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“Okay,” I say, once again, not wanting to cause a scene.
We walk past my father on our way to the bar; he has a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he looks between Dima and me. Something about that smile has alarm bells going off inside my head. If I didn’t regret coming tonight already, I really do now. My father is up to something, and I have a terrible feeling about what it could be.
“Vodka and a glass of champagne,” Dima says to the bartender.
“Oh, just club soda for me. I don’t drink.”
Dima raises a brow but doesn’t say anything as he changes the order to include a club soda. The bartender passes our drinks and Dima raises his glass in a toast.
“To beautiful women.”
Those three words send a chill down my spine and have me discretely looking around, trying to find a way out of this situation.
“So what is it that you do?” he asks.
“I’m a teacher.”
He balks at that. “Someone so beautiful should not have to work. Your father should be taking better care with you.”
If I wasn’t uncomfortable before? I am now. Beyond uncomfortable. “I love my job. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“My woman would never work, let alone such a menial job.”
The conversation has devolved into something that has me dying to get away. He’s looking at me like he owns me and talking like I’m his woman. The way he says his words doesn’t say ‘some woman,’ they scream that he’s talking about me. Which is insanity.
I let out a little sigh of relief when I spot my mother across the room. I set my untouched drink on a passing waiter’s tray. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I see my mother.”
Dima’s eyes flash with a possessiveness that he hasn’t earned. “Of course, family is important, da?”
“Yes,” I say with a forced smile. “It was nice meeting you.”
“I’m sure we will see each other again soon.” Is his not so cryptic response. The words feel like a threat, and I don’t understand why.
I quickly walk away and head straight to my mother.
“Charity,” she says with her wide politician’s wife smile. My heart hurts a little knowing that she doesn’t even have a genuine smile for her daughter. Coming here was a big fucking mistake. One that I won’t be making again. “I saw you with Dima Sokolov. He’s a very handsome man.”
Jesus, has everyone gone crazy?
“He’s something,” I say.
“You couldn’t do better than him.”
The comment comes out of left field, and I give her a questioning look.
“Dear,” she says, patting my arm. “You had to know this day would come.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mother.”
“Don’t be dense. Arranged marriages are the backbone of strong families.”
My mouth pops open in shock, and I shake my head. “No way. That’s archaic.”
My mother rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Dear, we all do things we don’t want to do for family. Look at me. Do you think I wanted to marry your father? Now, look at us…”
I want to snort a laugh at that because I know they both are barely cordial outside of the public eye. They’ve not shared a bedroom in I don’t know how many years. My father’s secretary spends more time in his bed than my mother ever has.
“Forget about it. I can find my own husband.”
