Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(43)



Part of me hopes it’s the latter.

“You can’t treat me like a trained poodle and expect me to put out at the end of the night,” she hisses.

“But don’t you want your reward for being a good girl?” I taunt. “Or have you already forgotten how many times you came the last time we fucked?”

Her cheeks flush scarlet, and I want to pull her towards me and remind her exactly how good I can make her feel.

“I won’t be a ‘good girl’ for you. Especially not if you’re going to treat me like a pet.”

“Then you’ll be punished,” I say flatly. “There are consequences for breaking rules. We all must face them.”

“You’ve never faced consequences for anything,” she snorts.

My entire body stiffens. For a split second, I’m back in the chaos of that moment. I hear the echo of that bullet against the walls of my head. My brother’s blood stings my nostrils. Breath catches in my lungs.

“… Misha?”

I focus back on Paige. Her expression has paled. She’s looking at me with cautious concern, her hand reaching towards me like she wants to stroke my cheek and tether me back to reality.

“I’m living with my consequences every second of every day,” I tell her quietly.

She ventures one step closer. We’re still several feet apart, yet even that small gesture feels entirely too intimate. Boundaries are being crossed. Rules are being broken.

I don’t fucking like it.

I back away. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

Then I retreat downstairs.





32

PAIGE

After an hour has passed, I emerge from my room to find one person waiting at the foot of the stairs for me.

But it’s not the person I expected.

“Rada,” I greet, trying not to look around for Misha.

“You look beautiful, ma—um, Paige,” she says, whispering my name like it’s a state secret.

“Are you here to tell me that the marriage is off?” I ask. I’m mostly teasing. Well, fifty percent. Okay, I’m not teasing at all.

Rada, of course, misses the joke entirely. “Of course not, ma’am! That would never—”

“I was only kidding.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Don Orlov has arranged for the wedding certificate signing to take place in the greenhouse, ma’am,”

she says. “I’m here to escort you. It’s a short walk through the garden.”

“There’s a greenhouse? Why am I not surprised?”

I prepare myself to be astounded, though honestly, it’s hard to even muster up the emotion anymore.

It’s just been overused since I arrived here. Everything about Misha’s life is unbelievable to me. So why should this be any different?

We exit the house through French doors. My stilettos stick in the crevices between the stone path that leads from the house to the first level of the backyard.

I’ve been in this house almost a full week and I haven’t even ventured into the gardens once. What was happening inside was noteworthy enough that I couldn’t spare any attention for the perfectly manicured stretch of lawn out back.

As we walk down the path, though, I realize there is much more to explore.

The lawn slopes down, the path curving around a grove of clustered trees. Just beyond the foliage rises an expansive glass structure. It glows from the inside out like a snow globe. I stutter to a stop, my breath caught in my throat.

“Whoa…”

I’m glad Misha isn’t here to see my wide-eyed wonder. His head is big enough without witnessing me rendered speechless by the grandeur of his life.

Rada gently prods me onward. “Don Orlov asked me to ensure you wouldn’t be late.”

I sigh and continue on, constantly glancing up to the domed roof of the greenhouse until I have to crane my neck back too far to see it.

Then we walk through the doors, and it’s no longer a struggle to keep my eyes on ground level. The room is bursting with greenery and flowers and life.

It’s miraculous.

The room is a few degrees warmer than outside. My skin feels sticky from the humidity as soon as we enter, and I’m sure my hair is already starting to curl. I turn and catch my reflection in one of the arched glass panels. Sure enough, spirals of hair are escaping around my ears and my temples. I try to smooth them down, but it’s no use, so I give up as soon as I start. The billowy sleeves of my dress look like wisps of fog. Everything is silent and taut like a breath held too long.

Yes, the champagne dress would have been less cumbersome, more beautiful. But I didn’t want to wear a dress like that to a fake wedding.

I’m tired of giving my best to men who don’t deserve it.

“Madam?” Rada says softly, drawing my attention away from my own reflection.

I take a deep breath and let her lead me to the center of the greenhouse. There, under the center of the dome, sits a table. Around it stand three men.

One of them is the ever-smiling colleague of Misha’s I’ve seen around the house, the same one who flirted with me at the Orion offices what feels like a lifetime ago. Rada said his name was Konstantin, I think. The other is an older man with chapped lips, grinning like a shark who smells blood.

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