My eyebrows furrow of their own accord. I am no stranger to vile men, but family has always been the safest of places for me. I forget that this is a privilege.
“He was weak,” I say, then mentally kick myself for overstepping. Any tension I expect from Maxim though isn’t to be found as his shoulders shake with a slight laugh.
“He was,” he agrees, then undoes the last button before pulling down the hidden zipper beneath it.
I immediately let out a huge breath and release my rigid posture. The dress fit my figure perfectly, but had an unyielding bodice.
“After he died, I was engaged to someone named Katerina who decided she wanted to marry someone else,” he says simply.
“She cheated on you?” I shrug the thin sleeves off my shoulders and arms, pulling the gown down my body so I can step out of it completely. Maxim steps away and when I look up to him, he’s averted his gaze from me.
A gentleman.
Belatedly, I realize I should maybe be nervous that he’s seeing me in just my thin white slip. Modesty, though, has never been a strong suit of mine.
“Emotionally, perhaps. I do hope she’s happy.”
“How generous of you.” I step past him for the hanging rack where a deep red dress hangs on a wooden hanger. It’s got short, flouncy sleeves and a very loose skirt.
Willa didn’t let me have a red gown, but agreed that it was appropriate for a send-off. It’s not my usual dark jewel tones, but it feels less foreign than the bright white did.
I step out of my long slip, turning my back to Maxim since he apparently really doesnotwant to see my boobs. I pull the red dress off the hanger only to find a different, much sexier slip hanging beneath the dress. It’s white and satin with a built-in lacy bra that has a blood red bow in the middle. My meddling sisters have planted slutty lingerie to ensure that I seduce my business deal husband?
“Your dad died a long time ago, though. Why’d you wait so long?” I ask after I shimmy into the lingerie and step into the red dress. I step in front of him again, now bare foot and even shorter. “Zip.”
He does as he’s told, his fingers deftly pulling the fabric together and tugging the zipper up. “Are you calling me old?”
“Sure, practically geriatric,” I say, and he laughs.
“Pretty dress,” he says instead of answering the question.
I love the dress, it’s leagues more comfortable than the last one, the cool silk swishing against my thighs, and I look,objectively, very beautiful in it. The gold necklace hanging on my chest compliments the low, cupped neckline.
“It is,” I agree.
A knock on the door stops any more polite conversation we might make, and it’s Nate peeking around the door.
“Hello, happy couple,” he sing-songs as he walks in. “You kids ready?”
I look to Maxim, who looks back at me. He offers a tight-lipped smile and a nod, and I follow suit.
11
MARY
Maxim drivesus to one of the nicest hotels in the city—an Orlov hotel, of course—and the valet is already expecting us when we arrive. It was a quiet, tense sort of ride, two people who don’t love each other wearing rings heavy with meaning on their hands.
“Mrs. Orlov,” the concierge greets me first, and I let the name roll around in my brain. It’s more abrupt than Morelli, but no less strong.
Marianna Claire Orlov.
“Everything is prepared for you, and your bags are already delivered to your suite,” the man says, walking ahead of us toward the elevator.
I stride beside Maxim, my hand in his, not really listening as the man describes a laundry list of amenities available to us during our stay.
When we reach the elevator, the man places a black card in Maxim’s hand after swiping the scanner and typing in a room number.
Remaining in the hall, he wishes us a peaceful stay and the metal doors slide shut in front of us. I let my hand drop from Maxim’s.
