Page 8 of Marrying the Pakhan

“Good. Bring her anyway.”

Her hand is still in mine, and neither of us lets go right away.

“Give me your number,” I say.

She hesitates for half a second, as if handing over a number were somehow a bigger step than the marriage proposal, then recites it while I type it into my phone. I call it once, just so hers lights up in her hand.

“Now you have mine too,” I say. “Don’t waste it.”

“Thank you,” she says, and for the first time since she walked up to me, her voice actually shakes. “You have no idea what this means.”

I have several ideas about what this means, most of them inconvenient, none of which I say.

“Go home, Harper,” I tell her instead. “Get some sleep. We’ll sort out the rest tomorrow.”

She nods, backing toward the hallway exit, and I watch her go longer than I should, watching the door swing shut behind her long after she’s actually gone.

Dimitri appears at my shoulder approximately four seconds later, arms crossed, wearing the expression of a man with questions and intent to ask every single one of them.

“Are you going to tell me what that was?”

“I’m getting married.”

Dimitri doesn’t laugh, which is how I know he thinks I’m serious before I’ve even finished the sentence. “To a woman you met eight minutes ago.”

“Seven, probably.”

“Viktor.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow.” I hand him the empty water bottle, because I need my hands to do something other than remember the shape of hers. “Tonight, I just agreed to marry a stranger who thinks I’m one of the dancers.”

“You’re serious,” he says.

I am.

4

VIKTOR

Dimitri’s waiting by the office door when I come back through, arms crossed, tablet now forgotten somewhere behind him.

“Before you say anything else tonight,” he says, “I need you to actually explain the wife situation.”

“I will. Tomorrow.” I rub the back of my neck, still catching up to my own decision. “Tonight, I need something from you.”

“More than a wedding?”

“Find out who she is.” I keep my voice low, business voice, the one that has nothing to do with the last ten minutes. “Full background. Work, finances, family, this custody case she mentioned. Everything you can get by tomorrow. She said her name was Harper Wilcox.”

Dimitri studies me for a second longer than is comfortable. “You’re marrying a woman you don’t know anything about.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Fair enough. Give me a day.”

He’s true to his word.

I’m at the club early the next evening, going through invoices at my desk, when he lets himself into the office without knocking, a folder in one hand and a look on his face that tells me he already knows I’m not going to like the timing of any of this.