CHAPTER10
Alexei
Are they fucking kidding me? My gaze narrows on Natalia as she stands with Aiden Callahan across the room. He stopped her on the way back from the bathroom, and she’s made no move to escape their conversation yet.
Until now, Natalia and I were enjoying the reception, which has a bigger guest list than the ceremony. There are several tables full of theater people from New York, and they dominate the dance floor in their vibrant dresses and shiny suits. It’s almost like being at a show.
After two shots of vodka and some strange stories of life in a rural village, Natalia announced she would dance with the other dancers to show her support of the celebration. I sat back and watched her. The dancing was undertaken with reckless abandon, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Then after about half an hour, she strolled off to the bathroom.
Now Callahan’s been talking to her for seventeen minutes, which feels long enough for a species to go extinct. My thumb rubs the rim of my empty shot glass, and I ignore the room around me as people tap their glasses, signaling they want to see another kiss at the head table.
Callahan puts his hand on Natalia’s side, and I’m all done waiting for them to separate. I rise and cross the floor, unhurried but driven as I weave through the tables, never taking my eyes off her.
When I reach them, I tell her in Russian, “Go back to our table.” Then I turn to him. “I’ve always wondered which of us is tougher. Let’s settle it. Outside?”
His brows rise, and his smile drops. “Easy now, friend. There’s no way I’m getting into a brawl at a C Crue wedding.”
My expression is as hard as a frozen lake. “Don’t talk to her again.”
“Aw, relax. It was just talk. No harm done. And according to her, you guys are strictly friends anyway, right? She wants to know about Boston, so—”
“Enough,” I say, holding up a hand to ward off explanations. I don’t care what they were talking about. He touched her. That’s not happening again. My gaze cuts to Natalia who has not gone back to our table. I speak to her in Russian again, purposely cutting Callahan out of the conversation. “You told him you’re not with me tonight?”
“I told him we’re friends, but not more than friends,” she says, continuing our conversation in Russian. “I said that because we’re only together for this month. This isn’t a romance between us. It’s a transaction. When it’s over, I will be on my own with no ties to you.” Her face is flushed, but she speaks quickly and confidently, challenging me. “It’s the truth, no?”
No.
My anger burns hotter. Even if it was true, Natalia’s mine for the month. She’s not allowed to get friendly with other men, which of course she must realize.
“We’re together. Saying otherwise is a lie.” My words are harsh and clipped. “Did you tell him you’re living with me in New York, and here in the hotel?”
“No! It’s not his business! He lives in Boston, and I want to know how it is there for school and work, because maybe I will try—”
I hold up a hand to interrupt her, switching to English. “That’s enough,” I say sharply. “Go back to the table,kiska.” When I turn back to Callahan, his expression has turned to stone.
“You’re right,” he says, his own face flushed now. “We should take this outside.”
“Good.”
We move straight to the doors that lead to the hall and then outside.
As soon as we’re far enough from the building, I take off my suit jacket and shirt and toss them over a bush.
“Christ. It’s cold as hell out here,” he complains, taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
No Russian blood in his veins, I think. I don’t even feel the cold.
“Alexei, this is foolish,” Natalia says from behind me. “Stop this. You are not healed from your last fight.”
Callahan looks at me speculatively.
I don’t hesitate. I step forward and hit Callahan in the jaw. It staggers him.
Then he roars back, and the blows are fast and hard until we’re both more measured. The punches aren’t less brutal, if anything their impact is worse, but we don’t rush at each other. We move like we’re in the ring at Bloodsport, where sometimes only one man leaves.
The next time we come together, I feel a rattle in my bones as I strike him and he strikes back. We’re locked together in a fighter’s embrace, one arm around each other while the other fist pounds. There’s no escaping it. One or both of us will end up with bleeding organs from this.
A blast of cold water stuns us, and we break apart. A gushing stream of it hits me in the face and I reel back, shocked. I try to wipe my eyes so I can see.
