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He pointed triumphantly at my shoes, and I looked down, the smug grin slipping off my face. A few dark drops sullied the fine leather. “Damn it. These are my favorites.”
“I’m sure you can afford a replacement,” he said, already coming down from his high and returning to normal. “No more excitement for me today. It’s back to real life at the office. See you at Sunday dinner at Ivan’s?”
His mention of real life drained the adrenaline from the unexpected fight right out of me, and I groaned. “Let’s stay and grab some drinks,” I suggested. “And there’s a game tonight we could get in on.”
He gave me a stern look. “You know I can’t be seen at one of Dmitri’sillegalpoker games, Aleks.”
Once again Yuri had neatly stepped back onto the straight and narrow road, looking as if he might expire from the mere suggestion of doing something illegal only minutes after knocking someone senseless.
“Then don’t play,” I said. “But don’t go back to the office yet, either. I could use some distraction and a drinking buddy.”
As the only one of my brothers who might have even a drop of compassion for my predicament, he noticed the anguish I’d been trying to hide right away.
“Walls closing in on you?” he asked. “It seems like just yesterday you were telling Nikolai that having an arranged marriage wasn’t such a big deal.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t make light of it. It was too close now, the weight of it palpable, like an anchor around my neck while the tide rolled in to consume me. “That was before I reconnected with Sofia Pavlov,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, I heard. But, come on, it might not be so bad having a quiet, boring life.”
I shook my head vigorously. “You haven’t heard about my most recent encounter with her.” I shuddered, recalling the lunch date with my forced fiancée. I was still recovering and the poor server probably needed therapy. “Boring, sure. She definitely doesn’t spark any of my interests. But she’s only shy and quiet around her father to keep him wrapped around her spoiled little finger. At the restaurant last week, she complained non-stop about the weather, the salad dressing, the damn sunrise of all things.”
“How does someone complain about the sunrise?”
I made a face, remembering her rant and feeling my ire all over again. Watching the sun come up is one of life’s most basic pleasures, no matter where you live, but to get to see it rise above the horizon against the glorious Atlantic ocean and still find fault with it? “It’s too orange, and it changes time every day, or something equally vapid. She droned on about all her designer shopping sprees, complained about the custom piano she ordered for a hundred grand not being up to her expectations, was obnoxious to the server—”
“Wow. So, not what you were expecting.”
I reined in my tirade, glad to be able to vent. “Not even a little bit. I guess I didn’t think it would be so bad. I mean, I’ve been living with this hanging over me since I first met her when I was, what? Fifteen, and she was just a kid? I never dreamed back then that the time would really arrive and she’d turn out to be so awful. I might have been able to learn to live with meek and boring, but this woman is going to make my life hell.”
“Crack the whip then. Like her father should have.”
I shrugged. We both knew I wasn’t like that, and besides, I didn’t care enough, sunk in my misery.
“Cheer up,” he said. “Maybe this arrangement will end like Nikolai’s.”
I snorted. “Impossible.”
No, my arranged marriage could never end as blissfully as Nikolai and Mila’s. Sofia Pavlov was the antithesis of a happily ever after.
As we headed toward the bar, we passed another of the small conference rooms. A sign advertised an art show, and I glanced in, stopping in my tracks.
The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen was hanging pictures on the walls, and I lived in Miami, a hub for top models. She reached out her bare, smooth arms, as she hung the third piece of a bright, impressionist triptych. The movement molded her sleek white dress to her lush curves and complemented her golden skin. Dark, burnished mahogany hair hung in a long ponytail down her lithe back, making my eyes follow her curves down to more bare, smooth skin of legs that wouldn’t quit. I had been so put off by Sofia’s personality that I thought I might be completely over the appeal of women for good, but this one had me springing to life. And that was just the view from behind. I ignored Yuri’s impatient noises and waited for her to turn, so I could finally be disappointed and move away from her pull.
She did, and I had to suppress a gasp. Her face was angelic, cheeks rosy against her olive skin, big dark eyes that shone with enthusiasm, and full, wet lips turned up in a slight smile as she admired the paintings. This woman’s looks didn’t scream gorgeous, like those in-your-face models. Her natural beauty beckoned and whispered, all but dragging me into the room. She was more than beautiful, she was incandescent. She glowed. No, it was stronger than a glow, it was a flash, like I’d been struck by lightning. I shook my head, surprised I was still standing and not flat on my ass.
How was I betrothed to another when this woman was so clearly meant to be mine? I pushed all thoughts of my future out of my head and turned to tell Yuri he could go to the bar without me.
“I’ve been thinking about getting some art for my office,” I said.
He rolled his eyes, his gaze skating over my woman and making me irrationally irritated at him. “Might as well get it out of your system while you can,” he said.
That was another thing about Yuri. He knew as well as I did that I didn’t want to cheat on my wife after I was married, no matter that it was expected and that Sofia would probably be going at it with the first man she saw after our honeymoon. Maybe it was foolish to be romantic in my situation, with my family life, and the expectations I’ve always faced, but I wanted a marriage based on love and passion, where both of us would rather die than stray. And that just wasn’t meant to be.
I shoved Yuri toward the bar, telling him I’d meet him later, much later. Then I pushed aside all thoughts of my bleak future and headed into the conference room to make the best of what time I had left.
Chapter 2 - Theresa
I tilted the frame a tiny bit and leaned back to assess the placement of my triptych. The three oil renderings of blue flowers against a watery green and yellow background weren't exactly Monet’s water lilies, but I couldn’t hold back a smile anyway. I was a good painter, despite my mother thinking actually making original art was a waste of time. Selling it was a different matter. That was our main bread and butter, and she was more than happy to keep me working for her needs. I hoped this little show I was secretly putting on while I was down here in Miami on family business would prove I could sell my own works as easily as I could sell a stolen masterpiece.
