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Drago throws a sideways look at me, then returns his attention to the road. “I don’t talk while I drive.”
Raising my eyebrows, I mouth, “Oookay.” I type a message to Asya, asking if she and Pasha got to the airport. I still can’t believe she actually came. It’s not as if it was a real wedding. It felt more like going to a bank to open an account. The rings were a nice touch, though. Drago’s is a thick gold band and mine has a huge pale-yellow diamond. It goes quite nicely with my jacket and reflects the light beautifully. I lift my hand and snap a picture to upload to my Insta later.
We make a right turn, and I look up from the phone to see a narrow road leading to an entrance set into a high fence. The gate slides to the side, and we continue along the tree-lined driveway toward the beautifully landscaped island with a marble fountain in the middle. At the end of the lane, stands a massive four-story mansion. The light-beige brick and brown woodwork of its façade glow in the late afternoon sun. The house is so big, it looks more like a hotel than a residential home. I count the windows on the upper floor. Ten are facing the front. Just how many rooms are there? Greenery and trees surround the palatial citadel, making it look like a setting of a fairytale.
“We’re here.” Drago exits the vehicle and walks around the back to open my car door.
I step out, still gaping at the beautiful house, just as the front door flies open and an apron-clad woman in her late sixties rushes outside. She marches toward us, yelling something in Serbian so fast that I can’t grasp the meaning, only catching random words.
“. . . dinner . . . Filip just told me . . . married . . . no cake . . . kill you . . .”
Stopping in front of Drago, she pokes her finger into his chest. “Sram te bilo.”
I’m still processing the fact that my husband allows a woman, who seems to be part of the staff, to yell at him and tell him he should be ashamed when she turns to me and grabs me in a tight hug. Three loud smacks explode in my ears as she kisses my cheeks in quick succession—right, left, then right once again.
“Drago didn’t tell me he was bringing you today. I thought he went to a business meeting! Let me look at you.” She leans away and takes my face between her palms. “Oh, you are so pretty and . . .” Her eyes move down over my outfit. “Why are you wearing a chicken costume, sweetie?”
The look of confusion on her face while she’s staring at my jacket is so hilarious, I burst out laughing. When I catch my breath, I say, “I’m Sienna.”
“I know, sweetie. Drago was so nice to inform me he was getting married.” She looks up at my husband, who’s been watching the whole exchange in silence, annoyance written all over her face. “But he must have forgotten to tell me that it would betoday.”
“Sienna.” Drago places his hand on my lower back, and an excited shiver passes through my body from the light touch. “This is Zivka, my late father’s ex-wife, who should have introduced herself first.”
“Just call me Keva,” she says. “Let’s eat. Everyone has been waiting for you in the dining room for almost half an hour.”
I furrow my brows. Keva? Drago just called her Zivka, so is Keva a nickname?
As we follow Zivka into the house, I try to think of a reason why Drago would have his father’s ex at his home, but I lose my concentration as his hand slips under my jacket. My pants have a low waistline and my blouse has ridden up, so his fingers are touching the bare skin at the small of my back, igniting a small shiver of pleasure that shoots up along my spine. I steal a look at him to find him typing something on his phone with his free hand, seemingly oblivious to what his touch is doing to me.
We step inside the house where a man in jeans and a plain black T-shirt, and wearing a shoulder holster carrying two guns, greets us. Drago’s hand slips away from my back, the tips of his fingers brushing my exposed flesh in the process. It’s just a light stroke, there one moment and gone the next, but it still feels like I’m on fire where his caress slid across my skin.
The man with the holster nods at Drago and takes his jacket, then moves to help me take off mine. My husband’s hand wraps around the guy’s wrist before he has a chance to reach for my faux fur.
“No touching my wife,” Drago says in Serbian. His tone is calm, but the hold he has on the man’s wrist tightens. “Make sure everyone in the house knows that.”
The guy freezes and blinks nervously.
When Drago turns toward me and helps me take off my yellow jacket, I pretend to be confused, expecting him to explain what just happened. He doesn’t, just passes my coat to the man, who’s now pointedly looking at the floor. Drago places his hand on the small of my back again and ushers me across the foyer.
We walk toward the double wooden doors, which seem to contain cheerful and boisterous chatter behind their solid frame. As we approach, the voices become a cacophony, dozens of people in a battle for who can hold the loudest conversation. The moment we step through the doorway, all noise ceases, and silence descends over the huge dining room like a blanket. I stop midstep and gape at the long table which has at least forty people sitting around it. Most are men, casually dressed—more or less—but all of them wearing a shoulder holster with one or two guns. And every single person is staring at me.
“This is Sienna,” Drago says and guides me toward three empty chairs at the head of the table. He stops and pulls out one to the right of the host’s—the place of honor. Before I can take a seat, the sound of several dozen chairs scrapping the floor fills the room as everyone around the table stands up.
“Um . . . what’s going on?” I mumble and look at Drago sideways.
“Sit.”
I lower myself onto the chair. Drago takes a seat at the head of the table, and everyone else sits back down.
I turn to face my husband and whisper, “Is there a hidden camera?”
Drago’s gaze moves from my mouth to my eyes, and the corner of his lips lifts. “No.”
The door on the other end of the room bursts open, and Zivka, followed by four women and two men, walks in. They bring in enormous platters of food and set them on the dining table, then return to, what I assume, is the kitchen. Moments later, they come back with salads and bread. When they’re finished, Zivka sits at Drago’s left and the other serving staff take the remaining empty chairs around the table. Everybody looks at Drago, waiting. He nods. The chatter resumes as people start spooning food from the big serving dishes onto their plates. I blink at the strange scene several times, then shrug and grab the salad bowl nearest to me.
Laughter and loud conversations ring all around as I covertly observe my young wife. Other than Keva, I didn’t introduce her to any of my people, and I did that on purpose so I could see her reaction. I expected her to be uncomfortable. Intimidated, even. It seems I may need to alter my assumptions because, since the meal started, she’s been happily babbling nonstop with Jelena, Jovan’s wife. From what I managed to catch, they are discussing a book.
High-pitched sounds are the hardest for me to hear. Sienna has a moderately high voice, so it’s difficult for me to grasp her meaning when she talks, even if there are no competing auditory distractions. I can hear her speaking, but I miss too many words. With so many people in one room talking at the same time, the background noise makes hearing her impossible. And since she’s turned toward Jelena, I can’t even read her lips.
