Page 96

“Wait for the bride.”

“The bride is here.”

“Then wait three more seconds.”

Maxim pulled out Riley’s chair before taking his own. Aleksei poured champagne for Amy, then handed me a glass. Ivan and Kit were already disagreeing about something involving the trust. I didn’t listen too closely.

Sloane raised her glass. “To the last Morozov brother finally admitting he wanted what the rest of us already knew he wanted.”

Sergei looked at her, his expression deadpan.

“It’s only going to get worse from here,” she promised with a grin.

Nikolai lifted his vodka. “To Sergei’s wife. May she continue making him suffer.”

“I have several excellent ideas,” I smirked.

My husband’s hand settled against the back of my chair. His thumb brushed once over my shoulder, making a shiver race down my spine.

Riley placed a glass beside the chair next to Sergei, then looked at me. “The first time you sat here, you called it temporary,” she quipped.

“I was under a great deal of stress.”

“You were stubborn.”

“I remain stubborn.”

“Good.” Riley smiled. “Your place at the table is permanent anyway.”

No one made a speech about family. They just passed me food, argued around me, and treated the place beside Sergei as though it had been waiting for me all along.

To be honest, it was perfect.

* * *

When Sergei and I went back to the townhouse, evening had settled over Beacon Hill. The house looked exactly as it had that morning, but it felt different this time.

I expected him to kiss me. To carry me upstairs. To touch me and turn the long tension of the day into something much hotter.

Instead, he walked toward his study.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

I followed him, saying nothing. He crossed to the locked cabinet and entered the code. The door opened to reveal the medical supplies, weapons, cash packets, Mila’s silver-framed photograph, and the sealed cream-colored envelope I had seen but never touched.

He removed the photograph first.

Then an envelope.

When he turned, his face had grown sorrowful. The husband who had kissed me in the judge’s chambers remained there, but so did the man who had returned from New York thirteen years earlier carrying the loss of his past love.

“Before we build anything further,” he began, placing both objects on the desk, “you deserve to know the whole truth.”

I moved closer but didn’t touch the envelope. Sergei rested his fingertips against its edge.

“I didn’t lose only Mila that night.”

CHAPTER 23