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When I asked what she’d like to do, Lara told me she wanted a hot dog. I couldn’t help but laugh, remembering all the wild nights I saw her embark on when she was sneaking out from right under her brothers’ eyes.

“Leave it to me,” I said in the garden, taking her arm and pulling her along for a night that I hope she’d treasure enough to confide her future desires with me.

Now, we stand at the entrance of the high-end club I have in mind for tonight. Her wide, nervous eyes flit from the pulsating dance floor to the well-dressed crowd gathered around the bar, and finally, they settle on me. I sense her anxiety and assume it’s from all that bullshit with Marv during her stints at clubs like these.

She ought to know she’s safe here with me and that there’s nothing wrong with a bit of innocent fun.

"Hey," I say, closing the distance between us. When I approach, I notice her body tense up. A possessiveness that takes over me. She's my wife now, even if this marriage was forced upon us by circumstances, and I hate watching her be anything but herself around me. "You don't have to be afraid. Just let loose and have fun."

"I…I'm not sure," she stammers, biting her lower lip. It's an endearing habit she has when she's feeling uncertain, and it only makes me want to protect her more.

"Come on, Lara. It's just one night out. I promise I'll be by your side the whole time, and we can leave whenever you like," I urge her, trying to keep my voice gentle and reassuring. Inside, though, I feel torn—part of me wants to let her enjoy herself, while the other part wants to shield her from the world. And yet, we both need this break from reality, a chance to forget the complications of our lives for a few hours.

"Okay," she finally agrees, nodding her head tentatively. "But you have to promise not to leave me alone, alright?"

"Deal," I say, offering her my hand. "Let's just focus on having a good time tonight."

***

The pulsing beat of the music vibrates through my chest as I lead Lara toward the VIP room, her delicate hand resting in mine. The flashing lights cast kaleidoscopic patterns on her cream-skinned, heart-shaped face, making her undeniably alluring. I notice a few men glance in her direction, their gazes lingering on her a little too long, and a strange protectiveness stirs within me.

I shield her from their looks with my body and guide her forward.

"Here we are," I announce, guiding her into the dimly lit room with plush private sections and a panoramic balcony providing a mesmerizing view of the energetic crowd below. "The best seats in the house."

"Wow," she exclaims, her wide eyes taking in the surroundings—bottle service with sparklers, an exclusive bar, and a private dance area. A glimpse of excitement dances in her gaze, and I can't help but feel relieved she’s liking it here.

"Let's get some drinks to start the night off right," I suggest, hoping that a little liquid courage might help her further relax and enjoy. She hesitates for a moment, then nods in agreement.

"Please," she nods. “Vodka water lime.”

I guide her to a couch and take a seat beside her before waving over a server to order vodka for Lara and whisky for myself.

Handing her the glass when it arrives, I raise mine in a toast. "To a fun and memorable night."

She grins, clinking her glass against mine before taking a delicate, tentative sip.

"Are you feeling any better?" I ask, concern creeping into my voice.

"Actually, yes," she admits, looking around the room with renewed interest. "This is kind of exciting."

“That’s my girl!” I sip on my drink and signal for another round so we don’t have to wait when this one’s over, watching Lara gaze out at the crowd. She's still tense, but there's interest there, too—a sign of a gradual thawing of her resistance.

Over the next half an hour, there's a subtle change in her demeanor—her shoulders relax, and her eyes seem to sparkle with mischief.

"Starting to feel it?" I chuckle, unable to suppress my amusement at her transformation.

"Maybe just a little," she admits, a shy smile playing on her lips. “I swear you’re ordering larges when I said smalls.”

“Or maybe you’re just a lightweight.” I playfully nudge her shoulder.

Lara giggles, her cheeks flushing with such life that I can’t help but think she looks fresh. She leans closer to me, her body language more relaxed than before as she playfully nudges me back. “Or maybe you’re just ordering the cheap stuff!”

“Hey!” I protest in pretend anger. “I’m an Orlov. We don’t do cheap Vodka.”

“And I was born and raised in Russia. Vodka runs through my veins!” she teases back, throwing back her head and downing her head. She puts the glass down and sways on her seat. I catch her just as she threatens to fall over.

“Whooops,” she sings, laughing until tears fall down her cheeks as my concerned face looms over her. “That was…”

“Embarrassing, I’m sure,” I burst out into laughter, too, amused by her antics despite the slight panic that shoots through me. I hold onto her, ensuring she doesn’t slip off the couch as she tries to regain her balance.

“Guess we should slow down on the drinks,” I suggest, trying to keep my tone light even as I feel a warmth spreading through me at her carefree laughter.

Lara nods, still giggling, and then suddenly, she stands up, swaying a bit on her feet. “I want to dance!” she exclaims.

With a sudden burst of confidence, she shrugs off her sweatshirt in the warmth of the club, revealing a scrap of white fabric that barely covers her midriff. I go still. My eyes can't help but linger on her toned midriff, the curve of her hips, and the way her jeans hug her legs. It's both infuriating and exhilarating to know that other men might be watching her, but she's mine.

Lara glances up and blinks at me, confused. "What is it?"

I swallow hard, tamping down the urge to throw a coat over her and hide her from view.

"Wow, you look…" The words catch in my throat, and I clear it before continuing. "You look like you belong here, Lara."

“Mm-hmm,” she shakes her head, her black hair flowing behind her from the fans set up all around. She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the dance area.

Once on the floor, my eyes are glued to her hips as they sway to the pounding beat. She spins to face me, a wicked grin on her lips, and starts to move.

Mesmerized, I watch as she rolls her body, utterly unselfconscious. Her hands glide up to frame her face, hips twisting and grinding to the music. She's putting on a show for me, and heat pools in my gut at the thought.

When she slides closer, looping her arms around my neck, I snap. My hands clamp down on her waist, guiding her movements, our bodies moving as one. She gasps, eyes darkening with desire as she presses against me.

The song changes, the beat slowing, and we sway together, the tension simmering between us. I bend my head to murmur in her ear, my lips brushing the delicate shell. "Keep dancing like that, and I wouldn’t want to call it a night."

Lara shivers, her fingers tightening on my shoulders. She lifts her chin, a flush staining her cheeks as she meets my gaze.

I, on the other hand, can’t believe I just said that. She’s utterly maddening—this woman. She makes me do, think, and say things I never would in similar circumstances had it been anyone else.

As we sway and spin to the rhythm, our bodies brushing against each other, I can feel the heat between us intensifying. Every touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins, igniting a hunger that threatens to consume me. I can tell Lara feels it, too—the way her breath catches when I pull her close, the way her gaze lingers on my lips.

"Are you alright?" I ask, concern lacing my voice as I notice her cheeks flush a deep shade of red.

"Y-yeah," she stammers, clearly affected by our proximity. "Just…a bit tired."

“What do you want to do next?” I ask, the alcohol making me reckless. I reach over, push a strand of her hair behind her ear, and gently smooth it into place.

"Take me home," she rasps, her fingers curling into my shirt—heat flares in my belly at the raw need in her voice. But I know I’m probably seeing things that don’t exist. The truth is, I can recognize the exhaustion in her eyes, the strain of a long day finally catching up to her.

"Alright," I respond, reluctantly stepping away from her grasp. As much as I want to continue dancing, I know that taking care of her needs comes first. "Let's get you home."

***

The moment we slip into the car, I can feel the charged atmosphere between us. Even as the driver starts the engine, Lara leans ahead, over my lap, to request him to turn on the radio.

When the music comes on, she tries to sit back down, but she almost loses her balance. I quickly grab her by the waist to stop her from slamming into my lip.

“Whoops,” she mutters, blushing red as my cock digs into her ass. I groan inwardly, afraid and confused that she can see the dirty thoughts I’m having about her all naked at this exact moment.

Her hand remains on my thigh as she gets off and sits next to me. It’s so late, and we’re so drunk, that her hand remains there. The streetlights outside bathe us in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the sleek interior.

"Tonight was so much fun," Lara says, her voice light and airy. "I can't remember the last time I let loose like that."

"Neither can I," I admit, my hand moving to cover hers on my thigh. We exchange smiles, our laughter mixing with the distant hum of the city nightlife.

"Remember that guy who tried to dance with that group of girls next to us?" she giggles, leaning closer. "He had no idea what he was getting himself into."

"Ah, yes. Poor guy." I smirk, recalling the way the girls made him buy all six of them multiple shots and bounced when the check came.

“Oh,” Lara giggles, inching closer until her face is an inch away from mine. She stares into my eyes, and I suddenly feel hungry for her lips. Why is she so intent on teasing me, coming so close? I am a gentleman, but even gentleman have their limits. Though I know I’m battling with an active imagination, I almost wonder if she’s come closer to let me taste her.

“You’ve got something there,” she whispers, her eyes trailing up the scar on my cheek to my hair. Her gentle, soft fingers reach for my hair, and she pulls something small and shiny out. “Confetti,” she whispers, her lips moving to the sounds of that soft word, which sounds like pure bliss coming from her.

“Confetti,” I whisper back, entranced by how she said it.

I hold my breath, not wanting to disturb this moment, praying she leans in just a little more. I’m more than willing to meet her halfway.

She touches my face again, and despite myself, I shiver beneath her fingers. She traces the lines of my scar as if memorizing its shape. The warmth of her touch feels chillingly welcome, and I shiver. Lara’s eyes never leave my face, and she whispers. “How’d it happen?

"Oh, that?" I laugh, trying to keep the seriousness from my voice. "It's just a part of who I am. It happened a long time ago."

“How?” she asks again, asserting her right to an answer. I’ll admit, I’m impressed. I’ve never known her to be pushy, but I’m beginning to realize that when she wants something—she’s willing to go all the way.

Our faces are inches apart now, the air between us thick with anticipation. I can feel her warm breath on my skin, her lips dangerously close to mine. My heart races, pounding in my ears like the bass from the club. Every instinct tells me to close the gap, to taste her lips and claim her as mine.

But I don't.

Instead, I force myself to look away, focusing on the road ahead. “You don’t want to know, Lara,” I respond, trying to sound casual while my heart pounds against my chest.

“And if I do?” she asks, settling down beside me, her head on my shoulder.

I sigh and look down at her crown of black locks. “I was seventeen,” I begin. “Our parents had been murdered. Nikolai was busy working so hard, but we had money problems. I began taking up gigs for other mafia and Bratva guys. One night, they sent me on a delivery job. Turns out, their enemies found me. They tortured me, cut into my skin. Nikolai found me before they could shoot me down.”

I can feel the strained silence return as I relate the tale of my scar. Even though Lara's eyes are closed tight, I can tell she's listening, truly listening to my story.

"It's over now," I continue, voice hushed, my attention diverted to the passing streetlights. "But the past never really leaves, does it?"

Lara lifts her head, the streetlights reflecting golden in her beautiful, dark eyes. “No,” she mutters, taking my hand in hers and twining her fingers through mine. She raises our hands together, mesmerized by how they look conjoined. “It doesn’t,” she whispers, turning her head to me, her breath hot and sultry on my lips.

The tension between us is unbearable. Just as I'm about to give in and close my eyes to steal a kiss, the house comes into view. My heart sinks as I see cars in the driveway, my siblings crowding at the doorway, their faces a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Looks like we've got an audience," I say, trying to keep my voice light and playful. Lara's hand slips from mine, her cheeks flushed with desire as she quickly composes herself and looks out of the window.

"Guess we'll have to save this for another time," she whispers, now fidgeting with her fingers as she realizes that the entire Orlov clan is waiting at our doorstep.

Oh, this is going to be a very painful end to a beautiful night.