“It’s whiskey.” He swipes it back in one smooth move. “And in case you forgot, we’re trying to get you pregnant.”
Petyr’s tone sours my enthusiasm. Ever since dinner, he’s been quiet. As in, quieter than usual. Whenever he speaks to me, it’s with cold, testy sentences. Nothing like the heated banter we had back at the mansion.
I wonder if it has anything to do with Serge Markov.
Cold sweat breaks out on my back. Serge is an old friend of my father. He used to come around the house a lot when I was little. Sneak me candy when Papa wasn’t looking.
It’s been twelve years. I doubt he remembers me enough to recognize me, especially on Petyr’s arm, as hiswife.
But what if he did recognize me? What if he texted Petyr something midway through dinner? That would explain his shift in attitude.
No. If Serge had told Petyr who you were, he wouldn’t have let you eat caviar. He’d have taken you out the back and fed you a bullet instead.
Still, I can’t chase away the unease.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, heart in my throat.
The cold gaze Petyr gives me could make snow fall in a desert. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. You just seem… different,” I say, folding my arms against myself. “Quieter. Since dinner.”
Since we met Serge,I think but don’t say.
Petyr’s eyes narrow slightly. I feel my pulse pick up. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says.
It sounds so final that I don’t have the courage to press for more. Instead, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “How do you know Serge?”
His eyes widen.
Shit.Never in the history of my short life has blurting out stuff ended well for me, but clearly, I haven’t learned that lesson yet.
“I mean,” I try to recover, “that man you were speaking with at the restaurant. Was it Serge? Or Sergio or something?”
“Serge.” His pose relaxes a fraction. “He’s someone in my world. We have a cordial business relationship.”
“Your world, as in… the Bratva world?”
“There is no other world for me.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sure.”
“Why do you ask?” he says, surprising me. “Do you know him?”
“Um, nope.” I pray to God he doesn’t smell the lie. “Just curious about your life, that’s all.”
He studies me for a beat longer. He doesn’t look too pleased, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Then he turns brusquely away, and I feel that the subject is officially closed.
I wring my hands in my lap, wondering what’s next. If tonight is the night that we…
His hands, roaming over me. His breath, ghosting over my skin. His body, pressing into mine, thrusting with no restraint, filling?—
“I have to deal with something from work.” Petyr’s words shatter that illusion instantly. “You’ll spend the night here.”
“Oh,” I say. “Alright. Should I wait up, or?—?”
“No.” He grabs his jacket, fixes his cufflinks. “Stay here. Sleep. And don’t try to run.”
“I wasn’t gonna,” I mumble.
