Page 26

Lilibeth adjusts her bracelets and smooths her dress before we enter the party hall. When she looks up at me, all nervous as she does every time we have to attend a party, I lean in and whisper: “You look beautiful.”

Instantly, her face lights up. I don’t lie. She does look beautiful.

The doorman swings open the door, and we enter.

For a moment, we stand there, taking in the scene before us.

The alliance party is in full swing, and now, with my marriage to Lilibeth, my family, the Lebedevs, are part of the Orlov-Zolotov alliance.

As a result, we were invited by the families connected to the Orlovs and Zolotovs.

I really didn’t want to come since I hardly know the hosts. But not showing up would undermine the alliance I’ve built for myself, so I had to show up.

The truth is, I’m not keen on seeing the Orlovs tonight.

We’ve been having meetings to discuss joint ventures, and each meeting has grated on my nerves.

Every time we try to talk work, they make a snide comment here, a sarcastic comment there, seizing every opportunity to remind me that their sister could have done better. That I’m not good enough for Lilibeth.

Something tells me tonight won’t be any different.

“Should we get a drink?” Lilibeth suggests.

“Sure,” I shrug. We walk away from the entrance, but our path to the bar is interrupted when I hear squeals of delight. Lilibeth’s cousins—Sofia, Natalia, Lara, and Anoushka—rush right past me as though I’m invisible and pull her into hugs.

Great. No surprise here that they don’t like me either. Is every Orlov out there intent on hating me with every fibre in their being?

Lilibeth is now busy catching up with the girls as they giggle and gossip about the latest developments within their circle.

I’m about to leave her here with the company to make my rounds when I turn and see the men reaching up to us: Nikolai, Dima, Fedor, Artyom, Vladimir, Denis, and Abram Zolotov.

Abram Zolotov shakes my hand before he and his brothers join the women. The Orlovs size me up.

I nod in their direction, and Nikolai and Artyom nod back before walking over to meet Lilibeth. I notice how her cousins form a protective circle around her, as if guarding her from me.

I turn back to Dima and Fedor. “Gentlemen,” I say curtly.

“Letvin,” Dima says, my name sounding rotten on his lips. “I see your invitation wasn't lost in the mail after all.”

I choose to ignore that statement. No good ever comes from taking the bait with the Orlovs.

Fedor steps forward, his eyes flicking behind me to Lilibeth. “Couldn’t even get your wife a drink?”

“We only just arrived,” I frown. “I assure you, Lilibeth is well taken care of. Perhaps once she’s done catching up with her family, I’ll make sure to get her one.”

“You do that,” Dima says through gritted teeth. I try not to roll my eyes. Of all the arguments they can choose to pick, they go with the fact that she doesn’t have a glass in her hand? I know, without a doubt, that nothing I ever do would ever be good enough for their sister.

“We heard you were ambushed.” Fedor crosses his arms in front of his chest as he glowers at me, as though being ambushed was somehow my fault.

“The warehouse was,” I nod. Just then, I smell Lilibeth’s perfume, feel her presence move toward us.

“We hope your home is secure,” Dima growls.

“It is,” I reply evenly, though my muscles tense at the implication. Did they think I wasn’t capable enough to protect what’s mine? The arrogance of it all makes my jaw clench as I stare him down.

“Lilibeth deserves to feel safe,” Fedor says. “If anything happens to her—”

Before Fedor can say another word, Lilibeth steps in right between us.

To my surprise, she glowers at her brothers before turning to me with a sweet smile, and the next thing I know, she’s reaching for my hand.

“Agafon, come with me! I have some friends I see near the bar. They’ve been dying to talk to you. ”

I look down at her, struck by how effortlessly she diffuses tension between us. Her hands are warm and comforting in mine, and despite the glares from the Orlov brothers, I allow her to lead me away.

“Sorry about them,” she says once we're out of earshot. “They're protective.”

“I hadn't noticed,” I reply dryly.

She shakes her head in protest, as though calling me out on my childish approach to this conversation.

“How are your ribs by the way?” she asks, turning her head back as she continues to lead me.

“Fine.”

“Liar.” Her eyes narrow. “You winced when we got out of the car earlier. I saw it.”

“It's nothing I can't handle.”

“I'm sure.” She shakes her head. “Men and their pride. Would it kill you to admit you're in pain?”

“Possibly.”

That earns me a genuine laugh, and against my better judgment, I find myself almost smiling in response.

Up close, her presence washes over me. She’s wearing a deep blue dress that clings to her generous curves, and though she leads me, she often turns around to check on me with a bright smile and those doe-eyed, gorgeous blue eyes that reel me right in.

That dimpled smile and those eyes—just one look, and I melt.

That’s the power she holds over me. Just simple contact, and I’m sucked into her orbit. It’s because she holds my hand that I forget how frustrating her brothers were moments ago.

I can’t help but stare at her as she dazzles through the crowd, often stopping momentarily to kiss someone on the cheek or give a friendly wave. As always, the crowd parts for her.

She has a magnetic energy around her, and watching her now, I’m taken back to the night after the ambush. Lilibeth had insisted on knowing what happened that night after she took care of me.

I remember the haze of pain I’d been in from all the injuries. I was tired and exhausted, and the memory of revealing what happened with Nikandr resurfaces like a shadow. I told her about Nikandr. I told her everything.

What made me speak to her that way, considering she was largely the root of Nikandr’s pain and the final blow that sent him running?

What was it about her? Granted, I was a little out of it, and my mind was a jumbled mess.

But more than that, I think I wanted to see her reaction.

I wanted to throw his name into the conversation in surprise, to see how she reacted to the curveball I sent her way.

I expected her to show one of two things: Guilty or regretful.

Because the woman my brother described as his lover, the one who had betrayed and hurt him, should have shown some sign of guilt when I spoke of Nikandr's struggles.

Some flicker of regret or shame. But all I saw in her eyes was genuine concern and understanding.

There was no hint of the duplicity I had expected.

She made space for my struggles in her heart with such grace that I remember feeling lighter as I spoke to her.

She smiles and squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present as she introduces me to some friends. I smile, shake hands, and greet them, letting her drive the conversation.

I sneak away for a few moments and bring her back some champagne. She takes it from me and gives me a small kiss on my cheek as a thank you, not caring that she’s in the middle of a conversation. That’s what she does. She notices, she shows up, she knows where her priorities lie.

I watch as she talks to these friends of hers. Catches them up on her life, asks questions about theirs. Once again, her genuine warmth shows up.

From the nearly two months I’ve been with her, I’ve not once had reason to believe she’s cunning or anything more than she lets on. Her intentions are always clear in her actions and words, her face like an open book.

She can’t be that good an actress to make me believe it’s all a front, can she? If that is the case, then I must say she must be exhausted. She would have slipped up once or twice. But around me, when she’s angry, I know it. When she’s worried, I know it. When she’s happy, I know it.

No. It’s not an act. She is warm. She is sweet. She is kind.

“Agafon?” She turns to me and pulls me aside to a corner, bidding her friends goodbye. “I …I think I have something in my eye.” She winces as she looks at me while batting her eyelashes.

“Shit,” I say, suddenly losing my train of thought. “Let me have a look.”

I lean in, my eyes focused on hers as I gently tilt her chin to get a better look.

Being so close to her, seeing so deep into those gorgeous eyes of green and blue, clouds my senses as I brush my thumb under her eye, searching for the root of her discomfort.

She blinks, her lashes fluttering against my fingers, sending a shiver down my spine.

“There,” I say softly, indicating for her to close her eyes before I pull out a handkerchief and delicately wipe the corner of her eye, removing the fallen lash that had lodged itself in there, hitting her eye.

Her breath hitches slightly at the contact, and for a moment, the world around us fades away.

When all done, I gently kiss her eye and move away. “Feel better?”

“Oh my god.” She gushes and gives me that bright smile of hers. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t worry.” I shake my head.

“Actually.” She looks behind me. “While we’re here, I might as well freshen up.”

“Sure, go right ahead,” I say. She leaves, but I suddenly notice the glass in her hand and tug at her. She turns with a question in her eyes, and I wink as I pull it away.

“I’ll take that,” I offer.

“Thank you!” She bends on her knees with cute urgency and rushes away.

I watch her disappear behind the partition grille, through to where the restrooms are, and decide without question that she hasn’t played me.

She’s shown me exactly who she is in every authentic form.

Her concern and understanding when we spoke of Nikandr came from her heart.

But one small problem still lingers in my mind.

There’s one decision of Lilibeth’s I can’t wrap my head around.

For someone so conscientious, so caring and careful with how she makes others feel, how the hell did she agree to marry me straight off the bat?

She was my younger brother Nikandr’s lover.

And then, despite being with my brother, she takes me to bed?

Does she simply not care how this knowledge might affect Nikandr? How it might—is—playing on my mind? How can she be so callous while on the other hand be so kind?

And like that, an image forms in my head, one that makes me clench my fist tight over the glass I’m holding. I imagine her naked… in bed…with my brother.

It crawls over my skin and makes me feel sick. I suddenly feel angry and resentful, even though I know her past is not my business. But I’m human.

Just then, Dima and Fedor appear. I grit my teeth, expecting that the wolves are back to play, to taunt, to show me why I’m once again wrong for their sister.

“Enjoying the party, Letvin?” Dima asks, his tone surprisingly neutral.

I brace myself for another round of hostility. “It’s alright. Lilibeth’s having fun, so we’ll stick around till she wants.”

Fedor and Dima exchange glances, and to my surprise, they’re not glances of disbelief, but rather, understanding.

Fedor turns to me. “You know, when our families first proposed this alliance, we were convinced it would destroy her.”

I say nothing, waiting for the attack.

“But she seems... happy,” he continues, sounding genuinely perplexed. “When she's with you, at least.”

“Yeah, from what we’ve observed tonight,” Dima nods. “You’ve stayed by her side and don’t think we missed it when she pulled you into this corner.”

“I mean, it makes sense she’s happy,” says Fedor, now breaking into a smile. “Given how you’re going soft on her.”

I stiffen. “You're mistaken.”

“Are we?” Fedor raises an eyebrow. “That’s not how it looked.”

“Haven’t you heard?” I growled at Fedor. “Looks can be deceiving. I’m not going soft for Lilibeth.”

“But we've seen how you look at her,” Fedor presses. “When you think no one's watching.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I say, my voice flat.

“Sure you don't.” Dima's smile is knowing. “Just remember—if you hurt her, we'll still kill you. Alliance or not. Whether she loves you or not.”

“I have no reason to hurt her,” I growl.

Dima and Fedor glower as they walk away.