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Kira shrugs, her gaze drifting off. "Life, I guess. Responsibilities. Family stuff.”
I can read between the lines. Her asshole of a father was becoming more unstable, and she had to step up to take the reins.
“Do you miss it?"
"Not as much as you’d think. The instructors were always telling me to lose ten pounds, and it pissed me off." She exhales softly. “To be honest, what I liked most about it was that my aunt loved to watch me dance.” She looks over at me as if gauging my reaction. “Masha loved the arts—any form, really. Dancing, singing, theater, visual arts. She always came to my final recitals with two dozen red roses and a bottle of champagne. Not sure the nuns at my school appreciated the champagne as much as I did.”
“Masha was one of a kind,” I say, stretching my legs under the table. “You’re a lot like your aunt.”
Kira’s brows pull together, and she looks at me like she’s weighing everything I’ve said.
“How well did you know her?” Kira’s voice sounds accusatory.
Does she think I had a thing with her aunt? She was a beautiful woman, but it was never like that. “I didn’t know her that well, only in passing.”
“Did you know my father?—”
Before she can finish the thought, the grating voice of Mayor Rashnikov assaults my ears, ruining the moment.
“Maxim, never thought I’d see you here, but it’s a pleasure nonetheless.”
By here, he means a hot new restaurant that attracts the glitterati. He’s right—despite it being a good investment, it’s definitely not my scene, mostly because douchebags like him are regular guests.
I turn, barely concealing my irritation with a nod. "Funny. I'm not surprised to find you here." I take a sip of my wine. "Where's Zoya?"
He pulls a face. "At home, where wives should be," he says dismissively.
Kira's expression sours.
Pyotr's attention shifts to her, his eyes bright with unwelcome eagerness. "And who might this be?"
"My wife," I say, letting the word hang for a moment for my own satisfaction, then add, “Kira, may I introduce you to Mayor Pyotr Rashnikov?”
Kira, keeping her poise, offers a restrained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she extends her hand and murmurs, “Nice to meet you.”
Pyotr, seizing the opportunity, grasps her hand and leans down to kiss the back of it.
She stiffens noticeably, and it takes all my control to not to stab him with the steak knife beside my plate.
"Ah, yes, the young beauty everyone in the city is talking about. I regret missing your wedding; I was away on business," Rashnikov claims, though his kind of business likely involves gambling and whoring. "I’m hosting a dinner at my house soon. You and Kira must come.” A smarmy grin spreads across his face as his eyes drag over Kira.
As much as I loathe the mayor, interacting with him is an unavoidable part of doing business in this city, be it above or below the law.
“We'll see if our schedule allows it.” I give him a terse get-out-of-here nod.
“Excellent! I'll have my secretary send over the details to Nadya.”
“Perfect,” I deadpan.
Pyotr shifts his attention back to Kira. “I must have been living under a rock to miss that Maxim snagged a young gem like you. I look forward to getting better acquainted with you, Kira.”
My hand wraps around the knife and before I’m conscious of it, I’m standing, about to plunge the blade into his carotid artery because how dare he fucking look and talk aboutmy wifethat way.
“Maxim,” Kira hisses, her sharp tone snapping me back to reality.
Seizing the moment, the mayor quickly excuses himself, disappearing into the crowd.
Once he’s out of sight, Kira hits me with a questioning look. “What was that?”
