Chapter Fifteen
In which there are the beginnings of fascination.
Andrey…
Earlier that day…
"You had to endure the party we threw to announce your nomination for the Supreme Court Justice." My mother is using her best coaxing voice. "You got through that just fine!"
"I'm not remarrying Iris," I say, keeping my voice level.
Showing irritation to Mother would do one of two things.
First, it might hurt her feelings and that, I cannot do.
Or second, she will pounce on my moment of weakness, of exhibiting emotion, and she will never let it go. 'I got my son to feel something!'
She loses her bright, cheerful tone. "Please, don't make me bring out the optics argument," she groans.
"Nikandr went on and on about it today. We'll have something simple.
Not as big as the judgeship party. Maybe a hundred guests.
No walking down the aisle or renewal of vows nonsense.
Dasha was really getting into this, along with Caroline.
I won't tell you what some of their suggestions were because I know you will never come home again. "
"This is unnecessary," I say, shifting in my seat.
I've been wearing a suit and tie for three days straight dealing with our Bratva associates in Germany and I want to tear off the starched shirt and go for a run, or spar with my brother and beat the shit out of him.
Anything to take the edge off. My righteous fury is glowing inside me like a banked flame.
There's a long list of soulless monsters to take out and I've had no chance to administer justice. For weeks.
"Son, are you still there?"
"Yes, Mother, I apologize. It sounds like the Morozov women have already determined that this is going to happen," I say dryly. "But please do include Iris in the planning and kindly avoid telling her all the worst stories about me. She's just now stopped yelping every time I walk into the room."
This may have been a mistake, because my mother's tone cools significantly. "I knew Iris wasn't exactly ecstatic about this arrangement. Your comment, though, is making me even more suspicious about how this quickie wedding was handled."
"I've never lived with a woman before, so I have no idea if what I'm doing is unusual or not," I say, attempting to sound patient. "Iris is a jumpy girl. I walk quietly. I'll start smashing things against the wall to alert her of my presence."
She ignores my sarcasm. "Excellent! I'll get in touch with everyone. We'll have something put together in a day or two. I'm thinking next Saturday."
"It will be beautiful," I say woodenly. "And of course we must make our associates happy. But please, no presents. I don't want any vile statuary or custom champagne sabers invading my penthouse."
"Such a sentimental creature," she drawls. "I'll let everyone know. Goodbye, son. I love you."
"Goodbye, Mother. I… Thank you."
I'm sure there was a time when I was a child when I told my parents I loved them. I was good at mirroring behavior until I rose high enough in the organization that I wasn’t required to.
I remember saying it once or twice to Nikandr and he nearly knocked me off my seat in an inappropriately emotional bear hug.
Dasha, our little sister, simply instructed me that of course I loved her dearly and I should give her a hundred dollars or the keys to my car.
I actually preferred her transactional method.
Thinking about love, other than for my family, what is the closest I've come to it?
There was one girl, when I was younger, maybe fifteen.
She fascinated me, she was pretty, blonde and she smiled at everyone in the hallway between classes.
I was curious about everything she did, why she preferred tennis to squash, why she wore her hair up on Mondays, why she always wore the same pink lipstick.
I was careful, she never caught me watching her, and I rarely spoke to her.
One night, my father followed the tracking device on his missing Aston Martin and found me in it, parked across the street from her house.
I was watching her laugh and talk with her family at a barbecue in their back yard.
He got into the passenger seat without saying anything and sat with me for a while.
"Does she interest you?" he asked.
I’d thought about it for a while. "Yes. She's.… fascinating."
Father nodded, looking back out the window. "Do you think you care for her?"
"Not in the way you think. Not in the way you and Mother do. She's captivating. I don't like it, but I'm compelled to watch her to see what she does, and why."
He was silent for a long time before he said, "For some people who operate like you do, moy syn, fascination and obsession can be their brand of love, or the beginnings of it, in this case. It creates a similar form of affection, even if you don't express it in the way other people do."
"Are we back to my diagnosis, Father?"
He shrugged. "Your diagnosis doesn't define you, if you are indeed a sociopath. I'd far prefer that to narcissism, although your Uncle Maksim used to constantly claim that I'm a narcissist." He smiles briefly. "It can help, though, to understand why someone affects you in a certain way."
We sat there for another two or three hours. We talked a little, but we mostly watched until the family went inside and the lights strung over the yard turned off. The girl and her family moved a couple of months later, Florida, I think. Once she was gone, though, I never thought about her again.
Looking at the footage on my phone, I watch Iris patiently go through preparatory interviews, one after another, all day without losing her temper.
Her expression when she talks to her sister melts into something tender.
Last night in my hotel suite, I'd spent hours watching the footage from her day with that shrill little stylist. I'd even smiled as Iris laughed uproariously when the stylist asked about pregnancy clothes.
The best item they selected was a dark green dress, glittering with beads, thin straps and a neckline that shows the beginning of her gorgeous breasts. I want her to wear it to our enforced wedding party.
When I arrive at the office to pick her up, my wife is huddled in the corner of the media room, clutching a dripping sandwich with her phone glued to her ear, no doubt talking to Rose.
I have come to accept that this is a two, and sometimes three or four call a day habit.
She looks beautiful, hair swept up into a severe ponytail and wearing a dark blue suit with a white silk blouse.
The vision of sucking on her nipples through that silk hits me. So vividly, as if my lips are already on her breast. What the hell is happening to me? I'm tired from the flight. It's been sixty-three days since I've had sex. That's all.
I get close enough to hear her say, "Nothing weird like dick size!"
"And whose dick size are we talking about, darling?
" I ask, enjoying her appalled expression as she quickly disconnects the call and attempts to find somewhere to put her sandwich down.
"You've got… something dripping down your arm," I point out politely.
"That will stain the lovely suit you're wearing.
It's hard to get grease out of good wool. "
"Why is this my life?" she moans, trying to hold her arm up while swiping at the table next to her for napkins. This move brushes all of them on the floor, and she bends over to pick them up. I catch a glimpse of her cleavage and I can't take it.
"Here." I pull my handkerchief out and hand it to her.
She eyes it dubiously. "I'm not sure you'll ever get the stain out of this and it was probably originally owned by Prince Edvard the 47th in medieval Switzerland."
"I have several, go ahead," I say, enjoying the sight of the cloth moving over her smooth skin. "You have something, right here." I touch my cheek to show her and her tongue slips out, searching for the smear.
Fuck.
My (usually) disciplined cock is starting to thicken.
"Is it gone?" she asks, looking at me, all wide-eyed innocence.
"No, it's just – I'll get it." Pulling my handkerchief from her fingers, I lift her chin with one hand and wipe her cheek with the other, then smoothing the cloth over her lips, because I want to.
"You should see how freaked out people get here when they talk about you," she says, a little gleefully.
"Nonsense," I say, tucking the dirty handkerchief in my pocket. "I simply expect people to do their jobs."
"Are you kidding?" Iris cackles, there's no other word for it. "I saw one of the junior attorneys cross himself in the hall yesterday when someone said your name."
I wait for her to explain why this is a bad thing. She sees my expression and cackles a little more. "If you don't see this as problematic, then I'm not going to burst your bubble, pal."
"Oh, there you are! A pleasure to see you back, Andrey.
How was the German meeting?" Jessica's striding toward us, and the little moment of intimacy is gone.
Iris's cheeks are flushed a bright pink.
I'm going to have to teach her about hiding her emotions, because it seems that was not on Jessica's to-do list.
"It was a long and boring trip." I shrug.
"True, but Berlin is beautiful this time of year," she says, hopefully.
"Not from the inside of a boardroom, but I appreciate the optimism. Are you finished with my bride for tonight?"
Jessica's sharp eyes move from a blushing Iris to me. "Of course. It's been a long three days for both of you. I'm sure you want some alone time."
Iris doesn't look completely on board with this plan of "alone time," but she rises, unbuttoning her suit jacket. "Let me go take this off."
Jessica hands her a bag. "No, just wear it home. You've already changed so many times today. Here are your shorts and t-shirt. There are a few things that we need to alter from your wardrobe fitting yesterday, but most of it should be hung up by now. Good night."
"Hung up?" Iris calls after her, but Jessica's already in deep conversation with one of the cameramen.
Taking her bag, I hold out my arm and she eyes it suspiciously. "What's happening here? This is dangerously close to you being pleasant to me."
"You've been enduring seventy-two hours of attempting to civilize you, darling," I say. "Slipping your hand into a gentleman's offered elbow is gracious behavior."
"Even if he's the indomitable and selfish Russian who forced the young lady to marry him?" Iris asks, fluttering her lashes madly, like butterflies ready to take off.
I lean closer, my lips touching her ear. To everyone else, it looks like a husband flirting with his new wife. "Oh yes, darling. Particularly when all those things are in play."