Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(79)

should I wear?”

I make her sit down on the white couch in the center of the walk-in. I pull out a white silk dress with thin straps and a delicate beaded border at the hemline. “This one.”

She stands automatically, and I find myself reaching for the tie of her robe. The material slips off her shoulders, revealing her matching black bra and panties.

She’s nervous enough without me throwing her back down on the couch and having my way with her.

But fuck, I want to.

Instead, I help her get dressed.

While she touches up her makeup, I get changed myself. We move around each other easily. Like we’re practiced at this whole “marriage” thing. It feels surprisingly natural. Hopefully, we can continue this ease throughout the dinner.

My family knows me well enough that I’m not worried about making an impression. But I want them to see Paige and me together and be forced to acknowledge what a pair we make. I want them to approve of her—both for her sake and mine.

We’re heading down the stairs when the doorbell rings. Paige turns to me instantly, white as a ghost.

“I’m not ready. Your sister is—”

“My sister is protective,” I tell her. “But fair. You’ve proven yourself in every way that matters. I saw it firsthand when you walked into that boardroom and earned the respect of seasoned businessmen who were more than ready to write you off.”

Her expression softens.

I lower my chin, looking deep into her eyes. “You can hold your own against anyone, Paige Orlov.”

She nods. “That’s sweet. But let’s say you’re wrong—”

“I’m never wrong.”

She snorts softly. “But just in case… stay with me?”

I see the hope spark in her eyes and I feel something wrench inside me. Something tough and brittle.

Something I thought would break long before it bent.

“Of course,” I promise her. “I’m not going anywhere.”





58

PAIGE

Agnessa Orlov is not what I expected.

For starters, she looks nothing like either one of her children. She has snowy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Rather than the angular, evil ice queen I was sure she’d be, she has the nurturing warmth of a fairy godmother. It’s impossible to imagine how someone as cold and prickly as Misha could have come from her.

“Misha!” she says, pulling her son into an affectionate hug. Then she leans away, pressing both hands to either side of Misha’s face and, to my complete and total surprise, slaps him lightly on the cheek.

“Why did I have to hear about your marriage from your sister?”

A surprised laugh bursts from my lips before I can rein it in. Everyone turns to me in unison. I blush and cringe under the onslaught of attention, but I force myself to smile at Agnessa. “He deserved that.”

My new mother-in-law drinks me in wordlessly. I feel like a graceless oaf in this family’s company, and hers more than all the rest of them put together.

She’s as effortlessly sophisticated as her children. Her fit-and-flare dress has a thin belt around the waist and three-quarter sleeves. Gold jewelry adorns her wrists, neck, and ears. Even from across the room, I can smell her perfume. She smells like rosehips and gilded portraiture and genteel society.

Finally, she smiles. “I quite agree. You must be my new daughter-in-law.”

She strides forward and embraces me. It should be awkward, hugging a strange woman who is suddenly family for the first time. But I lean into her maternal touch. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me like this. Like they meant it with every fiber of their being. When she pulls away, I almost miss it.

“You must be a very special young lady to coax my irrepressible bachelor of a son into marriage. Tell me, how did you convince him?”

I must be high on the hug because I don’t stop to consider my answer for even a second. “I think the baby did most of the convincing.”

It only occurs to me once the words are out of my lips what I just said.

Silence has never felt quite as silent as it does right then. It’s got a life and a weight of its own. Not

just the absence of noise, but the presence of something. Something big. Something scary.

Agnessa’s dark brown eyes go round with shock. Then she pivots slowly to her son. “Misha, is this true?”

If Misha is furious with me, he doesn’t show it. He did tell me to be myself, after all. Being honest is me.

He nods matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

Something inscrutable passes over her face. “Ah. I see.”

Apparently, a baby is all the explanation she needs to make sense of her son’s sudden change of heart about marriage. That realization makes me sick. Because it means it wasn’t about me at all.

I could have been anyone.

“You’re pregnant?” Nikita says, looking between us with a carefully guarded expression. She is dressed in black, wide leg trousers with three layers of pearls draped around her neck. I’m waiting for her to clutch at them in horror. Instead, she smiles. “Well, I’ll be damned. It looks like we have another thing to celebrate.”

I have no idea if she’s really happy for us or not. Like her brother, her poker face gives nothing away.

She glides over to the drink cart and pours herself a glass of bourbon.