Page 1 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

1

EMORY

Music pulses through the club in time with the gyrating bodies and flashing lights on the dance floor, as Irina's bridal party liquors up for herdevichnik.

It's loud and hot and a little nerve-racking for me, knowing my father banned me from coming here, though he wouldn’t say why.

"This is my night," she shouts close to my ear, pulling me closer. Her cheeks are already flushed with alcohol. "And I'm not spending it standing at the bar like two sad aunties waiting for their husbands to come back from the toilet." A few of her girls cackle, though I don’t know them all. Irina and I are best friends—have been since secondary school—but she's got a whole troupe of women here.

I check the time on my phone and chuckle. "We've been here twelve minutes, Irina." But I'm not discounting the drinks we had in the limo on the way.

Her parents supplied the party with more liquor than we'd need for tendevichniki.

She spins me by the shoulders and pushes me toward the dance floor. "Twelve wasted minutes."

We stumble as a horde into the throbbing crowd, finding our way to the beat.

The liquor hums in my blood, loosening me up and making my face warm.

It feels good to be so free and unattended, though without the bodyguards who usually shadow me constantly, I do feel a little exposed.

But tonight I'm just Emory Rostova, friend of the bride, here to dance and celebrate.

"Did you see that man?" Irina asks me, shouting loudly into my ear. I don't know where she's looking, but I feel eyes on me instantly.

My cheeks warm as I spin around, dizzy from drinking, and she nods toward a dark corner. But I still don’t see a man. "Who isthat," she hisses, leaning so close I can feel her breath on my ear.

I take a sip of my drink and shrug. "No idea," I tell her, but slowly my eyes focus on a stranger seated at a booth watching the party. At first I think he's watching Irina, in her plastic tiara and bright red sash that reads "Bride" diagonally across her chest. But she giggles and jabs me in the ribs as I eye the ink that creeps up the side of his neck.

"He's staring at you like he wants to eat you alive." She pulls back enough to grin at me. "Go talk to him." Her finger jabs my ribs again and I twist away from her, grinning.

But even with the expensive dark suit and those stormy eyes that drink me in, I hesitate. "He's got to be forty, Irina." An older manis an experienced man, which I am not, and I have no intention of making a fool of myself today—or any other day for that matter.

She shrugs. "So?" Then she huffs a sigh. "You're an old biddy, Emory. He's devouring you with his eyes. Can't you see he's interested?"

"Your party," I say, turning away to look her in the eye. "I'm here to celebrate you." Besides, my father will absolutely kill me if I start talking to random men.

He already didn't want me here and I shirked his escort.

If he finds out I came against his will, and alone to boot, and then I spoke to some rich man with tattoos—he'll kill me. No, I can't do it.

"Girl—" She turns me back around before I can even build the argument. "You're not marrying him. You're dancing in a club and a gorgeous older man is looking at you like you're the only woman in the room." She gives my shoulder a push. "Go be a little reckless for once. There aren't even any bodyguards to slow you down. I'll survive without you for one song."

I roll my eyes, but the vodka is working against my inhibitions, making me want to do what she tells me.

Heisgorgeous, but I'm just nervous.

He's way out of my league on a good day, and I'm here to celebrate my best friend, not shack up with a guy twice my age.

I turn my back on him and keep dancing, but I know he's still staring.

Irina floats to the bar where the girls are getting drinks refilled, but I linger toward the outside of the cluster, glancing up at the handsome stranger every so often.

Every time I do, he's still watching me with hungry eyes, which makes my cheeks burn hotter.

And when a waitress shows up carrying a tray and two glasses sent by him, Irina claps her hands together and practically shoves me across the room.

"Now you have to go talk to him," she hisses. "He bought you a drink. It's disrespectful to ignore that, right?"