It didn’t feel like Sergei and Joia were just showing off for Texas’s elite. It felt like they were showing out for Targen, their beautiful, difficult, scarred, terrifying, loyal son. He was the one they both called their baby boy, something that was both ludicrous and too sweet. I knew from talking to my husband and watching his parents, that they had worried over and poured into him. It showed tonight in the way that they had decided to honor our marriage with all the glamor and glitz that they could buy. There was so much love in this room, and I loved that for us. Yep, I said us, because three days with my husband's black card and Ms. Joia’s stylists meant I was there on Targen’s arm, all done up and sparkling like I belonged.
I was starting to feel like I did. Especially after last night’s date night.
I felt as gorgeous as this room, in my luminous gold gown that showed off my skin, making it look all honeyed and glowy, the way my husband had lusted over in that piece Rielle read. Every time I moved, the fabric whispered around my legs like it was showing off, too. My hair had been styled away from my face, but some soft curls still popped free, softening the look. My makeup was done just enough to make my lips look fuller and my eyes look bigger. Targen had seen me at the top of the stairs earlier, and his mouth had fallen open. That alone had been worth the trouble of getting dressed. I thought he’d loved last night’s little black dress, but the way he’d looked at me tonight…
Yep! This marriage was getting consummated sooner rather than later.
Now, as we made our way through the ballroom, shaking hands and smiling and receiving congratulations from people whose names I immediately forgot, his hand stayed on my back. It was warm, possessive, and strangely comforting.
“You doing all right,milaya?” he asked quietly.
I turned my face toward him and had to stop myself from gawking again. He looked criminal. Yeah, he literally was, but I meant figuratively. If how good he looked weren't against the law, it should be. Targen wore a black tux with a crisp white shirt and a bow tie. He was the definition of tall, somewhat dark, and handsome. His silver-gray eyes kept scanning the room, but his handsome face was all calm and controlled. My husband was beautiful. Shit was unfair.
“I’m fine,” I murmured. “You?”
A devious smile curved his lips. “I’m better now that you stopped looking at me like you wanted to lick me.”
I scowled at him, nose and lip upturned. “I was not looking at you like that.”
“You were.”
“Targen.”
“You still are.”
I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks warmed with a blush. “You something else.”
His smile widened. “And yet, you still married me.”
“Umm…That wasn’t exactly my choice, if memory serves me correctly,” I popped at him.
He bent closer, just enough that the warmth of his breath brushed my ear. “You ain’t ran again.”
I kissed my teeth. “You so full of yourself.”
“You could be full of me, too, but you playing,” he taunted, his voice a low, sexy rasp.
I set myself up for that. But it didn't stop the soft feeling that spread through me or the heat that pooled in my center at thethought. I was overheated suddenly and had no quick comeback. Instead, I let my gaze slide around the ballroom again. I saw Everly and Real making small talk with Targen’s parents. My family by marriage was cool—well, except Maxim’s mean ass. My sister was supposed to be here soon. I wondered if she was bringing a plus one. I wondered if that likely plus one would let her leave him.
Servers strolled by with trays of champagne and tiny, beautiful little foods that looked too pretty to eat. A live band played something smooth and jazzy over near the dance floor. And the people… these women glittered in jewels and silk and satin. The men were adorned in tailored suits and polished shoes and moved like they had a high bank account or a high body count. Everybody looked rich, refined, and a little bit deadly.
“This is so crazy,” I whispered.
Targen’s hand spread more fully against my back. “Too much?”
I surprised both of us by shaking my head. “No. Actually… it’s kind of amazing.”
He looked down at me then, his expression softening just a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His thumb moved once against my spine before he straightened again, all cool composure returning as another couple stopped us to speak. I smiled and nodded and let them talk, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking the same thing: I liked being on his arm, maybe more than I should have.
At some point, Sergei made a little speech in his beautifully-accented English and then in Russian, one hand lifted toward us like he was proud to show off hismalysh mal'chik. Joia stood beside him looking elegant and emotional. She pressed one hand to her chest then to her mouth when she looked at me and Targen, her brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears.People clapped. Glasses lifted. Someone called out something in Russian that made laughter ripple through one side of the room. I didn’t understand most of it, but thanks to Andrei and Ms. Joia, I understood enough.
This night was for him, for us. That thought had me smiling into my champagne until the vibe in the room shifted.
At first, I thought I imagined it. The sudden hush, then whispers, as heads started turning. Conversations stopped. Even the band got weird for a second, like they didn’t know whether to keep playing or stop.
