Page 8 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Russet

A n hour later I’m in a long sleeve, high-necked black dress (thank god it’s winter) and doused with copious amounts of perfume. Neither the fabric nor the fragrance covers my paranoia. Maxim is nothing but cool, calm, and collected as he drives his Porsche.

It’s the first time I’m playing passenger princess and I can’t say I like it.

“Do you think I’m a bad driver?” We’re headed towards an area where rich people live when they want to be close to the city, but not actually deal with the city. Naturally, my broke ass has never been.

“No,” I say quietly, not risking another punishment.

He side-eyes me, one hand on the wheel. He took his coat off and I keep staring at a veiny forearm. I wonder if he only likes me when I’m soft-spoken because for once he converses back. “Then why do you flinch every time we stop?”

My toes curl in the painfully tight heels I’m wearing. I’m accustomed to tight dresses and stilettos but I’m uncomfortable. “You drive too fast. ”

He charges forward, slipping in and out of traffic easily now that we’re out of the city.

We come to a red light and he jerks on the brake. My hand flies out, grabbing the door. Every muscle in my body tenses.

“So I’m a terrible driver,” he challenges in the low voice he uses outside of the bedroom. It’s not quite flat or monotone because there’s an edge of darkness. When he chooses to speak he’s nothing but self-assured.

“It’s a gut reaction.” I force my fingers to release the handle.

The light turns green and the car sways right, winding down a neighborhood with massive gates and circular driveways.

Some properties remain unseen, trees covering the structures, but I don’t need to spot the chateau-looking houses to know this is where the elite live.

“I was in a wreck back in high school. I know it’s annoying but I flinch anytime cars stop suddenly. ”

It must be my imagination but he slows, gently angling the Porsche through the street. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” I admit. But Daisy totaled her cousin’s car and moving forward if we didn’t take public transportation I drove. “So did you always drive around in cars worth a hundred grand or did your dad ever make you drive a beater?”

Another side-eye. A gate opens and it’s like we press through a bubble. It’s a different world. The million-dollar house is lit up in the night like a castle. Sconces with flames frame the massive front door. Cars trail along the driveway, couples exiting before valet whisks the vehicles away.

Maxim bypasses the line, the car angling down a slope. We park in a private garage, the Porsche just one of many luxury vehicles.

For a beat it’s quiet, neither of us looking forward to going in. I turn my face about to ask for advice when I see his hand reaching for me.

I slap it away .

“Don’t mess up my lipstick!” My dress is covering his dried cum, the last thing I need is to look further messed up.

His jaw ticks and for a second we stare in some stupid standoff.

Finally, he opens his car door, his wristwatch glinting in the light.

I drag myself out of the low car, struggling to remain decent with my short dress and high heels.

Maxim rounds the car, tucking me in close, his hand pinching my waist in warning.

I lean forward and smack his cheek with a kiss. An outline of mulberry lips stains his cheek.

His eyes widen, the features on his face frozen in surprise.

And then someone starts to clap.

“Well done!” It’s the oldest brother—Elijah.

He’s an inch taller than his younger brother, his hair a tad lighter and his eyes gray.

If I didn’t know they were related I wouldn’t think it, but there’s no mistaking the familiarity.

“It appears Mrs. Zimin claimed you as her property. Very important considering this crowd.”

Maxim scowls and unwraps his hand from my waist. We’ve now passed through the garage into a small hallway that I assume leads to the kitchen.

Elijah already holds a tumbler of liquor and lifts it in greeting. But I’m surprised when he offers it to me.

“Oh, you’ll want to drink it now,” he says at my surprise. He produces another one for his brother. “The place is packed and you, the guests of honor, are late.”

Maxim knocks his back, tugging me forward as we walk into the kitchen. It’s an absolute madhouse, with servers running around, and a fire on the stove bursting toward the ceiling.

And in the middle of it all is their father, Lev Zimin. He’s got a tray of hors d’oeuvres all to himself and a glass of amber liquor in front of him .

He swallows a puff pastry. “So you finally decided to join us.”

Roman, pops up, snatching a finger food. “You’ve got lipstick on your face.”

With a sigh, Maxim rubs his cheek. “I’m surprised you decided to join us.”

His mouth full, Max’s twin shrugs. “And miss this shit show?”

Lev straightens, pushing the tray of food away and smoothing his tie. “Russet.”

I’ve never talked to him before let alone told him my name. There’s a knowing glint. This man knows every secret. Knows everything there is in the entire city, let alone the world.

His smile is friendly, but he radiates power. I can’t let them get me any more off-kilter. He might appear to be a dad snacking away in the kitchen, slipping away from guests who’ve invaded his house, but I know who he is.

A man who will put a bullet in my head whenever he wants.

He hugs me, kissing my cheek. The kitchen is hot and my skin pricks as I back away quickly, paranoid my dress doesn't cover the incriminating evidence of his son’s punishment.

His smile never falters. “This is long overdue and I apologize. We invited Maxim several times over for dinner. Small affairs you know, but he kept pushing us off.”

I shoot him a look. We could have done this without an audience.

“Has poor Maxie been good to you?” Elijah asks, twirling a glass of liquor.

Maxim sighs again but doesn’t move away, heat radiating from him, he stands so close.

I clear my throat. “Maxim’s been great. ”

Elijah’s brows shoot up. “Maxim? My that’s a tad formal don’t you think?”

“Maks.” Lev pinches his son’s cheek, smiling brightly.

He sways out of his father’s reach.

And right into Elijah who sneaks up on him to take over the cheek-pinching. “Maxie. Are you not treating your wife right?”

“Brother.” Maxim strikes his hand away.

“Brother,” Elijah chirps back.

Lev motions for me to follow. “They’ll be at it awhile. Would you like a refill?” He pours himself a new glass, but mine is still full. “My wife is not so patiently waiting upstairs, but I figured Max would park in the garage.”

We exit the kitchen and I do everything not to appear star-struck by the interior design of the mansion. It’s better than anything I’ve ever watched on TV. Seriously, Martha Stewart eat your heart out.

And the people. They’re dressed up. I’m underdressed in my plain black dress and heels.

Diamonds drip around the necks of women.

Rolexes hang around every man’s wrist. People drink from glassware, servers weaving in and out of the larger foyer and living room that’s spacious enough to host a party like this.

It’s nothing like the movie nights I put on for Daisy. Where I splurged on extra butter popcorn and a bag of chewy candy.

In the center of the foyer, where she greets guests newly arrived, is a wisp of a lady. Tall, bitterly thin, and blonde, she barely inclines her head to acknowledge her husband.

“Yelena.” Lev holds out his arms in celebration. “Meet your daughter-in-law.”

Could it get any more awkward? Guests not so discreetly watch the encounter, at least the women. The men could care less, a large group speaking in Russian .

“Hello,” I breathe.

She wears a metallic silver dress, long and stunning. Her hair is swept up and her makeup is exactly what I tried and failed to achieve.

Her words are heavily accented, a distinction from her husband who grew up in the United States. “Welcome.” She holds out an arm.

Am I supposed to kiss it? Shake it? What is this?

Luckily a commotion occurs, a server tripping over the rug. A hush falls, and someone rolls their eyes, but luckily no one openly mocks the person trying to clean everything up.

“Excuse me,” Yelena says, her hips swaying as she walks away.

A man, speaking in Russian, pulls Lev away. I’m grateful for the reprieve but I’m trapped in a sea of strangers.

I must remain calm. This isn’t the first time my awkward ass found itself alone at a party. Armed with my glass of whiskey, I mill around, heading down a hall in the hopes it might lead to a bathroom.

Taking my time, I study framed photos on the wall. They’re not the typical family photos which I’m curious to see. Instead, it’s like looking through a history book. Most are black and white, candid shots of men mid-discussion in various groups.

“Piotr Zimin.”

The new comer takes me by surprise. His eyes are familiar, and they’re the warmest I’ve seen all night. Not jovial like Lev’s, but kinder if that’s possible. His shoulders sag inward like he’s used to making himself small, but everything else is confidence.

He nods at one of the men in the photo. A group of five look to be meeting in some sort of basement. “My father.”

“Oh.”

That means he’s. . .

“Dmitri,” he introduces himself. He’s also got a glass of alcohol but he’s casual in a zip-up hoodie and jeans, further distinguishing himself from his brother.

“Nice to meet you.”

Marissa’s mentioned him a few times in the past couple of months, but while I’m accustomed to the long-winded rants about Lev, any intel on Dmitri is sorely lacking.

His face is naturally creased, his lips tugging downward. But he’s neutral and quiet rather than sad when he speaks.

“Born in Moscow,” Dmitri explains about his father. “Came from nothing. I know because he liked to press upon us how good me and Lev had it.”

I’m beholden to his storytelling.