Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(97)

Konstantin snorts. “He could be one with nature… just so long as he had a king-size mattress and indoor plumbing to go back to at the end of the day.”

“Or if nature came inside to him. Like Hootie,” I say without thinking.

“Jesus, the fucking owl! That thing hated me.”

“He loved Maksim, though.”

“Yeah, yeah. Most animals did. Whatever,” Konstantin says, rolling his eyes. “It’s weird visiting Cyrille and Ilya now. It’s weird seeing them without Maksim and all the pets in that fuckin’ menagerie they called a house.”

I haven’t really noticed. I haven’t been around enough to notice. “Are they happy living with my mother and Nikita?”

“Maybe you should ask Cyrille next time you see her.”

I wince. I’d rather not. Watching Cyrille mourn feels like dredging up my own grief. She draws it out of me.

I get to my feet. “I’m done for today. Let me know if anything important pops up. The merger—”

“—will be done in a matter of days,” Konstantin says. “Are you prepared for Petyr’s wrath once he discovers you’ve bought his company from right out beneath him?”

“I’ve been trying to incur his wrath from day one. Safe to say I’m ready.”

Konstantin frowns, but I don’t want to hear what he has to say about this. I walk away and go upstairs.

My wife has been out all day with my mother. It’s becoming a regular occurrence. And a real irritation. But when I step into our bedroom, I hear running water coming from the bathroom.

I walk inside to find Paige sprawled in the huge bathtub, all the best parts of her covered by foam and bubbles.

“Hi.” She smiles, but it’s hesitant. She’s watching me with the wariness that comes from dealing with someone unpredictable.

I recognize it because Maksim and I used to look at our father the same way.

I sit at the edge of the tub. She’s still wearing her pendant, the soap suds clinging to the chain.

“Did you have a good day?” I ask in a monotone.

“It was amazing,” she gushes. “We had a whole spa day. Even your sister joined. I think she’s trying to give me a chance.” She sounds hopeful. Nervous, but hopeful.

“Cyrille came, too?”

She nods. “We picked Ilya up after school. He’s such a great kid. I thought this wedding would be something I’d have to endure, but honestly, I’m enjoying myself.”

I can see how buoyant she looks. Like she’s floating on the surface of the bathtub. She seems lighter lately.

“My first wedding wasn’t really a wedding,” she explains. “We didn’t do anything big. We went down to city hall and signed some papers. Our two witnesses were Anthony’s friends. Afterwards, we went to this diner down the road and celebrated over flat beer and bad pizza. So I guess it’s just nice to go look at dresses and pick out flowers and decide on an actual menu with people who are excited that you’re getting married.”

“We’re already married.”

She shoots me a glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Why didn’t you have a wedding the first time?” I can’t help but ask. “Was that his idea?”

“Actually, it was mine,” she admits. “His parents told him they weren’t going to come for it. They didn’t support us getting married. Once I knew that, I decided I didn’t want one at all.”

I clench my teeth. It pisses me off that her deadbeat ex’s parents thought that she wasn’t good enough.

She leans forward to swirl her fingers through the bubbles, and I catch the curve of her breasts breaking the surface of the water. I adjust my position so she doesn’t notice how hard she makes me without even trying.

“Weddings are all about family,” she continues. “It didn’t make sense to have one without any. But sometimes… Well, never mind.”

“Go on.”

She glances up at me, her cheeks flushed with heat and memory. “Sometimes, I wish that Anthony had insisted on a wedding. I mean, it would have been nice to feel like marrying me was a celebration to him.”

“That fucker doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you,” I growl.

She seems surprised by the vehemence in my voice. She opens her mouth and, for a second, I think she’s going to tell me about his sudden reappearance.

Tell me. Let me trust you, Paige. Just say the fucking word so I can do what I swore I’d do and keep you safe.

Then she palms her pendant and says, “Misha, do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

I don't know if it’s the sight of her naked and vulnerable, clutching her magic fucking pendant. Or if it’s her looking up at me with those huge, warm, all-too-trusting eyes of hers.

But I can’t say no.

“Eight o’clock,” I sigh, despite the uneven pounding in my chest that says this is a bad idea.

Her answering smile is brilliant and dangerous and completely disarming. “Don’t be late.”





73

PAIGE

I get dressed for dinner ridiculously early. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement—maybe both. All I know is that, with an hour still to go before eight o’clock, I’m sitting here in a jade green gown that Misha bought me with my hair in an intricately braided updo that almost cost me the circulation in both of my hands to tame into place, and my heart going about two hundred beats per minute.