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“Sit down, Charlotte. You’re drunk. And haven’t you heard, I’m married.” Shocked at Charlotte’s behavior, I guide her to sit in a vacant armchair, so she’ll have less chance of falling flat on her face. She peers up at me, her expression scornful.
“I hear you married your daily.”
“I married the woman I love.”
She snorts. “Is she up the duff? How very eighteenth century of you, Maxim.”
“Fuck off, Charlotte,” I mutter and turn to go.
She grabs my hand. “I can’t believe you’re finally married,” she says.
“Believe it.” I raise my left hand, fingers spread so she can see my wedding ring. She’s never behaved like this. I wonder if she’s here alone or with her boyfriend. I look around but can’t see anyone paying attention to her. “Are you here on your own?”
“With a friend.”
“Where are they?”
She waves toward the crowd in the courtyard. “Caroline said…”
“What?” My scalp crawls. “What did Caroline say?”
Charlotte shakes her head. “That you’ll fuck any woman with a pulse.”
Fucking Caro.
“Even me. He’s dumped me,” she wails.
“Charlotte, show some bloody dignity. Plenty more fish and all that bollocks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find my wife.” I leave her, feeling a little tarnished after our encounter. Glancing up at the mezzanine, I can see Henry looking at one of the bookcases. Alarm skitters down my spine.
Where’s Alessia?
And where’s Grisha?
I work my way through the crowd, ignoring the curious looks and the odd offer of condolences and congratulations, and vault up the spiral staircase.
“Henry! Where’s Alessia?” I snap.
“Maxim. Hi. She disappeared with Grisha through this bookcase.”
What? Why?
I start feeling around the bookcase and find the hidden button. I press it, and the bookcase swings open.
“I was looking for that!” Henry exclaims.
“Come on. Let’s find her.”
The passageway is lit by a couple of inset LEDs, and it ends in a door that opens onto a spacious open-air terrace above the drawing room. A couple in a dark corner among the lush pot plants are having sex against the wall. I catch a glimpse of blond hair, and I’m relieved it’s not my wife. But I’m distracted by a shift in the light. A curtain closes in a room across from the terrace.
Has Grisha taken my wife in there?
Suddenly furious, I bolt through the terrace door, turn right, and burst through the bedroom door. Three men in various states of undress and arousal turn to face me in all their glory. A fourth is snorting a line of coke.
Shit.
“I’m so sorry.” I back up immediately, almost knocking over Henry, who’s hot on my heels. “Don’t go in there. It’s Ganymede central.”
There’s a muffled cry from inside the room. “I thought you’d locked the bloody door!”
“Dimitri’s parties never disappoint,” Henry says breathlessly.
“I think one of them was a cabinet minister. Come on. Alessia must have gone downstairs.”
* * *
Grisha leads Alessia into the kitchen, where he barks at one of the staff in what Alessia assumes is Russian. The young woman scurries off to fetch a glass of water and returns to Grisha moments later. “Here you go.” He hands Alessia the cut crystal tumbler, and she gratefully takes a long draft.
Perhaps Grisha is not so bad.
“Do you want to come down to the basement and let off some steam?” he asks, a gleam in his eye.
“No. I’d like to go home now,” Alessia responds, still wary.
“I’ll summon my driver.” He takes out his mobile and makes a call. “Where to?”
Alessia gives him the address on Chelsea Embankment, and he snaps the orders in the same foreign language into his phone, then hangs up. “My driver will be outside in a moment. You can leave out the back, the way we do, and avoid the cameras out front.” From his pocket, he fishes out a card. “Call me. When you’re home.”
“Why are you being so kind?” Alessia responds.
Grisha cracks a smile. “It would be very ungallant of me not to help such a talented and beautiful woman.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, but she can’t believe her luck… in fact, she can’t believe her luck, and a frisson of fear sends shivers up her spine.
Perhaps she’s been too hasty.
Maxim will be furious.
She lifts her chin.
Well, she is furious. How dare he bring her to this opulent event to “announce” their marriage and then kiss someone else?
“The car’s here. Let me see you out,” Grisha says and offers her his arm.
* * *
I cannot find my wife. I’ve been in the basement, where the fun is heating up. Several people are naked in the swimming pool, and writhing bodies cover the floor of the softly lit studio. A woman flings herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck, cocaine dust on her upper lip. And I gently set her aside. “I’m looking for my wife,” I growl. A quick scan of the bacchanalian horde in the studio tells me that Alessia’s not a participant.
