Page 34 of Lord of Justice

There must be something in my tone that makes her look up. "Your eyes are almost pitch-black right now," she says.

I shake my head, moving away. "It's just the lighting. Has my mother called you about the party plans?"

Iris blinks, the little moment gone. "Are you kidding?" She groans, pulling a bottle of SauvignonBlanc from the wine fridge. "It's enough to make me start necking this. There are calls from the event planner. Calls from Rose and Dasha. Suggestions are texted daily from all the sisters-in-law who apparently, I will be meeting for a luncheon/battle plan tomorrow. Mind you, those were their words:battle plan."

Taking the bottle from her, I open it and pour her a very large glass.

"This party is a juggernaut, Andrey! So, if you were just thinking it's going to be tea andhor d’oeuvres, you might have to readjust your expectations."

I massage the back of my neck, a groan escaping my lips.

"Yeah, right?" She points a finger at me. "That, exactly. The only good thing about this is that you and I just have to show up."

"I asked Mother to include you. I thought you would enjoy planning it," I say.

"Sure, I'm great with parties where I just tell people to bring pizza and beer and I've downloaded a shit ton of movies for us to watch. This event has atheme.It hasnuance. I'm told it has a deeper meaning and I'm not certain what that would be but they're going to have to give us talking points because I have no idea what's going on here." She drains half her glass, holding it out tome with a, "don't be stingy" wiggle.

"My only request was for a cupcake tower and I thought the event planner was going to vomit, but I'm still getting one." She beams proudly, taking another huge swallow of my five thousand dollar Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc.

I valiantly attempt to stifle my amusement. "That seems fair."

Her gaze is drifting over my neck and down to my chest, where the first tattoos bloom on my skin, visible with my unbuttoned shirt.

"I say a lot of things that I don't intend when you're here." Proving her point, her tone sounds like this is an internal narrative that she didn't intend to share with me. "Usually, I'm more careful, so why am I blurting every idea that enters my head to you?"

I stay silent, watching her. This external/internal monologue is fascinating.

"I'm going to go change," she says, heading for the stairs and taking her refilled wine glass with her. "This suit is giving me a rash."

"Are you allergic to wool?" I follow her.

"No, I'm allergic to looking like one of those relentlessly perky entertainment reporters."

This pulls another chuckle out of me. An Iris whoisn't (currently) enraged at me is both amusing and a bit fascinating. Then, the guestroom door slams open.

"Where the hell is my stuff?" Iris is standing at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips, looking magnificently angry.

Ah, I should have told Jessica to explain this to her.

"Everything was moved into the master bedroom today," I say, heading up the steps to her.

"You had people touching my underwear?" Her voice is rising to a piercing pitch. "Whatisit with you Morozov twins and you letting people touch your wife's underwear!"

"I'm missing some part of this conversation that would make your rage understandable."

"Your brother Nikandr. He did the same thing to Caroline. She told me about it at one of the sisters-in-law's lunches. That is extremely high handed! You don't let people just go touching someone'sunderwear."

"I see." I shouldn't be finding this as entertaining as I am, I have court files to review. "If it's any comfort, your underwear has been untouched. Iamevolved enough to know you would want to handle that yourself, though I was told that a new lingerie wardrobe is desperately needed."This does not seem to dim her outrage as her face reddens. "Everything else is in our dressing room, as it should be."

"We didn’t discuss this," she says, marching ahead of me into the master bedroom. "They didn't throw anything out, did they, like my ratty sweatshirts and the leggings with the holes?"

Dasha has referred to my dressing room as, "closet porn." I wasn't certain what she meant, nor was I interested in hearing about it, but she insisted on showing me several Pinterest boards and apparently mine is considered "aspirational."

When I had it designed, I wasn't expecting a woman to occupy the other half, but itishuge, with a big window that offers good light. A tall, full-length mirror leans against the wall, and I've recently thought it would look even better with a naked Iris bent against it while I'm railing her from behind. I've never thought about my wife sexually until the last week or so, and now the fantasies are fucking endless, taking up too much of my time.

An island of walnut dressers separates the two sides of the room, with rows of hangers and additional shelves and custom-built slots for shoes and boots. Iris is slack-jawed, turning in little circles, taking in the rows of dresses and suits, another row of formalwear. Clothing arrangedby season and then color-coordinated lightest to dark.

"This is horrifying," she blurts. "No one should have this many clothes." She touches the sleeve of one of the dresses. "Have these been arranged byfabric?"