Then she looks at me again and seems to hold her breath. I can’t say why, but it’s possible she recognizes me.
“Andrei Markov,” I say, extending my hand to her. She stares at it like it’s a poisoned apple. “Stories of my crimes have been greatly exaggerated.”
Her lips quirk in the beginnings of a smile, but she doesn’t give in to the impulse. She doesn’t take my hand either.
“My father taught me not to talk to strangers,” she says, turning her focus back to the number screen, which is slowly inching upward.
“Smart man.” I chuckle. “But, I’ve introduced myself to you, so it’s only polite that you do the same.”
She cuts her eyes to me, almost glaring, though I can tell there’s a hint of fear underneath the surface.
“Well, you could probably find it out anyway,” she grumbles. “We’re the only engagement party happening at the hotel tonight. I’m Alina Kuznetsova. I was supposed to be celebrating my upcoming wedding tonight, but I think it’s safe to say that the wedding is off.”
I cock my head at her and take her in more carefully. So, she’s a jilted bride. She seems awfully young to be getting married, but there’s also something incredibly mature about her. Despite her fancy clothes, she doesn’t seem sheltered or oblivious to the world. There’s a hardness about her that comes from years of hard work.
“Kuznetsova,” I repeat, rolling it around in my head until recognition dawns on me. “I take it you’re Russian?”
“Only on my father’s side,” she says.
Her posture is tense and defensive. Despite her size, she makes herself take up the space, to seem bigger than she actually is. It’s a warning not to mess with her, not that I have any intention of doing so.
I recognize the name from my employee log. There’s a man named Mikhail Kuznetsov who works on my docks. He’s reliable and keeps to himself. He’s pretty low in my organization, but he gets good results. I wonder if Alina knows her father works for me.
I glance at her again, this time with context. The resemblance is subtle, but it’s there if you know what to look for. She and her father have the same eyes and the same stubborn line to the mouth.
“Your father wouldn’t happen to be named Mikhail, would he?” I ask carefully.
Her head snaps up. “Why?”
Her confusion is genuine, and she moves a fraction further from me.
“Do you know my father?” she asks.
“I think I might.” I shrug. “And so, that means that we aren’t strangers, Alina. So, tell me what’s got you so worked up on such a beautiful night.”
She studies me more closely, her attention sharpening to focus on me.
The elevator slows, then stops on the floor she pushed. The doors slide open. She doesn’t move. That confirms my suspicions. She’s just running away from something but doesn’t know what lies ahead.
“I think this is your floor,” I say helpfully.
“It’s not,” she admits sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to hold you up, Mr. Markov, I just needed to get away from my party.”
“Your engagement party,” I clarify. “And please, call me Andrei.”
“Right.” She nods awkwardly. “I mean, right about the engagement party.”
The doors close and the elevator starts moving again.
“So, tell me, Alina. Why is the wedding off?”
She eyes me warily, then takes a shuddering breath. She must decide that unburdening herself is more important than keeping her cards close to her chest, because she starts speaking.
“I met my fiancé about six months ago,” she starts.
Ah, so we’re going all the way back to the beginning.
“My father introduced us, and he seemed like everything I wanted in a husband. He was so kind and so dependable, and he made me feel like the luckiest woman alive. Then he asked me to marry him a few weeks ago. It seemed fast, but not too fast, you know? Like, the whole thing was just this whirlwind romance and it made sense to commit to him so quickly.”
