"Of course," I say, proud of how level my voice sounds. "Let's go."
We walk to the door together, and I use the movement to rebuild my composure brick by careful brick.
At the top of the stairs, I see Zakhar waiting in the lobby below. He's also in a tuxedo, and the sight of him stops me mid-step.
If Maksim is devastating in formal wear, Zakhar is lethal.
The tuxedo emphasizes his size, his strength, turns him into a force contained in expensive fabric. His light brown hair is styled back from his face, and those green eyes track our descent with the focused attention I've come to associate with him.
"I wasn't aware Zakhar would be joining us tonight," I say to Maksim, keeping my voice neutral despite the anger still simmering beneath my surface.
I'm still furious with him. Still raw from the kitchen ambush, from Vitor reporting my movements like I'm a suspect instead of a person.
Maksim frowns slightly. "Is that a problem? He's my adviser. He should be involved in these functions."
"No problem at all," I lie, plastering on a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
We descend the stairs together, Maksim's hand light on my elbow, and I feel Zakhar watching every step with that unnerving intensity.
When we reach the lobby, Zakhar opens his mouth like he's about to say something to me.
"Victoria!"
Alexei appears from the direction of the gym, all casual energy in gym clothes and that wild grin. He stops short when he sees us, lets out a low whistle.
"You look absolutely gorgeous," he says, eyes traveling over my dress with appreciation that feels warm instead of invasive. "Where are you three going looking so fancy?"
"Shopping," I say, deadpan.
He blinks. "What?"
"We're going to a charity event," I clarify. "But really, we're going shopping for a Senator."
The description makes Alexei burst into laughter, genuine, bright, the kind that makes you want to smile despite yourself. "That's the most honest thing I've heard."
"Are you not coming?" I ask, then immediately worry I've overstepped some boundary I don't understand.
"Not my scene," he says with a shrug. "Besides, I have other business to handle tonight." He shares a meaningful look with Maksim, who nods in return, some silent communication I'm not privy to.
"Try to stay out of trouble," Zakhar tells his twin, voice carrying affection beneath the command.
"Where's the fun in that?" Alexei grins. "Don't worry about me, brother. I'll be fine."
We move toward the garage where the SUV waits. Two vehicles tonight. One for us, one for security. Overkill for a charity gala, but the Severyns don't do anything halfway.
The interior smells like leather and expensive cologne. I slide into the back seat, Maksim beside me, Zakhar across from us. The driver closes the door, sealing us in together.
The atmosphere is suffocating. Heavy with things unsaid, with the weight of proximity and the particular tension that comes from three people trying not to acknowledge what's building between them.
I focus on breathing. On the city passing beyond tinted windows. On anything except the heat of Maksim's thigh nearly touching mine and Zakhar's green eyes watching from across the cabin like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
The Palmer House Hilton rises like a monument to gilded-age excess. We pull up to the entrance, and valets swarm. Cameras flash. This is the performance. This is what they're paying for.
I step out of the SUV on Maksim's arm, smile in place, posture perfect. The red dress photographs beautifully in the glow of lobby lights.
Inside, the Empire Room drips with wealth. Gold leaf ceilings. Crystal chandeliers throwing prismatic light across marble floors. Men in tuxedos and women in designer gowns moving through choreographed social dances perfected over generations.
This is my world. I speak this language fluently.
