ride the elevator up to the top floor.
I shake my head no, and Maks smiles, a twinkle lighting his eyes. The strained feeling lingering between us seems to soften as the doors slide open and he ushers me inside. Two of his guards lead the way, scoping the restaurant as Maks steps up to the host stand.
“Mr. Yashkov,” the hostess says, her expression brightening as she unleashes a charming smile on him, and an intense rush of jealousy makes my chest tight.
It feels oddly similar to a first date, that uncurrent of uncertainty as I watch Maks interact with the people around us. Since he hasn’t dared to take me out in public before now, it’s a jolt to the system to be reminded that other women find him so attractive—my work friends were perfectly vocal about it the night I first met Maks, and the reality hits me now that, once I’m gone, there will be nothing stopping Maks from moving on.
“Your table is ready if you follow me.” Tossing her long black ponytail over her shoulder, the hostess struts out from behind her host stand, showing off her form-fitting black pencil skirt and black patent leather pumps.
Satisfaction floods me when Maks hardly seems to notice. Instead, he glances down at me with a smile and places a warm palm on the small of my back. Butterflies come to life inside me at the intimacy of the touch, the way his thumb brushes lightly across my bare spine, and my uncertainty melts away with the subtle gesture.
The restaurant is fancy, with walls of windows wrapping around the open space and looking out across the city and Lake Michigan. Each table has a crisp white table cloth draped across the surface. Fine crystal and expensive silverware are set at each place, and silver satin napkins have been folded into intricate shapes that fan from the wine glasses. A baby grand piano sits on a raised platform in the center of the restaurant, a man dressed in a classy black tailcoat and white dress shirt tickling the keys. Glass prism chandeliers drip from the high ceilings, and I try not to break my neck as I take it all in.
The hostess stops at a two-person table tucked in a quiet alcove of the room, and she brushes the corner of it with her fingertips as she turns back to us. “Here you are. Please, enjoy your meal.” Her smile turns strained as I take my seat and she hands me my leather-bound menu. Then she gives Maks one last flirtatious glance before leaving us to it.
“I think this is the nicest restaurant I’ve ever stepped foot in,” I murmur, leaning over my menu to get closer now that we’re alone.
Maks’s lips curl into a devilish grin, and he leans in conspiratorially. “You like it, then?”
“I mean, what’s not to like? If the food’s anything like the atmosphere, I think I might have died and gone to heaven.”
He chuckles, the low sound soft and inviting. “The chef will be thrilled to know.”
“What are you best buds?” I tease, and when Maks tilts his head, his eyebrow quirking, my jaw drops. “Wait, this isn’t going to be another of those ‘I’m the owner’ situations, is it?”
“Is that a problem?” he asks.
“I mean, no , but is there a business in Chicago you don’t own?”
He gives another low chuckle, and tingling anticipation rushes up my spine. Something about dinner tonight makes me think this could have been the direction our relationship went if I hadn’t stumbled down the wrong hallway at the Dungeon that night—if instead, I’d bumped into Maks again in the VIP section and taken him up on that drink. It’s strange to think how different things could have been between us, and I wonder where things might have gone if I’d never found out about Don Costanzo or Lucian or the dark underbelly of Maks’s world.
“Yes, there are plenty of places I don’t own,” he says, “but I thought you might enjoy a Michelin star restaurant for your final meal in Chicago, and most of them, you have to book months ahead.”
Eyes wide, I look around the room with fresh eyes. “That’s—really thoughtful,” I say, turning back to him. “Thank you.”
“If I’m being honest, it’s just as much for me. I never realized I could get so much enjoyment out of feeding someone good food before I met you.”
There’s that playful light in his eyes again, and it makes my stomach flutter. “So, what’s good here?” I ask, the question sounding embarrassingly breathless as I look down at the single-page menu to distract myself.
“All of it. Pick what sounds best, unless you’d like to try one of each.”
Humor laces his tone, and when I bite my lip, glancing up at him apologetically from beneath my lashes, he actually laughs. It’s probably more than I can eat, but I am famished after spending my morning intermittently throwing up. And when am I ever going to get an offer like that again? In a Michelin-ranked restaurant no less.
“Are we ready to order?” our server asks, his crisp formal wear pressed to perfection and his blond hair slicked back from his clean shaven face.
“We’ll take one of everything on the menu. And a bottle of the 1992 Screaming Eagle cabernet sauvignon.” Maks takes my menu and passes them both to the server as I do my best to keep my eyes inside my head.
“Excellent choice, sir,” the server says with a slight bow before he turns to go.
“Maks, you can’t be serious,” I hiss. I didn’t actually think he would do it.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Why not? It only seems fair when I’m the reason your life’s been turned on its head.”
Heat climbs up my neck, and I take my napkin out the wine glass holding it, smoothing it across my lap to give my hands a job. “Do you ever think about the night we met?” I blurt the words before I realize that’s what I’m going to do, and the warmth in my cheeks intensifies as I peek up at Maks for his reaction.
“About the woman who snuck into the VIP section of my club and tried to buy shots of house tequila?” he asks, his expression teasing. “Or the way you turned me down?”
A surprised laugh bursts from me, and I shake my head. “I only turned you down because girls know better than to just accept drinks from strangers at a club.” A bold desire to say something honest wells up inside me, and I toy with my water glass as I admit, “But I did regret it after—walking away. I went back multiple times hoping I would run into you again.”
Electricity crackles across the space between us, and I can feel the heat of Maks’s gaze before I look up to see it.
“I looked for you,” he says, his voice low and instantly more serious. “At the Dungeon. I watched for you whenever I was there.”
“I had a really different perception of you back then,” I confess.
Maks tilts his head, his expression curious, but before he can ask, our server returns with the bottle of wine that probably costs more than I could earn in a year. Popping the cork, he pours a taste for Maks, who indicates his approval, and before I can object, the server’s pouring me a glass of wine. It feels like a terrible waste not to drink it, but I don’t want to risk it either, and turning it down now might make Maks suspicious.
“What did you think of me when we met?” he asks as soon as our server walks away.
“That you were charming, likely a womanizer—definitely too old for me—and dangerous.”
He raises his eyebrows as if mildly impressed. “Dangerous how?”
I shrug one shoulder and swirl the crimson liquid in my wine glass. “You seemed like someone women fall for.”
Silence stretches between us, and after a pause, Maks takes a drink of his wine. “And now?”
I give a breathy laugh and mirror his motion, raising the glass to my lips to make it look like I’m sipping before setting it back down. Anxiety quivers in my stomach, and I can taste the quality of the bottle just from the reminisce of alcohol that lingers on my lips.
“Now I have a better understanding of what makes you so dangerous,” I say.
Maks nods, his eyes shockingly compassionate, and he takes another generous drink of wine. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
“I’m not.” I’m surprised that I mean it. But if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, I doubt I ever would have known the real Maks, and even if it’s been painful at times, I feel privileged to know him like I do. He might not be perfect, but he’s a better man than I ever would have given him credit for. “We’ve been through a lot together, and I feel like I’m coming out a stronger person on the other side.”
“I hope you know that, what I did—I did it to keep you safe, even if it didn’t always feel that way,” he says, looking torn. “And I hope, in some small way, I managed to earn your trust.”
My heart squeezes at the genuinity behind his words, and my feelings for Maks just keep growing stronger. This dinner was a mistake, because now I’m more torn about what to do than ever. I’m not ready for this to be the end.