Page 30 of Marrying the Silver Fox

I know he’s just throwing shit out there, convincing himself that he’s onto something because it means I would have put a foot wrong. But that’s about as much time as I want to hear him putting into thinking about my marriage, given that it’s what has sealed the deal for my future in this business.

I pick my way back up the stairs, back toward Andie. I’m not going to let my brother get to me. I can’t. If I let him under my skin, he has won, and that’s the last thing I want to grant him right now. That bastard might think that I’ve just walked into everything that I have, but I know that I’ve worked every day of my life to show that I’m worthy of accepting the mantle that our father wants to pass down.

And Max was never going to be worthy of it.

No matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise.

14

ANDIE

I sink back against the plush leather seats, eyes drifting shut as the engine rumbles to life below me. After so long in this foreign land, as welcome as Nikolai’s family has made me, I am looking forward to getting back to my home country—and hopefully, figuring out exactly what my life is going to look like now that I’m the wife of someone like Nikolai Artesco.

It has been nearly ten days since we arrived in Moscow, plenty of time for a honeymoon—or at least, that’s what Nikolai seems to have decided, so we’re on a flight back to America. I can’t say it’s exactly the post-wedding trip I would have picked for myself, but then, honestly, it wasn’t exactly the wedding I would have chosen either, so that makes sense.

I have, at least, managed to make a decent impression on his family. Or his father, anyway, since his brother seemed entirely resentful of my presence there. He didn’t even come to see us off, no doubt glad to see the back of us already.

“Champagne?”

I look up to find the attendant standing over me, fingers splayed under a metal tray with several glasses on it. I eye them for a second, then shake my head. “Just a sparkling water for me, thanks.”

I’ve been drinking plenty on this trip, and as fun as it has been to indulge in all the luxury this place has to offer, I have my real life to think of. Which is not going to go too well for me if I’m constantly tipsy, is it?

The attendant nods, ducking to the back of the plane to bring me the water, as the plane rumbles up the runway and prepares for takeoff.

“You don’t want to indulge?” Nikolai looks up from his papers on the other side of the table, seemingly having been listening in on my exchange with the attendant.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to land with a hangover,” I explain to him. “I’m going to need to touch base with all my clients, figure out how to cover for the fact that I’ve been out of the country for so long without any warning⁠—”

“Clients?” He frowns. He seems genuinely confused.

I stare at him, wondering if he has forgotten already that I have a whole career of my own that has nothing to do with him or this wedding of ours.

“You know, my wedding planning clients,” I prompt him patiently.

A lot has been going on. I can’t blame him for not keeping up with every little detail, can I?

His eyebrow cocks slightly, and his jaw tightens. “You don’t need to work,” he tells me firmly. “I’ll take care of you⁠—”

“I’m not doing this job because I have to,” I retort sharply. “I’m doing it because I want to. I spent years making sure I had a good professional reputation, and I’m not about to let it slip away from me just because⁠—”

“No, you’re not.”

I bristle, lifting the glass of water to my lips and taking a sip, focusing on the way the bubbles burst over my tongue. I hate the way he speaks to me, as if I should already know that he has made his mind up about all of this. As if his say is the only one that matters, and the best I can do is just go along with it and hope for the best.

“Nikolai, listen to me,” I tell him firmly. “I have a career that I’ve worked for years to get off the ground. And I’m not about to let anything take that away from me, you hear?”

He leans back in his seat, his face impassive. Fuck, I hate when he gets like this. In the few weeks I’ve known him, I’ve seen him shut down like this more than once, closing off any potential for argument.

“Your father said it himself,” I remind him. “A woman needs to have a career, right?”

He lifts a hand, waving the idea away like it’s nothing. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

My eyes widen. “You would speak like that about your own father? You don’t respect him?”

“I respect him,” he shoots back sharply. “But he’s made mistakes. If I don’t learn from there, they were for nothing.”

“Mistakes?” I ask him, leaning forward. “Like what? What are you talking about?”