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“Maybe he likes showing off his trophy.” There’s a hint of bitterness that I can’t keep out of my voice. “The Bratva princess that he’s managed to make his fiancée.”
“Maybe.” Lilliana looks me over again. “You look gorgeous, though.”
I smile faintly at her, reaching for the clutch I’d found that matches the dress. My lipstick and a few other small items are in it, and I pick it up just in time, as I see a black car making its way down the driveway from my vantage point.
I’d wondered if Theo would be in the car, but he’s not. A uniformed driver opens the door for me, and I slip inside to an empty backseat, sliding over cool, expensive leather as I sit there uncertainly. A flutter of nervousness goes through me—I could be being taken anywhere—but I can’t see what reason Theo would have to harm me. As far as he knows, he benefits more from having me as his wife.
There’s no actual reason to be nervous, of course. The car pulls up in front of a restaurant I recognize, a Michelin-starred steakhouse that I haven’t been to before, but know the name of. The door is opened for me again, and I step out, walking through the black and gilded doors to the hostess stand.
“I’m here to meet Mr. Theo McNeil,” I tell the girl at the stand, dressed in an impeccable black fitted dress with her hair up, speared with a filigreed hairpin, her makeup done in a way that looks almost professional.
“Of course,” she says smoothly. “Right this way.”
I’m taken to a private booth at the back of the restaurant, away from most of the general patrons, with a chandelier hanging over the dark wood table and illuminating the black leather of the seats. There’s red wine already decanted on the table, and I see Theo sitting there, dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit, sipping at it as he looks around the restaurant.
The moment he sees me, he stands, and I’m struck all over again by how surprisingly handsome he is. He doesn’t look the way I imagine a man in his early forties would look. He smiles pleasantly at me, and when his gaze drifts over me from my forehead to my toes, it still doesn’t have the lewd implications that I would expect. Rather than looking as if he’s imagining what it would be like to strip the dress off and fuck me—or fuck me in it—he looks as if he’s admiring a work of art. Like he’s standing in a gallery and saw something he fancied.
It’s a strange feeling—and not one I’ve ever experienced before. I like it more than I should—being admired rather than lusted after. It makes me soften towards him, and I try to force the feeling back, so I don’t let my guard down too soon.
Or at all, really.
“Ms. Vasilev.” He nods to the hostess and takes my hand, leading me to the booth. “I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation.”
There’s something stiff and formal about his words, and I wonder if he’s always going to be like this—if he’s going to stand on ceremony with me even after we’re married. I wonder how I feel about that. It would make it easier not to fall for him, not to slip into intimacy, that’s for sure.
“Why did you invite me?” I ask bluntly as I sit down, and he pours me a glass of wine. “All this isn’t necessary. You can do and have whatever you want—you have a signed contract, which means you get me. So why pretend?”
Theo raises an eyebrow, sitting back with his own glass of wine. “Why not?” That pleasant smile is still on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with having proper manners, Marika. In fact, I think it’s a necessity of the life we lead. It’s so often brutal and bloody, isn’t it? What’s wrong with tempering it with a bit of sophistication and elegance?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” I frown at him, taking a sip of my wine. It’s delicious—he has as good of taste in wine as he does in clothes…assuming he chose the dress, of course.
“You, for instance, are elegant.” He motions casually to me with one long-fingered hand, and I feel a small leap in my chest at the way he gestures. I’ve always found men’s hands attractive—Adrik’s are broad and heavy, making me feel even more small and delicate when he grasps me. Theo’s, though—
They look nimble, dexterous. Artist’s hands on a brutal man, although everything about his exterior seems designed to invoke an air of charm and genteel charisma. Whatever brutality he harbors, it’s beneath the surface.
I can imagine his hands touching me, and the idea sends a flutter of desire through me that I know it shouldn’t.
“You’re a well-educated Bratva princess,” Theo continues. “You should be treated with the courtesy that you deserve.”
I stare at him briefly, taking another sip of wine to hide my shock. Once again, I hear that thread of sincerity in his voice that surprises me. I don’t know what to make of it. I want to think that he’s a liar, that he’s faking all of this to draw me in, to make me believe that he’s something he’s not. But why? He already has the contract that will ensure I’m his bride. The only explanation is that he’s so full of himself that he needs my genuine affection as well—but that’s not the feeling I get from him.
He’s either an exceptional liar—which is terrifying—or he means what he’s saying. And that’s terrifying, too, because it doesn’t make sense.
“Let’s enjoy the meal.” He smiles at me. “Have you been here before?”
I shake my head, seeing a waiter coming towards us with a tray. “I took the liberty of ordering the first course,” he says, motioning towards the waiter. “I hope you like seafood.”
“I do,” I manage, watching as the waiter sets down a series of plates—foie gras on delicate crostini, bowls of what looks to be a lobster bisque, a plate of escargot. The food is all exceptional, right down to the squid ink and shrimp pasta I order, while Theo enjoys a steak.
“Why have you waited so long to get married?” I venture, in between the first course disappearing and our main course being brought to us. “I would have guessed you’d be widowed. I was surprised to find out—”
“That you’ll be my first wife?” Theo chuckles. “I know you might find this hard to believe, Marika, but marriage means something to me. If I only want pleasure and someone to warm my bed, that’s easy enough to find.”
Something about the way he says it so bluntly makes my cheeks heat up. “I’m not surprised to hear that,” I tell him coolly, realizing too late that it sounds like a compliment—and from the way he smirks, he takes it as one.
“I want companionship in a wife,” he says calmly. “Not only a bedmate or someone to bear me children, but someone whose company I enjoy. So if you’re wondering why you’re here tonight, Marika, besides simple courtesy, it’s because I want to find out if we enjoy each other’s company.”
“But why?” I look at him confusedly. “We’re already getting married. The contract can’t be broken, even if we find out we hate each other.”
