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“Family dinner tonight.” Short and to the point, like always. Getting an extra word out of him is like a daily challenge I give myself. Usually, I fail. “They’ll be here in half an hour.”

Now that’s new. Meeting the rest of the Abashin family will give me something to tell Anton, and there’s a lot I can learn just from their interactions at dinner, as long as I’m allowed to attend.

If I ask, he’ll probably say no and lock me in my room, but if I pretend that I’m not going to attend and just show up?

He’ll have a harder time hiding me from the family.

I wonder how many of them even know he’s married.

“Sounds nice,” I reply, distracted by my scheming. “I think I’ll take a bath.”

He narrows his eyes at me, but I duck away before he can ask what I’m up to, with Zephir padding alongside me.

I lock the bedroom door behind me as Zephir curls up on the foot of my bed, and then turn to the closet.

At my request, Matvei picked up, or had someone else pick up, a wardrobe’s worth of clothing from my favorite stores.

I couldn’t live forever in the silk sleep set he’d purchased for me, and the jeans and t-shirts he’d stocked up on before my arrival were definitely not my style.

I open the closet door and fan through the options.

Mostly, the clothes are practical choices for someone who doesn’t leave the house—skirts, blouses, a handful of sundresses—but there’s one purchase I made entirely on impulse, and that’s what I’m looking for.

The dress is blood red and low-cut with a draped neckline that reaches halfway to my navel.

It hits mid-thigh but has slits on either side that go all the way up to the tops of my thighs, revealing quite a bit of skin. It’s perfect.

For the next forty minutes, I apply my makeup and twist my hair into an updo while listening to the sounds of people arriving below me.

I take my time. The later I am, the more Matvei will believe that I’m going to stay in my room and avoid everyone.

And why wouldn’t he? I’ve never expressed any desire to meet his family or to act the role of wife after he forced me to marry him, and I know he won’t see this coming.

Thirty minutes into the dinner, when the smell of food wafts upstairs and makes Zephir’s ears perk, I slip on my heels and walk downstairs.

Heads turn. I brace myself, hoping I haven’t just made a huge mistake walking into the hornet’s nest, and find Matvei at the head of the table.

His eyes are glued to me, slipping over every inch of my body with a heat that makes me feel more exposed than this dress ever could.

When his gaze meets mine, liquid heat pools in my stomach, and I have a brief, vivid fantasy of walking over to him and straddling his lap, right there in front of everyone. That’s how stupid this man makes me.

Instead, I stalk past the watching Abashins, grab one of the empty chairs, and set it down beside Matvei’s at the head of the table. After all, I’m his wife. It’s my place, too.

I feel Matvei stiffen beside me and prepare myself to argue if he tries to send me back to my room. Maybe he realizes how hopeless it would be, because instead he clears his throat and speaks.

“Anya, I had no idea you’d be joining us.” His words come out stilted, like he’s grinding his teeth. “This is my wife, Anya. Anya, this is my family.”

There’s an uproar of surprise and congratulations, and why wouldn’t there be?

He didn’t mention my last name. I take in their names and faces as they ask prying questions about the wedding, letting Matvei field those because he deserves to squirm for a while.

In addition to Timofey, Matvei has two brothers, Diomid and Oleg, and two sisters, Valery and Nikita.

Beneath the table, I press my bare leg against Matvei’s and thrill at the feel of his muscles tightening, his breathing hitching. The dress is having exactly the effect I hoped it would, distracting him.

“Robbing the cradle with this one, Matvei,” Diomid says with a barking laugh, raising his glass in a toast. “Couldn’t find one your own age that would tolerate you?”

“Don’t be rude.” Valery jabs him with her fork. “I didn’t even know you were dating. How do you find the time?”

That alone tells me the Abashins are scrambling, too busy fighting for territory to have time for things like romance. I file it away, but it’s not exactly breaking news. Maybe we can use it, though, knowing that they’re on the edge.

“We manage,” he says, bluntly.

I drop my hand beneath the table and lay it on his thigh. His fingers tighten around his fork, knuckles bleaching white.

Oleg passes a basket of rolls down to our end of the table. He’s the slimmest of the bunch, skinny where the others are muscled, and quiet where they’re brash.

“What is it you do?” I ask him, taking the basket with my free hand while the other slides a little higher up Matvei’s leg. “In the family business?”

Matvei shoots me a warning glare that I choose to ignore.

Oleg’s eyes widen at being addressed directly, and he stammers his answer. “I’m the accountant. Manage the books, mostly. Not really cut out for the… other stuff.”

“I keep telling him to put the books down and come to the gym with us once in a while, but he’s always too busy.” Diomid slaps him on the back, and Oleg buckles beneath the force. “Ah, but we have it covered, don’t we? All the manpower you need between the rest of us.”

Nikita chimes in, standing to pour more wine for everyone. She’s graceful, her movements elegant like a ballerina’s. “It wasn’t enough the other night, now was it? We lost one of our most profitable businesses in that fire, and we still don’t know who to blame for it.”

Now that’s interesting. Arson?

Matvei’s hand catches mine beneath the table before my fingers can creep any higher.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” I say, frowning in sympathy, “what business was it? Can we rebuild?”

“Anya,” Matvei cautions under his breath, fingers tightening around mine in warning.

Nikita doesn’t hear him and goes on. “The brothel. Of course, we have two more of them, but that was definitely our best money maker. Prime spot. Rebuilding is going to be a bitch.”

Matvei stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile floor with a screech. “I believe it is time for dessert. Anya, will you help me?”

“Can’t you handle it, darling? I’m just getting to know your family.”

His jaw tightens. I flash him a hint of a smile and shift in my seat, crossing my legs just to watch his eyes dart down to my thighs. The look he gives me promises all manner of consequences in my future, but for the moment, he has no choice but to leave me there, like a fox in the henhouse.