She looked down at my hand, then up at me. "Is this the part where you remind me I'm yours?"
"No," I said quietly. “It’s the part where I decide how to make you believe it."
Her eyes flickered, unreadable and dangerous. "Then I guess tonight's your chance."
I let her go. The faintest smirk touched my lips before she turned away, walking back toward the guests as if nothing had happened.
I finished my drink and watched her disappear into the crowd, red silk trailing behind her like smoke. She didn't look back, and I didn't know whether that was mercy or a warning.
Chapter Seven
Isabella’s POV
As much as he wasn’t an open book, it wasn’t hard to see that Mikhail was, indeed, surprised. Even as I melted into the crowd and sat by Emilia to talk about the most casual, non-wedding-related things, in my head I could still see the slight shock on his face when I didn’t flinch throughout the vow exchange. I don’t know what he had expected, but it clearly wasn’t how I acted.
But keeping my calm wasn’t something I had to think hard about. It was just the only way to go. He, including half of the attendees at the wedding reception, knew there was nothing I wanted less, so throwing tantrums like a child was needless to show him that. It was what they were expecting- and I’d never been the type to do what every other person did. I knew myself enough to know I was more of a ‘path less-traveled’ type. My calm went beyond that, anyway.
“Seems someone’s looking for you,” Emilia revealed, gesturing towards the man I’d seen with Mikhail more often than not. “Which is surprising. No one shines brighter than you at this gathering.”
“Oh, please,” I dismissed, chuckling as he spotted us. “He’s really coming here.”
His large arms bulged beneath his black suit, making his head look a bit smaller than his tall body.
“Yeah,” she answered. “For you. He’s Mikhail’s right-hand man.”
“Right. I should have figured,” I muttered. “Seems looks are one of the criteria for working with the brothers, since they are all uncharacteristically good-looking for criminals.”
“Are you saying you think Mikhail is good-looking?” Emilia teased, her voice just above a whisper as she smiled.
“Oh, please,” I answered, half-rolling my eyes before looking up to settle them on Mr. Right-hand man.
“I think you say that when you agree with something,” she pointed out, laughing lightly.
“Time for the bride to leave?” she asked him.
He nodded in the affirmative before answering, “Yes, Mrs. Lobanov.” Then he turned towards me. “Boss asked me to escort you to the penthouse, ma’am.”
“I’ll be seeing you around, Mrs. Lobanov,” Emilia uttered, a wide smile on her face as I stood.
“You’ll be fine. Better than you think,” she whispered against the side of my face as she embraced me.
Of course, I will.
I let the reality of being married wash over me as we made our way to the tall building. To Mikhail’s penthouse.
“Wait, what’s your name?” I asked him.
“Yuri, ma’am,” he answered. “Yuri Antonov.”
“I would tell you my name, but I know you’ve heard it several times in the past few hours,” I remarked. “And you can drop the ma’am. No insult intended, but you’re clearly way older than I am. You weren’t ma’am-ing me just yesterday.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am. Age isn’t the primary differentiator,” he answered, leading the way towards what I assumed was the elevator door.
“Then what is?”
I was right. It was the elevator. I couldn’t say I was surprised, considering the height of the building and how far the ceiling of the room I was held in was from the floor. Stairs would clearly be energy-draining.
“It’s authority. Power. Hierarchy,” he replied, punching a button on the elevator wall as the door closed.
