“No,” he agrees. “I just decided.”
I look up at him, searching his face. “To make it official?”
“Yes.”
It should scare me that Roman has claimed me so publicly. But it doesn’t. In fact, it makes my knees a little weak.
“You alright?” he asks.
“I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”
He nods. “That’s fair.”
We stand by the bar for a moment, the gala humming around us. I sense some of the Bratva men stealing glances at me like they want to get a good look at the woman who has so captured Roman’s attention.
“There is something else,” he announces.
“What?”
“Your contract. If you recall, you signed on for a two-month period. That time is nearly up.”
I stiffen a bit. “Yes, it is.”
“I don’t want to give you up.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Good,” he says simply.
He raises his glass. “To the future then.Ourfuture.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
CHAPTER 38
AMALIE
The gala is in full swing, and Roman starts introducing me to guests, one after another. I meet board members and curators, donors and politicians. Roman keeps me close, his hand occasionally landing on the small of my back, his touch warm and steady.
Then there are the women who can’t stop staring at Roman, smiling at him like I don’t exist.
One of them, with severe, beautiful Slavic features, her body tall, thin, and poured into her black gown, approaches him. She tilts her head at me as if I’m a curious new exhibition.
“Good evening, Roman,” she says smoothly, planting a kiss of greeting on his cheek. He accepts it, then backs away.
“Good evening,” he cordially returns.
The woman’s ice-blue eyes flick to me. “So, this is the famous Amalie. How cute.”
Roman’s expression remains stoic, but I can feel the air shift, as if he’s waiting, expecting her to step out of line.
“Hi,” I say pleasantly. “You obviously already know my name. And you are…?”
“Mila,” she says. “Roman and I have known one another a long time.”
Roman’s hand rubs my back, a subtle reminder he’s at my side.
“What a lovely name,” I say, smiling. “I haven’t heard it before.”
