They take the page out of his book. He treats me that way first, always.
“You’re really on a roll tonight,” I praise during a lull in conversation. The great thing about the heels I’m teetering around in tonight is that, if I get on my tiptoes, I can whisper right beneath his shining earring. “You’re really great at this.”
“At what?”
“Being charming. It’s different from how you typically are. Except it’s not. It’s just another facet of you.”
His laughter is easy to get drunk off. “Disappointed you haven’t met all of me yet?”
I’ve smiled so much tonight, my cheeks ache. “Disappointment is nowhere on the list of emotions you inspire.”
There’s a little devil in his eyes now.
“Oh? What’s on the top of that list?”
Rendered audacious under the warm glow of his praise, I’m ready to answer. I stop short when Iosif goes stony-faced beside me. The light in his eyes is snuffed out and frosted over in the blink of an eye.
His grin doesn’t drop, but hardens. His mask is a convincing one, or could be. I know him now. I know what he looks like when fury boils through his bloodstream.
“Iosif?” Anxiety spikes in me.
He pulls me closer into his side, like he’s trying to enmesh me into his side. “Stay close,” he mutters darkly.
It never occurred to me to be anything but.
My gaze chases his line of sight. The source of his tension isn’t difficult to spot; the man moving through the crowd toward us cuts an intimidating figure. He’s tall—taller than Iosif, which is saying something—and dangerously attractive in a midnight blue suit, and he damn well knows it.
He doesn’t look much older than Iosif. So, what is it about him that intimidates like this? That has such an effect on my generally unflappable husband.
“Viktor,” is all Iosif says.
The man raises his lowball glass of clear liquid. It clearly isn’t water, though his voice comes out chillingly sober. “Little Yuri,” Viktor purrs coolly. “Won’t you introduce your lovely new wife to me? You Yuris have the most intriguing taste in women.”
Oh, so he knows them. Maybe he and Iosif dated the same woman?
“Janella Yuri,” I chirp, stepping automatically in front of Iosif. “I don’t know about lovely and intriguing, but I’ll take it if that’s a compliment.” I summon my warmest smile.
Viktor regards me, his head bending to brush his lips across my knuckles—but there’s no warmth reflected back. There is only black ice to be found in his eyes.
“Good to know.”
The way he’s looking at me makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“So, Viktor,” I try to forge ahead, since Iosif doesn’t seem keen to do anything but glare, “what do you do?”
If there’s anything I’ve found out tonight, it’s that rich people love talking about why they’re rich.
“Your husband hasn’t told you?” Viktor asks, and the amusement dancing in his eyes disgruntles me instantly. “No worries. We run in similar circles. Though Iosif likes to run behind me.”
His gaze slips to the man behind me, heat radiating from him in waves. “Isn’t that right, Iosif?”
“That’s a matter of perspective, I suppose,” Iosif says through his teeth. He’s clenching his jaw so hard, I’m worried he’s going to crack a tooth. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight, Zakharov?”
Zakharov.
I miss whatever Viktor says next over the rush of my pulse roaring in my ears. I know that name. Iosif has said this name before, while pacing in his office, surrounded by many a curse word.
“Actually,” I choke out, aiming for sunny and hearing the words come out high-pitched, “I think I see your brothers waving us over, Iosif!” I don’t know what the look on my face must be. Something tells me I don’t pull off looking apologetic as I begin to tug on Iosif’s arm as hard as I can.
