Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(78)

“I’m not quite sure myself. I was wrapped up in oils and scrubs and masks when this gorgeous woman who looks like you walked in and demanded to know who I was. Your own sister had no idea you were married.”

I wince, imagining how that scene must’ve played out. “She saw the ring? Why didn’t you hide it?”

“Jesus, Misha!” she yells, throwing her arms up. “She asked me who I was, so I told her. She was taken completely off-guard. I’m pretty sure she hates me now. Not that I can blame her. I mean, it must be pretty blindsiding to walk into your brother’s house and be introduced to the wife you didn’t know

he had.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, striding past her towards the staircase.

“Where are you going?”

“Maybe I can cancel—”

She grabs my wrist and drags me around to face her. “You are not going to cancel on them. They’ll be here in forty-five minutes. This dinner is happening.”

“Jesus.”

“How long did you think you could keep me a secret?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Clearly not,” she snaps. “Have I mentioned that you’re an ass?”

“Not recently, no.”

“Well, then, prepare to be reminded,” she says, overtaking me and hitting the stairs hard.

I follow her back to our bedroom, where she promptly heads to the walk-in and closes the door on me just before I can step inside. Sighing, I pull the doors open again.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she rushes around the walk-in like a headless chicken.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she scoffs. “I have to find something to wear. Your sister’s first impression of me was a steaming pile of shit. I don’t want to give your mother a reason to hate me, too.”

“Nobody hates you.”

“You didn’t see the look on your sister’s face.”

I’ve never seen her so flustered. So affected. All her confidence has been eaten away by self-consciousness. It’s as endearing as it is puzzling.

“That’s just her face.”

She rips a random dress off the rack and holds it to her chest like a shield. “No, no, it wasn’t just her face. She was wondering what the hell I was doing wearing this ring,” she says, holding it up to me.

“She looked at me like I was some cheap gold digger. Like I was trailer park trash!”

“Paige—”

A sob escapes her lips, and for a moment, her insecurities flood her features. She looks so fucking afraid. My heart clenches down hard. “Anthony’s parents thought the same thing, too, you know. They told him not to marry me. That I was too far beneath him. I suppose, after this farce of a dinner tonight, you’ll hear the same thing from your mother and sister.”

“Paige—”

“Except you’ve already gone and married me. So the joke’s on you.”

“Paige!” I growl, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her to a standstill. Her eyes go wide as she meets mine. “Just breathe.”

It seems to take her a moment to remember how to do that. Her chest rises slowly and then drops.

“Again,” I order.

She repeats the process until the panic recedes just a little.

“You don’t have to worry about my mother,” I tell her when she’s calm again. “She’s predisposed to like you.”

“Why?”

“Because you married me. She was always worried that marriage wasn’t in the cards for me. You are the answer to her prayers.”

“Except it’s all bullshit,” she mumbles.

“She doesn’t know that,” I remind her. “Nor does she need to.”

She nods, but the panic is still lingering just under the surface. I watch her pale as she thinks about the lies she’ll need to tell tonight.

I grab her again. “Paige, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” she says, shaking her head. “I have no idea how to talk to women like her.”

“Like what?”

“Women of… high society,” she says reluctantly.

“Talk to them like you’d talk to anyone else. Just be yourself.”

“‘Be myself’?” she repeats, gawking at me. “Misha, I am the daughter of an alcoholic and an addict. I grew up in a one-room trailer with rats in the air vents. It took me five years to graduate community college, and I barely even managed that. I’m not sure ‘being myself’ will impress them.”

Her shaky words make me realize how little I know about her past. I know the broad strokes, but I’m missing all the nuances that fill out the picture.

I have to admit, it’s been somewhat intentional on my part. Getting to know my wife hasn’t been at the top of my to-do list for many reasons.

It might make her start to feel real to me.

But now, I find myself on the cusp of a million different questions, buoyed by curiosity.

“I’ll be right there with you,” I hear myself say. “If things are going poorly, I’ll turn it around. It will be fine.”

It’s like those words thaw her out. She nods, her eyes fixed on me like I’m her last lifeline. “What