And that went beautifully until the bitch went and elbowed me.
Right in the fucking boob.
“Ow!” I yelped, putting my left arm over it protectively. “What the hell, Ember?”
No one was paying attention to us, except for Daniil and Grigori, who both stared at what I was protecting from her. Ember glared for a second, not saying anything but her eyes darted to the door, where almost the entire table was already staring, which I might have noticed if I wasn’t so focused on trying to ignore them in the first place. There was a man, a nice looking man, right outside the glass door in jeans and a button down shirt, staring inside and arguing with the bodyguard. Ah. Showtime.
When Grigori looked away, I hissed, “Watch what you’re fucking doing next time.”
Ember shrugged but kicked me under the table, pushing my duffle with her foot against my leg. She wanted this more than I did, it seemed. I sucked in a breath and scooted my chair back as Zoya started freaking out. I needed my damn camera and recorder. Digging through my bag, I placed the recorder on the table next to my plate, turning it on, barely even noticing as the guy barged through the door, and Zoya jumped from her chair. Grabbing my camera, I immediately started snapping shots as hubby stormed up to the table—making sure I didn’t get any with the guns being drawn, and then he and Zoya started speaking quickly. In Russian.
“This isn’t going to fucking work. I can’t understand them,” I muttered.
How the hell was I supposed to get this if I couldn’t use Ember’s name?She wanted to be anonymous so it had to come from the damn source. And the source needed to speak my language. Shit!
Daniil was looking back and forth between the arguing couple and me with his eyebrows raised—his gun was drawn—and he halted. He focused completely on Zoya, asking quickly in clear English, “Zoya, what is this about?”
It wasn’t her who reciprocated in kind. It was hubby. He pointed at Grigori, shouting, “Your fucking son has been trying to steal my wife!”
Zoya’s pretty face strained even further.
Grigori stilled, asking slowly, “Your wife?”
“Yes, you ass. Zoya is my wife!” He tried to charge Grigori. Stupid, stupid move.
Grigori stopped him easily, slamming his face down on the table where his plate had previously been. I sat there across from them, putting a hand on the tape recorder so it didn’t go flying, but that was all the quick movement I could do. Unless I wanted to add to the scene with my spew.
Grigori hissed, clearly, “I had no clue she was married. She never told me.” He paused, sighing as he stared down at the struggling man while Zoya sobbed behind him. “Nothing happened other than a kiss. All right?”
“I saw the damn photo!” hubby shouted.
“Everyone saw the photo,” Grigori explained, clearly thinking he had seen the paper online from my article.
Well, that was all I needed. I got the initial shot of Zoya and her husband’s confrontation. And I had the story on my recorder. Picking said recorder off the table, I stopped it and tossed it in my duffle even as Grigori continued calming the man down, alternating between looking at the guy with irritated sympathy, and glancing over his shoulder with an expression of stunned fury at Zoya. He absolutely had not known. That much was evident as I carefully put my camera away, making sure to tuck Daniil’s gift in my bag where the red velvet wouldn’t get ruined, and zipped it up.
Daniil was staring at me. He knew now why I had come to this dinner when I didn’t feel so good. He knew I had known this was going to happen. He looked a little pissed and surprised all at once. “Going somewhere, my sweet?” Ah. That was a new tone. A sarcastic, yet ticked off one. Good to know he didn’t just use the endearment in bed.
“Yeah. To write an article so your son doesn’t look like a homewrecker tomorrow, since that picture of him and Zoya was in the paper this morning. Then I’m going to sleep,” I stated bluntly, not telling him how I knew this was going to happen. I would probably tell him later, but not now around everyone else.
He blinked at me for a moment, and then stood when I did, grabbing my arm, and helping me up. “I need to stay here a bit longer.” He chuckled, shaking his head because that was obvious. “Then, I’ll come to you.” He pressed his mouth against my ear, both of us ignoring the racket just across the table. “You will explain.”
I nodded wearily. “If I’m not asleep.” I patted his chest after putting my duffle and purse over my shoulder. “I probably won’t be good company tonight. If you want, we can wait until tomorrow to talk.”
He kissed my lips softly, right in front of his kids, if they were paying attention. Which Roman was. He spoke against them, “I’m sleeping with you tonight.”
“Okay.”Dumb-dumb-dumb-dumb—that was me when I was sick. Brilliant phrase extraordinaire. I was really going to have to concentrate while writing the damn article. “Make sure Least Ugly knows to keep my family out then. They dropped in this morning unannounced and uninvited.”
Daniil’s nose crinkled and his jaw seesawed. “Maybe my room’s the better choice for us. It would be too obvious if he tried to stop them from entering your room.”
I nodded, agreeing immediately. “Thanks. I’m not thinking straight right now. There’s too much icky going on inside.” I swallowed hard, getting another whiff of Torrez’s plate. “I’m gonna go.” I started stumbling off, but Daniil grabbed my arm. He snapped his fingers at Least Ugly, who came up immediately, taking over Daniil’s place, holding my arm.
Daniil growled something to him in Russian.
The guard’s expression cooled.
I asked, “What did you just say to him?”
Daniil was looking back where Zoya was shrieking. “He should have called me when he saw you were this ill. He won’t make the same mistake twice.”
