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“Women of… high society,” she says reluctantly.
“Talk to them like you’d talk to anyone else. Just be yourself.”
“‘Be myself’?” she repeats, gawking at me. “Misha, I am the daughter of an alcoholic and an addict. I grew up in a one-room trailer with rats in the air vents. It took me five years to graduate community college, and I barely even managed that. I’m not sure ‘being myself’ will impress them.”
Her shaky words make me realize how little I know about her past. I know the broad strokes, but I’m missing all the nuances that fill out the picture.
I have to admit, it’s been somewhat intentional on my part. Getting to know my wife hasn’t been at the top of my to-do list for many reasons.
It might make her start to feel real to me.
But now, I find myself on the cusp of a million different questions, buoyed by curiosity.
“I’ll be right there with you,” I hear myself say. “If things are going poorly, I’ll turn it around. It will be fine.”
It’s like those words thaw her out. She nods, her eyes fixed on me like I’m her last lifeline. “What should I wear?”
I make her sit down on the white couch in the center of the walk-in. I pull out a white silk dress with thin straps and a delicate beaded border at the hemline. “This one.”
She stands automatically, and I find myself reaching for the tie of her robe. The material slips off her shoulders, revealing her matching black bra and panties.
She’s nervous enough without me throwing her back down on the couch and having my way with her. But fuck, I want to.
Instead, I help her get dressed.
While she touches up her makeup, I get changed myself. We move around each other easily. Like we’re practiced at this whole “marriage” thing. It feels surprisingly natural. Hopefully, we can continue this ease throughout the dinner.
My family knows me well enough that I’m not worried about making an impression. But I want them to see Paige and me together and be forced to acknowledge what a pair we make. I want them to approve of her—both for her sake and mine.
We’re heading down the stairs when the doorbell rings. Paige turns to me instantly, white as a ghost. “I’m not ready. Your sister is—”
“My sister is protective,” I tell her. “But fair. You’ve proven yourself in every way that matters. I saw it firsthand when you walked into that boardroom and earned the respect of seasoned businessmen who were more than ready to write you off.”
Her expression softens.
I lower my chin, looking deep into her eyes. “You can hold your own against anyone, Paige Orlov.”
She nods. “That’s sweet. But let’s say you’re wrong—”
“I’m never wrong.”
She snorts softly. “But just in case… stay with me?”
I see the hope spark in her eyes and I feel something wrench inside me. Something tough and brittle. Something I thought would break long before it bent.
“Of course,” I promise her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
58
PAIGE
Agnessa Orlov is not what I expected.
For starters, she looks nothing like either one of her children. She has snowy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Rather than the angular, evil ice queen I was sure she’d be, she has the nurturing warmth of a fairy godmother. It’s impossible to imagine how someone as cold and prickly as Misha could have come from her.
“Misha!” she says, pulling her son into an affectionate hug. Then she leans away, pressing both hands to either side of Misha’s face and, to my complete and total surprise, slaps him lightly on the cheek. “Why did I have to hear about your marriage from your sister?”
A surprised laugh bursts from my lips before I can rein it in. Everyone turns to me in unison. I blush and cringe under the onslaught of attention, but I force myself to smile at Agnessa. “He deserved that.”
