I take a deep, steeling breath, then step out. Cameras flash in my direction, the effect disorienting. When I feel Roman’s hand move to the small of my back, steadying me, claiming me, I feel better instantly.
“Roman!” a voice slurs cheerfully.
A man stumbles toward us, red-cheeked and already well-past drunk. He’s dressed expensively, but the loose tie and lopsided smile make it clear he arrived early and hit the bar hard. His eyes land on me and linger.
“Well, well, well,” he says, looking me up and down. “Who do we have here?”
My stomach tightens as his hand reaches toward me. Roman smoothly catches his wrist mid-air, pressing it flat against the Maybach. The cameras are still on us.
Is he going to break this man’s arm in front of them?
The guy’s eyes widen as Roman presses the middle of his wrist, no doubt applying just enough pressure to send a painful message.
“It is not polite to touch women without their consent,” he says. His tone is calm, but there’s an undeniable undercurrent of menace.
The man’s eyes flash, as if he’s just realized what he’s done. “Roman, I was just?—”
“Mr. Barinov. And consider yourself lucky that you did nothing you would need to apologize for.”
“I… yes, Mr. Barinov.” Subdued, just like that.
Andrei appears, polite and efficient. “Sir,” he says, guiding the man away. “Perhaps I can fetch you a ride.”
The man mutters something incoherently as he’s guided away.
I catch my breath, the cameras still on us. I wonder how much of what happened they actually caught, dreading what the headlines will say.
“Are you alright?” Roman asks, his eyes searching my face as his hand returns to the small of my back.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Excellent,” he says. “Let us go inside.”
He leads me forward, and I’m able to push the strange event out of my mind. Roman and Andrei handled it perfectly, getting that prick away without causing a scene.
We ascend the stairs, the massive doors opened wide.The museum is stunning—high ceilings, marble floors, modern lighting. Everyone looks so important. I suddenly feel very aware of my body again.
Roman keeps me close, his hand steady on the small of my back. He leans down, his voice low. “They are staring.”
As I glance around, it feels like the entire crowd is looking right at me. I know that isn’t true, of course, but enough eyes are on me that there might as well be a spotlight.
“Should I be worried?”
“No,” he says quickly. “They’re jealous.”
I laugh under my breath. “Of you?”
“Of me,” he confirms. “You are on my arm. They’re wondering how a man like me has a woman like you at his side.”
It sounds silly to me that people would look at Roman and thinkhewas the lucky one. But the seriousness of his tone makes me believe it, if only for a second.
My stomach flips in a good way. “Something tells me you’re enjoying jealousy.”
“I am,” he says without a shred of hesitation. “And knowing you’re mine makes it even sweeter. But more than that, I’m enjoying watching you realize you belong here.”
My heart flutters, and I smile.
We pause near one of the sculptures.
