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Sofia
The worst partof the night was when we had to sit down to dinner, while some comedian entertained us in between announcing the winners for each bid. Each table held ten people comfortably, with forty tables total. Four hundred people, at five grand per ticket—that alone was two million dollars for the charity before the auction even began.
I was surrounded by my parents, three other couples, and, not surprisingly, Zak—who was seated directly across from me, in the middle of two of the obvious trophy wives. Between the two of them, they were wearing enough diamonds to cover the two mil that had already been raised for the women’s shelters. Their black dresses showcased the tits their sugar-daddy husbands had no doubt gifted them upon first sucking their microdicks, and they flaunted their assets at Zak every chance they got. Along with coy looks that set my teeth on edge.
Slicing my knife through my perfectly cooked medium steak, I imagined slicing off the plastic surgeons’ handiwork, maybe popping their silicone bags. But then I reasoned that they would have gone for the gummy bear texture to make their boobs look and feel more natural. Which they would have achieved, if they had only stopped at a C cup instead of splurging on the double D’s to please their money-bag husbands.
I fought a giggle at the thought of the gelatin-like mixture in their chests spilling out onto the table and their idiot husbands gobbling it up like dessert, because they were just that obsessed with the gold diggers who had ensnared them with what the old geezers considered the fountain of youth—twenty-year-old pussy.
“And the winning bid for the Ural necklace—”
My fork and knife stilled on the plate, mid-slice. Lifting my head, I held my breath as the comedian paused for annoyingly dramatic effect, and I debated throwing my steak knife at his face.
“Zakhar Morozov!” the man exclaimed.
Even over the expected claps of congratulations on winning the bid, I heard the two women on either side of Zak gasp at the amount of the bid. Holy shit. It was nearly twice what the tickets had brought in. My mother gave a happy little cheer, thanking Zak profusely.
As soon as his name had left the comedian’s mouth, I sought Zak out, only to find his golden orbs locked on me. His expression was unreadable, but something in my gut told me he was waiting for my reaction.
Taking my time, I lifted my cloth napkin and dabbed at my mouth before dropping it back onto my lap and giving him the kind of slow clap that many would consider insulting. I forced a smile to my lips, more annoyed with myself for not knowing how to react to this man winning the bid on his own necklace.
Why donate the damned thing if he was just going to participate in the auction for it?
What I hated even more was that I was thankful one of the nameless idiots hadn’t won the beautiful necklace. The idea alone of one of the trophy wives wearingmynecklace made me want to gag.
Fuck. I had to stop thinking of it as mine. It wasn’t at the beginning of the night, and it sure as hell wasn’t now that Zak had won the auction for it.
A skinny man in a suit appeared at Zak’s side, a leather-bound folder and pen in hand. Opening the folder, he offered the pen to Zak, who lowered his gaze from mine long enough to scribble his signature on the document. Thrusting the pen back at the man in the suit, he lifted his eyes back to me, the barest ghost of a smile teasing at the corners of his kissable lips.
Rolling my eyes at both myself and him, I picked up my utensils once more and finished cutting a bite of steak.
“To spend so much on a single piece of jewelry, you must be planning on gifting it to someone special,” the trophy wife to Zak’s right cooed.
My dad and I shared a look, both of us trying not to burst out laughing. To stop himself, he tossed back the rest of the contents of his wineglass then reached for my mom’s untouched glass.
The two wives gushed back and forth, while their clueless husbands talked shop over their heads. On stage, the comedian had moved on to the next auction item. I pretended to enjoy my dinner, but I barely tasted it. In my head, I plotted out how I would shut the two women up, but cutting out their tongues was a fantasy that would never reach fruition.
Two armed men, each with a hand on a small case, appeared at the table, causing all conversation to cease even as the comedian continued with his jokes and announcing the winners of other items. Curious, I picked up my water goblet and sipped.
Zak stood and took the case from the two men. Placing it in his seat, he crouched down to open it and then pulled something from inside.
The Ural necklace.
I quickly placed my water glass on the table. A voice in the back of my head started shouting for me to excuse myself, get the hell out of there, before I made a fool of myself. But then Zak straightened, holding the necklace reverently as he walked around the table.
My heart stopped when he paused right behind me. The coolness of the diamonds felt good on my skin, but it was the weight of the emerald as it settled perfectly above the tops of my breasts that made me shiver. Zak deftly fastened the clasp, stroking his thumbs over my shoulders and causing my breath to hiss through my teeth as my entire body tightened at the caress.
Fingers shaking, I lifted my hand to touch the emerald, while something shifted internally. Just from looking at the necklace, I’d known it belonged to me. But having it around my neck, I felt as if the gems had finally found their rightful place.
A lump filled my throat, this time with pure joy.
Zak lowered his head and pressed his lips to my ear. “You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in this room,” he breathed. Every fine hair on my body lifted, wanting to make contact with him, to ease the ache that was throbbing through my entire body at his nearness. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more so, but I was wrong. This necklace was made for you,dragotsennyy.”
The knot in my throat made it impossible to speak, and even if I could have, I didn’t know what I would have said to him. “Thank you” didn’t seem enough. I had no words that could show my appreciation for the gift—if that was even what this was.
Suspicion quickly replaced my joy, and I nearly tore the necklace from my throat. But I refused to embarrass my mother by making a scene. Instead, I pasted on a smile, discreetly cleared my throat of the emotion threatening to choke me, and looked up at the man who very well may have been playing me.
“Thank you, Mr. Morozov,” I said, just loud enough for those at our table and nearby to hear. “It’s an honor to get to wear this tonight, and I’ll be sure to return it to you before the end of the evening.”
