Page 29 of Lord of Justice

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The Morozov Global Media Center

Jessica looks at me with a great deal of sympathy and the slightest bit of humor as Andrey introduces us before straightening his cuffs and glancing at his watch, as if the ten minutes of pleasantries has already thrown off his day. He leaves with the casual comment, "I will be out of town for three days. Melina will be sleeping at the penthouse."

"Wha- hey, Andrey!" I call after him. Why does that sound like the kind of instructions you'd give a babysitter? Did he tell Melina to not let me stay up too late and go easy on the sweets? Joke's on him. Melina and the Redwood (Av) are addicted to my cinnamon roll cupcakes. I'm baking a quadruple batch tonight, just on principle.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Iris. If I may call you that?" Jessica asks, breaking the uncomfortable little moment.

"Oh,pleasecall me Iris," I ask. "There's around three thousand and twenty-seven Morozovs and every one of my sisters-in-law have begged everyone to call them by their first name because it just gets too confusing."

Jessica laughs and I'm liking her more and more. She's older, in her fifties maybe with a sleek gray suit and an experienced eye that tells me she's been around the block a few times, the kind ofassistant who could survive the polar chill of Andrey Morozov. "I'm just sorry I couldn't make it to your wedding." She smiles slightly. "It was so sudden."

"Yes, it was," I say fervently and then remember that I'm supposed to be putting on an act here. "I'm sure Andrey doesn't do these sorts of impulsive things, but it was a high emotion moment." I stammer. Yeah, I'm so slick. "We just… did it."

She's masterfully attempting to hide her amusement and I appreciate the effort. "We might want to work on your responses for that," she says gently. "It will be, of course, a very common question because Andrey - to my knowledge - has never had a long-term girlfriend, much less been interested in marriage."

"The man is definitely uptight," I agree. "But maybe he's loosening up in his old age."

That really gets her going, her laughter fills the pristine office space. "Maybe we find another way to say that, too,” she says diplomatically. "Given the fact that your age difference may also come up."

"Got it. No age jokes."

That's when the real fun begins. And by 'fun,' I mean not in the slightest. There are spreadsheets of names and titles and their social or professional value to Andrey that I have to memorize.A deeper dive on his more important supporters, and some of Andrey's most successful court cases that will be brought up in interviews. More questions on how we met, my background, and perfectly prepared soundbites regarding my feelings about his ascension to the State Supreme Court and a whole bunch of other shit that makes my head throb.

Rose and I were raised in a wealthy family, but rocketing to the level of power and influence of the Morozov Bratva is staggering. Being merely Roman's sister-in-law, I wasn't expected to know any of the deep implications about both the criminal and legitimate side of their dealings, other than a very clear understanding that I never speak ofanythingMorozov related.

The next day, a stylist comes in. Jenna, "just Jenna" with cat-like green eyes and red hair. "The face is perfect," she says to Jessica. "The hair is lovely, other than the occasional French twist for formal occasions, I think wearing it down is very striking."

Why, thank you for speaking about me like I'm a simpleton who doesn't need to be involved in the conversation about me.

Jenna runs a disapproving eye down my shorts and sleeveless shirt. I thought the outfit was well-tailored and acceptably put together, but she's giving me the same look of horror as if I hadwalked in wearing a meat suit like Lady Gaga. "We'll start with some simple business attire, cocktail dresses and formal wear. I think four or five evening gowns should do, to start with."

Pursing my lips as I watch her talk to Jessica, I finally cut in. "Thank you for the insight. It'ssonice to have anexpert'sadvice." She looks at me for the first time, as if startled that there is a voice attached to the body. "Do you think five evening gowns is perhaps a bit excessive?"

I smile pleasantly, I think I'm exuding the, 'gracious wife of a Supreme Court Justice' vibe really well. "Jessica has been speaking to me about my 'platform' because apparently, I need one. I thought focusing on at-risk teenagers here in the city would be a good focus. My sister Violet Morozova runs two community centers devoted to giving them a safe place to be. I think stuffing my closet with Dior and Balenciaga undercuts the message we're attempting to send, don't you?"

She and Jessica exchange a glance. "The sad truth of the matter," Jessica says, "is that the people in this orbit will like the fact that you have a platform. They'll think it'ssweet." She watches my face twist in revulsion and smiles sympathetically. "We're dealing with a social class who like tolooklike they're saving the world, one fundraiser at a time. In front of the press, at any rate. Butwhen they're having their special little parties, they want to display as much wealth as possible. Unfortunately, youwillbe at a disadvantage if you can't keep up."

"It's Andrey's billions," Jenna says, looking slightly more human. "I can promise you; your new wardrobe won't even make a nick in his monthly budget."

The afternoon is not like one of those fun montages in the teen movies where the girl gets the glow up while her friends clap and cheer. Instead, I enjoy hours of fabric samples slapped against my chest to see how they look with my complexion while the seamstress mutters something uncomplimentary about my waistline as she tries to take in a skirt.

I thought I was in pretty good shape, but some of the dresses they give me to try on either shove my boobs up towards my neck or flatten my ass. The worst are the ones that make me look like a forty-year-old matron.

"Now," Jenna says, "do we need to arrange for pregnancy wear?" She's busy sorting through a rack of blouses so it takes her a minute to realize I haven't answered. This is because I'm laughing silently.

"Isthatit?" I ask, trying to contain my amusement. "You think Andrey had to marry mebecause he knocked me up? Oh my god…" I give up and burst into a round of boisterous laughter. "Yeah, that's not Andrey's style, but I am entertained by your low opinion of me."

On the bright side, that ends the fitting.

It feels lonely, going home to an empty penthouse. Melina may be sleeping here but there is a special guard's bedroom on the first floor that I hadn't found yet. There's also a full apartment one floor below where the guards live while on duty. After a full day of having to hover around me, I can understand why Melina wants some space. She has a way of closing a door that does not invite you to knock on it.

Everything is huge here. Oversized, too tall, with the kind of excessive square footage that should be disallowed in Manhattan. I wander through the rooms, feeling like Jane Eyre mooning around Wuthering Heights.

Andrey's home is beautifully designed and oddly blank, sort of like him. I know he's close - in his chilly way - to his family, but there's no personal items. No pictures of anyone, just graceful, well-chosen, impersonal as fuck artwork. No tottering stacks of books on the table next to the couch. They're all in the custom-made bookshelves that line one full wall. All sectioned by subject, then sorted alphabetically.

I go to bed, angry at myself for feeling his absence.