Fucking Ivana. I throw my head back and laugh, then sign the marriage license, leaving the pretty pink pen next to it.
Ivana reaches into her briefcase and takes out a giant envelope. She puts it in front of me and taps her nail on it. “Study this. Know it well. It will help you with your marriage.”
I peek inside and see stacks of papers, then close the thing immediately. “What’s this?”
“Your bride’s file.”
“How practical of you, but I was never studious.”
“You’ll need a lesson or two in real life, then.”
“Believe it or not, I have a way with women.”
She smiles. “No man has a way with women, because not all women are the same. And if you think she’s like another, you’re fucked and the deal is gonna break either tomorrow or next week or a year from now. Nobody wants that, least of all you because I won’t be here to fix it for you or Nikola or anyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“I quit.” She crosses her arms over her chest, which tells me she’s guarding herself while on the offense at the same time.
“The job, the family, what?”
“All of it. I’m out.”
I put my hand up. “Hold on. Give me two weeks and find a replacement.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
She frowns. “You’re really gonna let me walk away with all I know?”
“I am.” I lock eyes with hers and see surprise there before she hides any trace of emotion.
“I’ll need you to stage my exit. Nikola, my brother, my uncle, they won’t… They won’t let me go unless I’m dead or appear dead.” They’d let her go, but Ivana can’t say no to them if she sees she can help them. She’s always done everything for them and me, even though she’d never admit that.
“That I can do.” I stretch out my hand, and we shake on it. I note her palms are sweaty, and not just any sweat, but nervous sweat. This entire time she’s walked on eggshells around me, and I never saw her fear. I think about my bride and how she touched me, and I wonder if she hid her fear, or if she genuinely isn’t afraid of me. I’ll find out soon enough.
Ivana gathers up all the papers and heads out, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “What time are you picking her up?”
“It’s a drop-off,” I say and stand to grab a cup of coffee.
“You can’t have her delivered here like a package.”
“Why not?” I’m genuinely curious what’s wrong with having her people drop her off here.
“Because she’s a woman you’re marrying, Mikhail.”
Computing… Computing… Nope, no relevance. “And?”
Ivana groans, and I can tell she wants to slam the door and move on with her day because she’s off to close the South African deal right now while the heat is on and the bride isn’t delivered so she can squeeze every last penny out of that shitter dude, but she humors me anyway. “Go pick her up, and not in a limo. Use her car and?—”
“Her car?”
“It’s the red Mustang in your garage.”
“I kept wondering why I paid for that flashy thing.”
Ivana nods. “Also, wear a suit.”
