Page 31 of Lord of Justice

She's still laughing as I end the call.

Chapter Fifteen

In which there are the beginnings of fascination.

Andrey…

Earlier that day…

"You had to endure the party we threw to announce your nomination for the Supreme Court Justice." My mother is using her best coaxing voice. "You got through that just fine!"

"I'm not remarrying Iris," I say, keeping my voice level. Showing irritation to Mother would do one of two things. First, it might hurt her feelings and that, I cannot do. Or second, she will pounce on my moment of weakness, of exhibiting emotion, and she will never let it go. 'I got my son tofeelsomething!'

She loses her bright, cheerful tone. "Please, don't make me bring out the optics argument," she groans. "Nikandr went on and on about it today. We'll have something simple. Not as big as the judgeship party. Maybe a hundred guests. No walking down the aisle or renewal of vows nonsense. Dasha was really getting into this, alongwith Caroline. I won't tell you what some of their suggestions were because I know you will never come home again."

"This is unnecessary," I say, shifting in my seat. I've been wearing a suit and tie for three days straight dealing with our Bratva associates in Germany and I want to tear off the starched shirt and go for a run, or spar with my brother and beat the shit out of him. Anything to take the edge off. My righteous fury is glowing inside me like a banked flame. There's a long list of soulless monsters to take out and I've had no chance to administer justice. For weeks.

"Son, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mother, I apologize. It sounds like the Morozov women have already determined that this is going to happen," I say dryly. "But please do include Iris in the planning and kindly avoid telling herallthe worst stories about me. She's just now stopped yelping every time I walk into the room."

This may have been a mistake, because my mother's tone cools significantly. "I knew Iris wasn't exactly ecstatic about this arrangement. Your comment, though, is making me even more suspicious about how this quickie wedding was handled."

"I've never lived with a woman before, so I haveno idea if what I'm doing is unusual or not," I say, attempting to sound patient. "Iris is a jumpy girl. I walk quietly. I'll start smashing things against the wall to alert her of my presence."

She ignores my sarcasm. "Excellent! I'll get in touch with everyone. We'll have something put together in a day or two. I'm thinking next Saturday."

"It will be beautiful," I say woodenly. "Andof coursewe must make our associates happy. But please, no presents. I don't want any vile statuary or custom champagne sabers invading my penthouse."

"Such a sentimental creature," she drawls. "I'll let everyone know. Goodbye, son. I love you."

"Goodbye, Mother. I… Thank you."

I'm sure there was a time when I was a child when I told my parents I loved them. I was good at mirroring behavior until I rose high enough in the organization that I wasn’t required to. I remember saying it once or twice to Nikandr and he nearly knocked me off my seat in an inappropriately emotional bear hug. Dasha, our little sister, simply instructed me that of course I loved her dearly and I should give her a hundred dollars or the keys to my car. I actually preferred her transactional method.

Thinking about love, other than for my family,whatisthe closest I've come to it?

There was one girl, when I was younger, maybe fifteen. She fascinated me, she was pretty, blonde and she smiled at everyone in the hallway between classes. I was curious about everything she did, why she preferred tennis to squash, why she wore her hair up on Mondays, why she always wore the same pink lipstick. I was careful, she never caught me watching her, and I rarely spoke to her.

One night, my father followed the tracking device on his missing Aston Martin and found me in it, parked across the street from her house. I was watching her laugh and talk with her family at a barbecue in their back yard. He got into the passenger seat without saying anything and sat with me for a while.

"Does she interest you?" he asked.

I’d thought about it for a while. "Yes. She's.… fascinating."

Father nodded, looking back out the window. "Do you think you care for her?"

"Not in the way you think. Not in the way you and Mother do. She's captivating. I don't like it, but I'm compelled to watch her to see what she does, and why."

He was silent for a long time before he said, "For some people who operate like you do,moy syn, fascination and obsession can be their brand of love, or the beginnings of it, in this case. It creates a similar form of affection, even if you don't express it in the way other people do."

"Are we back to my diagnosis, Father?"

He shrugged. "Your diagnosis doesn't define you, if youareindeed a sociopath. I'd far prefer that to narcissism, although your Uncle Maksim used to constantly claim thatI'ma narcissist." He smiles briefly. "It can help, though, to understand why someone affects you in a certain way."

We sat there for another two or three hours. We talked a little, but we mostly watched until the family went inside and the lights strung over the yard turned off. The girl and her family moved a couple of months later, Florida, I think. Once she was gone, though, I never thought about her again.

Looking at the footage on my phone, I watch Iris patiently go through preparatory interviews, one after another, all day without losing her temper. Her expression when she talks to her sister melts into something tender. Last night in my hotel suite, I'd spent hours watching the footage from her day with that shrill little stylist. I'd even smiled as Iris laughed uproariously when thestylist asked about pregnancy clothes.