Page 21 of Marrying the Silver Fox

“Will Marta be joining you?”

He frowns. “Marta?”

“Will she be joining you for dinner?”

“Why on earth would she do that?”

“She’s your father’s wife, isn’t she?” I ask, confused. “I mean, the way she greeted you⁠—”

“She runs the household,” he replies sharply. “She’s staff. Not family.”

“Oh,” I blurt out. “Uh, I—I’m sorry. So, will your mother be having dinner with…” I trail off at the look on his face, sensing that I have well and truly managed to put my foot in it.

Whatever the hell is going on with his mother, he clearly does not want to talk about it, judging by the way his face darkens at the mere mention of her. A darkness seems to flit across his features, and I remember the question he asked in the first place, if I want to join them for dinner. I think better of it, giving how I seem to be making a mess of things now.

“I think I’ll just get ready up here,” I murmur, pulling open the bag again. “You really want me to wear all of this jewelry?”

A grin passes over his face. “I told you, you reflect on me,” he reminds me. “And if you’re not dripping in jewels…they’ll think I don’t have the means to provide for you.”

“Point taken,” I murmur. “I’m just not used to—” I stop myself in my tracks.

No. I can’t think like that. As far as everyone here is concerned, I am utterly accustomed to being spoiled with such finery. I can’t let myself think for a second that I don’t deserve this, or it will sneak out of me when I’m at this event tonight, and I can’t risk that. If I want to keep myself safe, ensure that I give Nikolai no reason to turn on me and change his mind about protecting my reputation, then I need to play along.

“I’ll see you later,” I tell him, and I turn, brushing my hair out of the way so he can reach the top of the zipper. “Could you pull this down a little for me? I don’t want to be stuck in it all day…”

“Of course,” he murmurs, and he moves to my side.

My bare feet tingle on the wooden floor as he tugs down the zipper just an inch or two, and I can feel the graze of his fingertips against my skin.

Shit. So, even sober, there is still a part of me that responds to him this way, whether I’m willing to admit it or not. Hell, he feels like a drug—like he is the thing I’m hooked on. I want to steal a glance over my shoulder, see if he feels the same way, but I’m not sure if I want him to or not. If he doesn’t, then I’ll be completely humiliated. If he does, well…

I suppose that will make this marriage a little easier to sell as authentic.

Even if, in the quiet of this room when it’s just the two of us, I know I should be thinking about anything other than the way his touch feels against my skin.

10

ANDIE

Nikolai waits for me at the bottom of the stairs, and when he sees me approaching, a grin spreads over his face. “Andrea,” he greets me, gaze sweeping up and down like he can barely believe what he’s seeing. “You look beautiful.”

I smile back at him. I do feel confident in what I’m wearing, having careful styled myself as best I could to fit the event tonight. Nikolai asked me if there was anything I needed to pull together the rest of my look, and I had requested some makeup and haircare stuff that I know I would never have been able to afford back home. I’m not exactly a pro behind the makeup brush, but I have watched enough artists working on blushing brides to have an idea of what to do. I settled on a light smoky eye with a nude lip, along with the dark dress and a pair of heels with silver details that match the glittering jewelry on my arms and at my ears.

I can already hear the buzz of a party taking place when I reach the bottom of the stairs, and Nikolai proffers his arm to me. I take it, gripping a little tighter than I need to. I don’t normally wear heels this high, and I’m determined not to make a fool of myself in them, though on some level, it feels kind of inevitable.

Nikolai is wearing a dark gray suit with a blue tie, his hair swept back from his face to show those piercing blue eyes. His aftershave is the same one he wore on our wedding day, and the sense memory casts me straight back to the private plane together, the way he talked me through our encounter, taking control like he owned me…

I push that thought from my mind, and cast a look along the corridor to an open door, which spills light and conversation outward.

“Already started, huh?”

“My father likes to make sure his guests are comfortable,” he replies, and he places a hand on mine over the top of his arm and leads me along the corridor and toward the room.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself, willing myself not to show the nerves that feel like they are ricocheting off every inch of my body right now.

We step into the room, which is just as impressive as the rest of the mansion. Portraits line the wall, stern-looking men in military uniform gazing out from inside gold frames. A couple of wait staff move through the room to freshen drinks and offer food to the dozen or so guests in attendance.

At the far side of the room, Marcus, Nikolai’s father, lights up when he sees the two of us together. “Ah, and here is the woman of the hour!” he announces, moving toward us and clasping my hand warmly. “My new daughter-in-law. Andrea.”