Page 98 of Cruel Submission

“I know. He gets it from his father. The grabbing, not the hair-eating.” I kiss his forehead. Aleks is Arkady’s son—whatever the biology says, whatever the paternity questions that remain unspoken, this boy is his. Arkady chose him. That matters more than blood.

Guests trickle in over the next half hour. Arkady’s business associates, a few of his cousins from the outer Laurov orbit—the ones who stayed clear of Gavriil’s operations and now exist in the gray zone between legitimate wealth and carefully forgotten origins. There’s food being circulated—tiny, ridiculous canapés that are more architecture than sustenance—and champagne, and a jazz trio playing something low and warm near the marquee.

I’m standing by the drinks table, sparkling water in hand, watching Yanis attempt small talk with one of the caterers, when I see another car pull through the gates. Black sedan. Tinted windows. One of Arkady’s fleet.

The door opens, and a pair of trainers hits the gravel. Then jeans. Then a bright yellow jacket that could be spotted from space.

Diane.

My best friend straightens up, pushes her sunglasses onto her head, and surveys Ashwater Heights with the expression of someone who has walked onto the wrong film set and decided to stay anyway.

“Oh my God,” she announces to nobody in particular. “I know you told me it was big, but this is obscene, Mira. This is obscenely big. This place has wings.”

I’m already moving. My body knows what to do, it’s crossing the lawn, bump and all, arms out, making the high-pitched sound women make when they haven’t seen their best friend in weeks, and the world has gone completely sideways in the interim.

“Diane!”

She meets me halfway. We collide in a hug that’s made complicated by my stomach and her enormous handbag, but happens anyway, fierce and ungraceful and perfect.

“Look at you!” She pulls back, both hands on my shoulders, her eyes dropping to my belly. “You’re getting so big! In a gorgeous way. In a glowing, radiant, earth-mother way. But also big.”

“Thanks. That’s what every pregnant woman dreams of hearing.”

“I’m your best friend. I’m contractually obligated to be honest.” She cups my belly with both hands, unasked, unapologetic. “Hello, baby. It’s Auntie Diane. I’ve already bought you three outfits and a stuffed giraffe taller than your mother.”

“How are you here?” I’m beaming so hard my face hurts. “I didn’t… I wasn’t told— “

“That would be your future husband.” Diane jerks her thumb back toward the house. “He called me two days ago. Voice like a Bond villain, very serious. ‘Miss MacFarlane, I’m sending a car.’ I said, ‘For what?’ He said, ‘Mirabel needs her friend. Saturday. The car will arrive at noon. Please don’t be late.’ And then he hung up. No goodbye. No small talk. Just… click. Terrifying and weirdly chivalrous.”

I turn. Arkady is on the terrace, watching. He’s come outside while I wasn’t looking, leaning against the stone balustrade, arms folded, the ghost of something satisfied in his expression.

“You arranged this,” I say to him.

“Da.”

“You called my best friend and sent a car.”

“I sent the car with Volodya. She was collected at eleven forty-five.”

“Why?”

He looks at me intently, and for a moment, the rest of the party disappears— the music, the guests, the clinking glasses—and it’s just the two of us in the space between the question and the answer.

“I did it to make you happy,” he says. One corner of his mouth lifts. Barely, just enough to be infuriating… the closest this man gets to showing off.

I have to blink very fast to keep my mascara intact.

“Come here.” I pull Diane toward the terrace. “Diane, this is Arkady. Arkady, Diane. Be nice to each other.”

“Miss MacFarlane.” He extends his hand. Formal. Correct.

Diane takes it, looks him dead in the face, and says: “You’ve got about thirty seconds to impress me before I start the interrogation. I’ve prepared questions. There are seventeen of them.”

Arkady doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll have Stefan schedule the debrief.”

Diane blinks. Then her face splits into a grin. “I like him,” she says to me. “He’s weird, but I like him.”

“I know.”