9. ANDIE
I wake with a start to the feeling that someone is watching me, the prickling at the back of my neck warning me that there’s somebody here who shouldn’t be. I sit bolt upright in bed, and flip over—sure enough, I find Nikolai sitting on the far side of the room, watching me while I sleep.
“How long have you been there?” I demand sleepily, rubbing my hand over my face as I attempt to bring myself back down to earth.
He rises to his feet, picking up a bag that sits next to the chair, and holds it out to me. “Here. Try this on.”
I pull open the bag and look down into it, frowning. “What is this…?”
“A dress.”
“I already have enough to wear,” I remind him. “I?—”
“For tonight. Trust me, this is different. You’ll want something…finer.”
The way he says it, I can tell that this is not up for debate.
I reach into the bag and pull out the dress; it seems to be a deep blue velvet, with a plunging neckline.
Alongside it are a few jewelry boxes in matching dark velvet, and I flip a couple of them open, eyes widening when I see what’s waiting for me inside.
“Nikolai, this is too much. I can’t—I mean, I don’t?—”
“Try it on,” he insists. “I need to know if it fits before tonight.”
I can tell that I’m not going to get through to him, and that he has already made his mind up about the plans for the day.
I could argue, dig my heels in, but look how far that has gotten me in recent memory.
It doesn’t seem to matter what’s going on between us, he always gets his way, and the best I can hope for is to keep up without getting torn apart in the process.
I roll out of bed, nervously tugging down the long tee I was sleeping in so I can cover myself, and I notice the way his gaze lingers on me as I do so.
We have not spent much time together since the plane, and honestly, that has been by design.
I still don’t know where I stand with him, but I’m certain that if I let myself stick around for too long, I’m going to be drawn into that same desire that had me fucking him after a couple glasses of champagne on our wedding night.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror, and I can’t help but notice how exhausted I look.
Dark circles under my eyes, even though the enormous bed that I had all to myself is way better than the lumpy mattress I was putting up with back home.
I tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out where I stand in all of this.
I mean, I know there’s something up with this family, there has to be.
No way they came into this much money and power without hurting anyone along the way.
And it hasn’t escaped me how quick Nikolai was to force my hand into the marriage.
I could have stood my ground, said no, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who will do damn near anything if it means he can ruin someone who stands in his way.
His willingness to make a move like that is proof to me that he has grown accustomed to using underhand methods, and I can only assume the same methods were how this family came into such wealth.
I slip into the dress, and strain behind me to tug up the zipper—for a second, I think I’m not going to fit into it, but finally, with one great big tug, it comes up. I breathe a sigh of relief, then look at myself in the mirror once more.
Woah, okay. I actually kind of like this dress. It’s slinky, the kind of thing more suited to a red carpet than first thing in the morning like this, but I can almost picture myself with hair and makeup done, the jewelry that sits in those boxes, looking like I might fit into this world in some way.
Whatever the hell that means.
I open the door, standing before Nikolai once more. “Well, it fits,” I tell him bluntly.
His gaze skims up and down over my body, and he narrows his eyes, as if he’s searching for any detail that is out of place. “Good,” he replies. “You can wear that tonight.”
“To what, exactly?”
“My father is holding an event. A gathering of some work colleagues. He’d like you to attend.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What kind of work colleagues?”
He eyes me for a long moment, as though trying to parse how much he can say to me without admitting more than he’s willing to. “Does it matter what kind of work he does?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes, of course it does,” I reply sharply. “I need to know what kind of people I’m dealing with if I’m not going to make an ass of myself.”
Silence falls between us. My heart picks up the pace in my chest. It feels like we’re circling the matter at hand here, the truth of what all of this leads to. I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side of this conversation for me, but I know I need to find out.
“Nikolai,” I murmur, taking a step toward him, changing my approach, trying to come off as a little less forward. “I’m your wife. I need to know what I have married into. Please…” I reach out to touch his hand, and that, at least, seems to be all it takes to get him to let down his guard.
“My father is Bratva,” he tells me finally.
I frown. I’ve heard mention of the Bratva before, of course, but I don’t know exactly what it means. “Bratva?”
“He’s involved in…an organization that runs through the underground of this country,” he explains. “A large group who deal in things that the government doesn’t see fit to allow them to.”
“Like…like illegal stuff?”
He nods. “The same business I run for him in America,” he goes on.
I swallow hard, a heat creeping up the back of my neck as I try to make sense of it.
Okay, so he’s involved in something criminal.
I have probably handled a few people like that over the years that I’ve been working as a wedding planner—God knows the wealthy men who came into millions by the time they were in their twenties were not doing things entirely aboveboard.
But it’s one thing to leave it unspoken, quite another to hear it out loud from the man I have married.
I straighten up. I’ve dealt with some crazy shit before in my life—dealt with people who are not good by any measure of the term.
And I can handle this, I know I can. I have to.
I’m in the midst of it now, out here in Russia where nobody knows me, and the only person I have to rely on is Nikolai.
I need to keep him on my side, no matter what.
“So these men I’ll be meeting tonight,” I tell him. “What should I expect?”
He looks a little surprised at how well I’m taking this, but he doesn’t hesitate to fill me in on the details.
“My father wants to see how you deal with them,” he explains.
“If you can be discreet, but not alienate them from our family. It’s a hard line to walk, but he wants to know that you can handle what will come with being the wife of a man like me.”
I nod again. I have to focus on the task at hand here.
If I start thinking about the broader implications—what this could tie me to, how it could damage my reputation—I will freak out.
The good thing about being in Russia, I suppose, is that nobody from my normal life back in New York will ever hear about anything that happened here.
It might not be ideal, but it’s something, and I can become who I need to be in order to get through this in one piece.
“You’ve met the wives of these men before?” I ask.
“I have.”
“And how do they act? The ones who serve their purpose?”
I lace the words with a little more of an edge than I intend to.
I have never been the traditional type, despite what I do for a job.
I’ve never been the woman who believes that girls are all just waiting to put on that white dress and walk down the aisle and become someone’s wife. But I know things are different here.
And I need to be different, if I’m going to be able to make it through.
Nikolai pauses for a second, considering his response.
He seems surprised that I’m embracing this so completely, but then, I hardly have a choice in the matter.
What am I going to do, insist that he charters that private jet back to the States and leave him to explain to his family why his new wife has taken off out of nowhere?
Yeah, I know that’s not going to happen.
Roll with the punches—if life has taught me one thing, it’s the importance of doing just that.
“They’re charming without being too open,” he replies. “And they find a way to make people feel comfortable without giving too much away.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that part,” I reply, forcing a slight laugh, trying to break the tension in the air. “I know nothing about your business anyway.”
He chuckles. “I suppose that should be useful.”
I perch on the edge of the bed. If I just approach this like I would any other big social event that I might be a part of—a rehearsal dinner, a society wedding, something like that—I will be able to get through it, I’m sure of that.
I have adapted to so many worlds over the course of my life, and this is just one more.
I have no idea what it will mean for me to associate myself with this business, but if I have to find out, so be it.
“When does it start?”
“Around eight tonight. Though I’ll be taking dinner with my father before that, if you’d like to join us.”
I hesitate for a moment before I speak again, not sure if I should delve in the direction that I want to right now. But my curiosity has been nagging at me since the moment we arrived here, and I want to know just what kind of family I’m dealing with here.
“Will Marta be joining you?”
He frowns. “Marta?”
“Will she be joining you for dinner?”
“Why on earth would she do that?”
“She’s your father’s wife, isn’t she?” I ask, confused. “I mean, the way she greeted you?—”
“She runs the household,” he replies sharply. “She’s staff. Not family.”
“Oh,” I blurt out. “Uh, I—I’m sorry. So, will your mother be having dinner with…” I trail off at the look on his face, sensing that I have well and truly managed to put my foot in it.
Whatever the hell is going on with his mother, he clearly does not want to talk about it, judging by the way his face darkens at the mere mention of her.
A darkness seems to flit across his features, and I remember the question he asked in the first place, if I want to join them for dinner.
I think better of it, giving how I seem to be making a mess of things now.
“I think I’ll just get ready up here,” I murmur, pulling open the bag again. “You really want me to wear all of this jewelry?”
A grin passes over his face. “I told you, you reflect on me,” he reminds me. “And if you’re not dripping in jewels…they’ll think I don’t have the means to provide for you.”
“Point taken,” I murmur. “I’m just not used to—” I stop myself in my tracks.
No. I can’t think like that. As far as everyone here is concerned, I am utterly accustomed to being spoiled with such finery.
I can’t let myself think for a second that I don’t deserve this, or it will sneak out of me when I’m at this event tonight, and I can’t risk that.
If I want to keep myself safe, ensure that I give Nikolai no reason to turn on me and change his mind about protecting my reputation, then I need to play along.
“I’ll see you later,” I tell him, and I turn, brushing my hair out of the way so he can reach the top of the zipper. “Could you pull this down a little for me? I don’t want to be stuck in it all day…”
“Of course,” he murmurs, and he moves to my side.
My bare feet tingle on the wooden floor as he tugs down the zipper just an inch or two, and I can feel the graze of his fingertips against my skin.
Shit. So, even sober, there is still a part of me that responds to him this way, whether I’m willing to admit it or not.
Hell, he feels like a drug—like he is the thing I’m hooked on.
I want to steal a glance over my shoulder, see if he feels the same way, but I’m not sure if I want him to or not.
If he doesn’t, then I’ll be completely humiliated. If he does, well…
I suppose that will make this marriage a little easier to sell as authentic.
Even if, in the quiet of this room when it’s just the two of us, I know I should be thinking about anything other than the way his touch feels against my skin.