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“Yeah, I guess Dad thinks it’s the right time to run, so that’ll be exciting.” I can hear how bland the statement comes across, even though I’m trying to be a good sport.
“You sound so happy,” Pyotr observes, raising his eyebrow to emphasize his sarcasm.
I release a laugh on my breath. “It’s just that being the daughter of a political figure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know? It means I endure as much scrutiny as my father does. And I don’t evenwantto be governor. That’s his shtick. Not me.”
“Well, you’re welcome to hide here as often as you like,” Silvia offers, patting my hand.
I give her a warm smile. “Thanks.”
My skin tingles with awareness as that same overwhelming presence fills the doorway again. Without meaning to, I glance in Efrem’s direction.
“Pardon, I hope I am not interrupting,” he says, his Russian accent and deep voice making goose bumps rise across my neck.
“It’s fine,” Pyotr says, waving him forward.
“The movers are done, sir. Val and I have finished checking that premise, and everything is secure.”
“Thank you, Efrem. Enjoy your evening.”
He gives Pyotr a slight bow of respect, then does the same to Silvia. His eyes find me last, and my heart skips a beat.
“Pleasure to see you again, Miss Richelieu.”
The hint of a smile that curls the corner of his mouth makes my breath catch, and I return it without thinking.
“You too,” I say quietly, ignoring the way my stomach trembles.
He turns without another word, and I can’t help but follow his muscular figure with my eyes as he departs. My body seems unable to get over his earlier proximity, the feel of his strong arms around me, and the smell of his woodsy cologne.
He affects me in ways I’m not sure I’m ready to admit. Especially since he’s Pyotr’s bodyguard and has known me since before I had breasts. He can’t possibly feel what I feel.
Then again, his lingering gaze has me questioning myself. Could Efrem possibly see me that way?
1
DANI
“I’m talking about keeping your image pristine here,” Dad repeats as he paces back and forth in front of the living room couch.
I try my best not to look at Ben. I know if I do that, he’ll make me laugh. My brother is nothing if not a troublemaker, and he’s a master at getting me punished when he starts things. But really. It’s the same lecture we’ve heard countless times before.
Only this time, I know my father will lose it if I don’t take it seriously. Governor. It’s his dream job, the one he’s had his sights set on for well over a decade. And with the election coming up, he only seems to wind himself tighter. He’s finally decided to run.
Which means my dad, my family, and I are all going to have a giant spotlight on us for the foreseeable future.Ugh.I hate politics. And Ihatespotlights. I would much rather leave that for the photos I take. Preferably in an art show. Where the only part of me that gawkers might see is my name in small print on the plaque below.
“I expect you both to attend the charity events you’ve been invited to. I want you to be conscious about who you’re hanging out with, where you’re hanging out. Danielle, that means no more interacting with shady businessmen who might or might not have ties to criminal activity.” Dad points a finger in my direction and pauses long enough to let me know he expressly means me.
Hemustbe joking. Seriously. Because we both know he’s talking about the Veles family. They’re all but synonymous with the terms “mafia” and “Russian mob” in New York.
Maybe they are. Maybe they aren’t. I’m not totally naive about the fact that Pyotr’s ownership of a massive shipping company and his connection to a number of strip clubs around the city would indicate he’s capable of white-collar crime. And the Veles name has had a dark shadow hovering over it long enough that I can’t pretend not to know.
But Silvia?No way. That girl wouldn’t hurt a fly. And I’m not abandoning her when she just moved to New York, and I finally have someone to share my love of art with. Not happening.
I can’t help it. When my eyes find Ben’s, I roll mine.
His lips press together in amusement, but he stays silent.
There was once a time when Ben would have shared that pointed remark as equally as I did. He and Pyotr were really close all through high school. But somewhere along the way, probably while Pyotr was living in Chicago, Ben stopped seeming to care as much. He’s “moved on,” as he puts it whenever I ask.
