Page 36 of Lord of Justice

Iris…

"I'm going to throw up."

"No, you're not." Andrey is reviewing a legal file, rapidly thumbing through the paperwork. There is a lot more actual paper involved in the legal world than I would have thought, he always has a stack of them on the desk in his study. At least from the occasional glimpse I'm allowed into hisforbiddenrealm. "You're just nervous."

"You have a lot more faith in me than you should." This comes out in more of a whine that I wanted it to.

His glittering black gaze is on me, and he sets the file aside. "Come here." He pats his knee.

Andrey Morozov wants me tosit on his lap?Like a normal guy? Is he feverish?

Ever since we left the judge's office that nightwith a ring weighing my hand down, Andrey hasn't touched me. Not likethatanyway, maybe a hand on the small of my back or to help me out of the car. Which was fine with me because I would've bit his hand off if he tried to put it anywhere else on my body, but still, this is startling.

He's sitting on the long suede couch in the living room, looking disgustingly perfect in his dark gray suit and a blue tie. Andrey is gorgeous in the way a frozen pond is, with that perfect, inviting sheen and youhaveto skate on it- right up to the point the ice cracks beneath your feet.

There will be no sitting on his lap. I walk over as slowly as I can without looking like I'm afraid of him, because fuck that. For one second, it looks like my ass is just about to settle on his knee before I swing gracefully and sit next to him, hands clasped and legs crossed, just the way Jessica taught me. His eyes flicker down my perfect posture and back up to my face, and hegives me a smile.Not a big one, but one that clearly says, touché.

"Tell me what you're worried about." He put his arm on the back of the couch behind me, making me feel enclosed.

"Wow, well… First, that I will fuck up the Supreme Court nomination that you've been building up to for ten years?" I whine.

He dismisses that instantly. "It's a given. If I had any doubt, I would lock you in our bedroom."

"Yourbedroom," I correct. All my stuff might be in there, but I spent the night in the guest bedroom again. The significance of his gigantic bed - the size of a stretch limo - was too much to deal with.

Stroking his chin, he examines me for a long moment, like he's digging into my brain and sorting through the chaos there. "Here's what I know about you, darling. You are far more intelligent than you like to reveal. I read through your professor's notes in last year's marketing class."

"Dr. Gillespie? How did you get a hold of- never mind," I sigh.

"He wrote a paper discussing the P.R. crisis at Westbrook Foods. He called in six of his graduate students and you, a sophomore, to brainstorm. Westbrook needed a rescue campaign. Of all the suggestions that came out of the discussions, he selected yours. 'The Signs of Strength,' correct? Yours was the campaign they went with and it pulled them out of that toxic pile of shit that the owner's son shoved them into."

"The father was too permissive," I say. "The son though, he was a complete asshole. Hewantedto tank his dad's business. It was a good company with strong roots. They just needed a quickrebranding to keep their credibility."

"You see? Westbrook is valued at over two billion dollars and you restored its reputation. As a sophomore."

"I didn't implement the campaign. I just designed it," I say uncomfortably.

"Take the credit you deserve." Andrey's watching me intently, a slight smile still on his face. "No one else will give it to you, particularly if you're a woman."

Whoisthis progressive bastard? And where was he when he dragged me into the judge's chambers to get married?

"This interview todayisimportant," he acknowledges. "It's the N.Y. Bar Association's most consequential media piece of the year. I'll lead the discussion. You already know the hardball questions they'll throw at you. I expect you to be utterly compelling."

My jaw drops and I know I look like a simpleton. Is there an entirely new Andrey inhabiting his body? "You're beingsupportive?"

"I'm being honest," he corrects me. "I don't have time to waste, soothing people's feelings, their fragile egos. Nor my wife's insecurities, because she shouldn't have any."

"Not all of us can be you, Andrey." I sigh, shakingmy head. "And once this interview airs, it's going to mean that -"

"It will mean what?" he frowns.

I glance away, avoiding eye contact.

"Ah. You think that if you conduct this interview, sitting here as my wife, you'll have permanently established that we are married," he says slowly. "That there's no getting out of this. That it is permanent."

I stare at him, shocked, sliding my hands under my thighs so he can't see how sweaty they are. He puts his forefinger under my chin, lifting it, forcing me to look at him.

"From the moment you said 'I do,' you were mine." There's a slightly hoarse tinge to his tone. "Bratva marriages are for life, but you know that. However, look at my brother's and cousins' marriages, better yet, look at our parents' unions. You must admit those marriages have all turned out for the best. They're all happy. Are they not?"