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Then the lights dim and Ivan’s mother takes the stage and makes her speech. I hear, but I don’t listen. People clap and I follow suit. More elegantly dressed men and women make their carefully rehearsed speeches. Words flow easily about charity, legacy, and the importance of family. But I don’t really keep up, my thoughts are too loud, trying to piece together the tension I feel humming between Ivan and his family.
Once, just once, Natalia meets my eye, and she shakes her head slightly, almost to herself, as if she cannot believe the trash her brother has picked up and brought to one of their family’s most important events. The rest of the night passes like a dream. Odd and confused. I eat things that I don’t taste properly. There is dancing, but Ivan has to make an important call so we leave.
In the car, he seems preoccupied with his own thoughts and I say nothing. I’m still lost in my thoughts. Somehow that slight head shake hurt deeply. More than if she had said something cutting. Then I could have responded. Said something cutting back. There is a bitter taste in my mouth as Ivan heads towardshis study or office to make his call. He says he will join me in an hour.
Leila called me earlier so I sit on the floor of my closet and call her back surrounded by clothes I’d pulled out earlier while I was trying to decide what to wear. The mess is comforting in a way—chaos that I can control. Leila’s face is on my phone screen, eyes bright and mischievous as always.
“Tell me everything,” she demands.
I give her a brief rundown of the night.
“Mmmm…” she says as she munches on grapes. “Didn’t you watchSuccession. That’s what all moneyed folk are like.”
“That’s a TV series?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Nope, that’s based on Rupert Murdoch’s relationship with his children,” Leila replies, popping another grape in her mouth. “They are all cold as ice. It’s a power thing. They act like they’re better than everyone else, but they are all psychopaths. Come on, look at the Davos lot. They screech at us to buy reusable groceries bags, and use less of everything to save the environment while they fly in 3000 hookers to entertain them. There’s probably a few murders and deaths in the Ivanovich family.”
I sit up straighter. This is a severe shock to me. “What? Now you’re just making up stuff.”
Leila smirks, clearly enjoying my shock. “Just think. This guy’s family was closely connected, if not directly related to the Romanov’s dynasty. You know, Rasputin and shit. There must have been murders. Bound to have been. I’d bet next month’s wages on it.”
Just as I’m about to respond, the door to my room swings open, and Ivan steps in. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
"I knocked," he says, his eyes scanning the mess of clothes and the phone in my hand.
I quickly hang up on Leila and pull out my AirPods, trying to regain composure. “Sorry, didn’t hear you.”
His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me uneasy. "We’re going to France this weekend," he says offhandedly, like it’s no big deal.
I blink. “Okay... Wait, We’re going to Europe?”
“Yeah. My family has a vineyard in the countryside. It’s my mother’s birthday. She’s having a small party,” he explains, but there’s something off in his voice. He seems preoccupied, distracted even.
Before I can say anything more, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving me sitting there on the floor, surrounded by my clothes and confusion. Well! We’re not going to have sex tonight? France? A family vineyard? His mother’s birthday? I call Leila back, and she is so excited at the update that she nearly screams my ear off.
“France? A Vineyard? Oh my God, let’s get started on your outfits. Pull everything out.”
It’s the last thing I want to do, but her excitement is contagious. Plus, she’s extremely good at fashion and it will save me the trouble of having to put outfits together, so I concede and let her make the choices.
Chapter Forty-One
IVAN
The hum of the jet’s engines is muted, but the frantic chaos in my London office on the other end of the phone is deafening.
“How the hell did they get a warrant that quickly?” I snap.
My lawyer mutters some legal jargon about national security. Ah, the go-to of all tyrants around the world. Two little words and you can do anything you want. Raid an innocent man’s office, drop a bomb from the sky on a wedding celebration. Anything.
“This... this is a fucking joke. What are they taking?” I bite out, my voice tight with fury.
“Looks like everything. Files, papers, hard drives, the works. Anything they think will help make their case.”
Outside the windows, fluffy clouds envelop us. In my ear I can hear my team thousands of miles away arguing with the authorities, my lawyer trying to hold his ground, but it’s clear—the situation is slipping out of control. They have the legal right. There is nothing my lawyer or my staff can do.
They are going on a tip from an anonymous source. There is no sense to the raid except pure spite and jealousy. I’m a billionaire so I must be corrupt. Whoever fed them this information knew exactly how to light the match and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. I’m not used to feeling so helpless and vulnerable.
I rub my temples, frustration coiling inside me like a vice. “Let them take everything they want,” I growl, exhaustion creeping into my voice. “Let them take it all. We’ve got nothing to hide.” I end the call and put the phone down on the table. My movements are slow and controlled and do not reflect the fury and frustration simmering just under the surface.