Instead, I follow her upstairs.
We lie in the darkness again, her back pressed against my chest, my arm around her waist. Her breathing evens out slowly, and I feel the moment she falls asleep, her body going soft and trusting against mine.
I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about temporary things that feel permanent.
About being easy to love.
About how I'm going to survive when this ends.
13
Izzy
"If you keep lookingat me like that, we're going to scandalize the board of trustees."
Sergei's voice is low against my ear, his hand resting possessively on my lower back as we navigate through the charity luncheon crowd. The Plaza ballroom glitters with old money. Crystal chandeliers, silk tablecloths, women dripping with diamonds.
I turn my head slightly, catching his grey eyes. "Like what?"
"Like you want me to bend you over the dessert table." His thumb traces small circles through the fabric of my dress, and heat builds under my skin.
"That's your imagination."
"Is it?" His lips brush my temple, and I feel him smile. "Because you've been biting your lip for the past ten minutes,kotyonok. I know what that means."
Damn him for being right. The black cocktail dress I'm wearing, silk that clings to every curve, seemed like a good idea this morning. Now, with his body heat radiating through his charcoal suit, with those tattooed forearms visible when he pushes up his sleeves, I'm regretting not staying home and finishing what we started in bed before Mila woke up.
"Mrs. Orlov!" A woman in Chanel materializes in front of us, all bleached teeth and predatory interest. "How wonderful to see you. And this must be your new husband."
"Sergei Orlov." He extends his hand, smooth and controlled, but I feel the tension coiling through his body. He hates these events. Too many people, too many angles he can't cover. "Pleasure."
She simpers, holding his hand too long. "Oh, the pleasure is mine. We've all been dying to meet the man who tamed our wild Izzy."
"She doesn't need taming," Sergei says, voice dropping to danger. His hand slides lower on my back, almost to the curve of my ass. Claiming. "She's perfect exactly as she is."
The woman's smile falters. I hide my grin in my champagne flute.
We make it through another twenty minutes of small talk and pointed questions about our whirlwind romance before I spot Uncle Matthew across the room. He's talking to Cal Reznick, both of them watching us with expressions that make my skin crawl.
"They're staring," I murmur.
"I know." Sergei's already tracking them, his body angled so he's between them and me. "Been staring since we walked in."
"Should we?—"
"Mrs. Orlov, your table is ready." A server appears beside us, young and nervous, gesturing toward the dining area. "If you'd like to follow me?"
We're seated at a round table with six other couples I vaguely recognize from the circuit. Everyone's polite, asking about our honeymoon plans, where we met, what Sergei does. He fields every question with practiced ease, his hand never leaving my thigh under the table.
The first course arrives. Some pretentious salad with edible flowers. Sergei leans close, his breath hot against my ear. "If we survive this lunch without me dragging you to the coat check, it'll be a miracle."
"Behave," I whisper back, but my hand finds his on my thigh, fingers interlacing.
"Never."
Movement catches my eye. The young server from earlier, approaching our table with the wine service. Wrong. His walk is too purposeful, too focused. His eyes don't match his nervous demeanor from before.
Sergei stiffens beside me. He sees it too.
