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Rayne snaps her head to me. “What the hell are you—”
She abandons the question to finish snapping her bra into place. She pulls her shirt on, and the moment her perfect breasts are tucked away, the pocket door to the living room slides open…
And Viktoria Kozlov walks in.
She’s in an egregiously fashionable orange sweater dress with knee-high white boots. She looks like a walking, talking piece of candy corn. She has a ridiculously tiny handbag dangling from her elbow.
“There you are. I figured you’d be in your office since it’s the middle of the week. What are you doing in—” Her voice cuts off. She’s spotted Rayne.
“Viktoria, Rayne,” I say casually, reintroducing the two women. “Rayne, Viktoria. You two have met.”
The fake smile on Viktoria’s face melts away. She’s a snake curled in the grass, mouth open, fangs exposed. She’s ready to strike.
“Rayne.” Her eyebrow arches impossibly high. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing alone with my fiancé?”
22
KIRILL
To Rayne’s credit, she doesn’t react. Doesn’t even miss a beat. She just turns to me, her expression neutral, and says, “You didn’t tell me you were engaged, Kirill. Congratulations to the happy couple.”
With that, she offers Viktoria a tight smile and strolls out of the room.
If I wasn’t standing here in the aftermath of her comment, I’d applaud. It was a masterstroke. It lands exactly as Rayne intended.
Viktoria turns on me, steam practically pouring out of her ears. “What did I just walk in on?”
I decide to spare her the gruesome details. “Rayne is working for me again.”
“Why?”
“Because this pretty lifestyle you enjoy requires people to operate it. Who do you think keeps things clean while you shop and drink wine with your girlfriends?”
Her top lip curls back. “Preferably someone you haven’t fucked.”
“If that’s a nonstarter, you should keep a ledger. Lots of names to track.”
It’s not true. Rayne remains the only maid I’ve ever touched. She’d never believe it, but I do try to maintain some professionalism with the people in my employ.
Rayne has always been an exception.
“You’re not funny, Kirill.”
“Because I’m not joking.”
“Kirill!” she shrieks. “What in the hell was she doing in here?”
“My staff is my business, Viktoria.”
“My fiancé ismybusiness,” she argues. “I should know who you are with. Especially when that person is a woman. Especially when that person is a woman you’ve fucked in the past. Why didn’t you tell her we were engaged?”
I shrug. “It didn’t come up.”
I’ve dragged the engagement out for the last five years. In the haze after Ilya died, I agreed to formalize the alliance between myself and Leonid. Why the fuck not?
Thisis why not.
Because one day, I’d actually have to follow through and marry Viktoria. I’ll never touch her again as long as we both live, but it was always inescapable that she’d wear my ring.
