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“Oh?” she asks. “That’s usually something I discuss with the bride since itismore of a concern for her.” Her eyes turn toward Eden again, a glint of curiosity flashing in them. “I want to see what she has to say about the situation.”
I square my shoulders and almost glare but stop myself just in time. “That won’t be necessary,” I reply firmly.
“But it is.” She flattens her lips. “Especially in light of what has happened to your other events.” Nina stares at me shrewdly, undeterred by my stern gaze as she starts walking toward Eden.
“Have you forgotten who and what you are?” I grab hold of Nina’s shoulder to keep her in place. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten who and what I am?”
Nina glances at my hand wrinkling her silk suit, turns around, and looks over at Eden, who is watching us with an unreadable expression. Eden’s lips part as if I’ve morphed into a hideous monster. But I ignore her for now as I keep Nina rooted in place before me.
“I am aware.” With her other hand, Nina gently lifts my index finger off her shoulder, and I take my hand away. “You are not my first client. But you are the first who refuses to allow me to speak to his fiancée. Andthatis very interesting to me.”
“My fiancée wants her privacy respected,” I warn her. “Iwant her privacy respected.Ponimayesh?”
“I understand.” Nina smooths her jacket flat. “But I need you to trust that you can confide in me. In fact, I would prefer it. You’ll find that I like surprises even less than you.” She stares at me. “I am a professional, Nikolai Gennadyevich. Just like you.”
“So it would seem.” I lean back. “The truth is, this is as political of a marriage as it can get. And for those reasons, I want a unique shower,” I whisper. “One with sufficient privacy that only a select few will need to make an appearance. But with enough clout that it will pass along the grapevine to everyone who needs to know—friends and enemies alike.”
“Ah.” Nina’s deep brown eyes shine, pleased that she has a kernel of truth. “I have handled these situations before. I suggest the private household of one of the Bratva elders. Popov, Sorokin, Barinov. You know the rest. Only the right people will attend. The people you want to know about the wedding will eventually hear about it, but there will be nothing they can do.”
I nod. “Good.”
She smiles graciously as she tucks the sample invitations back into her leather binder. “One last thing. I will need to know your bride’s name. And Iwillneed to greet her, just so that she knows who I am. With your permission, of course, Nikolai Gennadyevich.”
“Fine.” I nod. “It’s Eden Clark.”
Nina’s hand stills for a moment. I know what she’s thinking. Clark is not a name one associates with the Bratva. It’s obviously a fake one, but it’s the only one I have.
Eden’s past is linked to her hometown, Holtsville, and nothing else.
Without another word, Nina gets up and approaches an apprehensive Eden.
Eden’s anxious gaze quickly moves over Nina. Unsure of what is expected, she takes a step forward as she holds her hands behind her back. Her posture makes her look like a colt in a corral. Even though her fashion choices—ankle socks with strappy sandals in the summer—leave much to be desired, I can’t stop staring at her.
Nina boldly offers her hand, and they shake. “Congratulations, Ms. Clark. I’m Nina Orlov, the wedding planner. If you need my help with anything, your fiancé knows how to reach me.” Nina smiles widely and sighs. “You will be a beautiful bride.”
Eden’s smile falters for a second, and the tension in the room seems to gain strength, holding us in place. She glances over at me, and I nod my head ever so slightly.
“Thank you, Nina,” she replies.
Nina pulls her hand away, and nothing else is said until she’s out the door.
29
NIKOLAI
I look over at Eden,and she wanders off into the gallery as soon as Nina leaves us. Her gaze moves from one piece to another, but she stops in front of the Kuzma Fedorov again, her eyes narrowing as she studies it intently.
I approach her and stand by the painting. Like it or not, she has to start speaking to me again.
She stares at me, maybe surprised I’m still silent, but then a tiny smile tugs at her lush lips. Like she knows a secret that I don’t.
“Did you know,” she starts, tilting her head, “that this painting is upside down?”
“Is it now?” I scoff, impressed with her bold claim. Standing beside her, I look at the painting with her. “Why do you say that?”
I expect a scowl, but Eden smiles beautifully, lighting her face up with joy. Her voice assumes a confident tone instantly, and Eden stands a little taller as she points toward the canvas.
“Do you see this line here?” she asks. “See how it curves? And then these two small dots below it? And the long line with two curlicues. Do you see it?”
