Page 59 of Lord of Justice

Chapter Twenty-Eight

In which Andrey is capable of a shocking level of sweetness.

Iris…

The last time I'd seen a commotion like this was when Rose knocked our ant farm off the dresser when we were five.

Andrey's new judicial clerks are racing back and forth, making adjustments, for the floral arrangements and the seating and obsessively checking the time and the weather. Jessica, who is now Andrey’s Chief of Staff, is going over talking points with him as the tailor who flew in from Italy to create his suit makes a couple of last-minute touches to the jacket.

We're in Andrey's new, official chambers in the State Supreme Court Building, and there's no mistaking the vibe. Power. Power so thick you could chew on it. Behind his desk is a huge wall of bookcases. There has to be over a hundred years’ worth of law books placed there, expensive,leather-bound tomes with fancy lettering, that are no longer even opened because everything's online. But they make a statement, just like his desk, a long, sleek expanse of dark ironwood.

I am being kept out of the way in a seating area by the windows. There are gorgeous leather couches and a fireplace covered in Victorian tiles, along with a beautiful, heavily carved antique table that Andrey told me he had picked up in Morocco. While hiking the Atlas Mountains. Like you do.

Marlena, the head of the nominating committee comes in once to speak to him. She glances over at me. I smile politely. She nods once, and she leaves.

I knew the spouse was just an accessory at these things,I think, a little amused,but thank you for making it clear.

In the middle of all the furor, my husband radiates calm, answering questions from Jessica in a deep, confident voice. It's hard to believe this is the same blood-soaked monster that chased me up onto our roof and fucked me against the pool last week. A little shiver runs through me, and I cross my legs. I can't be thinking thoughts like that now. This is aseriousday. Not one for my filthy, lascivious thoughts.

I'm wearing a decorous lavender silk dress that probably cost more than my tuition this year at Columbia. Jessica also flew in a designer from Spain earlier this week to hand-tailor my Balenciaga dress. Valeria had spent a lot of time praising me for my hourglass figure.

"Hourglass figures are not popular here," I'd said. "Americans are uptight and fear curves."

Valeria had rolled her eyes at me, her mouth stuffed full of pins, and I was terrified she'd sneeze and swallow one. "Very few people appreciate what they have," she lectures disapprovingly. "And Americans are the worst."

Andrey had paused in the doorway of our bedroom, smiling at me meaningfully as his dark gaze moved up and down my body.

Verdict: turned on.

It felt like a physical caress and I'd shivered. She grinned a little as she looked from him to me.

"Sometimes, there are those with enough good sense to truly appreciate what they have." She patted my hand.

My hair has been pulled up into a neat chignon, my makeup is tasteful and understated. I know this because the makeup artist who pinned me to the chair and applied it told me so.

When the door opens again, I'm ready to screechin relief. This time it's Rose and Nikandr. "We're the only family representatives that they allowed to come back here," Rose says, hugging me.

"Yes, everyone else is out on the green." Nikandr adds. "Mixing and mingling, enduring conversations with the kind of people you usually hide from when they attempt to corner you anywhere else." He and Rose share a grin. "Though, in the case of Uncle Maksim and Dmitri, they're scaring the living shit out of the other guests."

We all chortle a little because watching those two terrify some unfortunate soul is more entertaining than the World Cup, The Super Bowl, andLove Island USAcombined.

"Tell me more!" I whisper.

"Well, you know that creepy senator that walked up to us at Saks Fifth Avenue?" she asks.

Nikandr eyes us both. "Are you speaking of Carlisle Sinclair?"

My nose wrinkles. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, he’s walking over to Dmitri and Maksim. They were deep in conversation about something, probably like nerve gas or whatever. You know how they are," she says.

Jessica's shoulders stiffen, and she turns her head, glaring at us. "Voice down!" I whisper.

"So," Rose continues. "This pompous prick isstriding masterfully toward them, ready to shake hands and do whatever the hell it is these rich and powerful guys do when they're talking to other rich and powerful guys. Anyway-" She takes a deep breath. "They both turn and look at him. And it was like... a glacier collapsing and burying you under fifty tons of ice. Not aflickerof expression on their face. They both have those creepy blue eyes, you know, when they get really mean, and they go all pale?"

I shudder. "Oh, yeah. I never want them to look at me like that."

"You really don't," Nikandr says. "It's happened to me twice in my lifetime, and that is plenty. So,that'swhy I saw Sinclair at the bar ordering a double before the bartenders had set up. He's used to everyone kissing his ass. That must have been painful. By the way, you will have to spend some time with Dasha soon. She was crushed that she couldn't come back and see you."