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“Areyou coming to the gala or what?” Polina’s not feeling very patient.
I look at the sleeping form of my wife on the bed beside me. Her mouth is gently parted, her hair wild and crazy in waves around her. Pink marks on her bottom and legs. She wears my marks so beautifully I’m beginning to think she’d look naked without them.
I stifle a sigh. I did tell my mother I’d be coming to the gala and bringing my new wife. My family’s eager to see her again.
It’s risky, though.
For the past two weeks, Aria and I have spent nearly every waking moment together. The shipment of computers and monitors she ordered arrived, and she gleefully spends the days typing away while I work. Our nights are filled with nothing but reveling in each other.
It can’t be like this forever, and I know it. But a part of me wonders…why not?
I don’t like sharing and never have. I also don’t want to scare Aria any more than necessary. She met my family at our wedding, but meeting them in person, full force…
Every year, my family hosts a lavish gala, a charity event with an elite guest list. It’s the highlight of Polina and my mother’s year, as they spend months planning the event. Last year’s function raised 2.4 million dollars for the local children’s hospital.
I do not want to take my wife. It’s a worthwhile event, no doubt — hosting a gala of this magnitude allows us to maintain an image of philanthropy. We can maintain our front as legitimate businesspeople while skillfully forming alliances and networking.
It’s a charitable front, but the real heart of it is a major power play.
If Volkov has the nerve to show his face…
“Mikhail, youhaveto take her. You can only hide her away in that lair of yours so long. No, no, wait. Tigers don’t live in lairs, do they?”
Oh for Christ’s sake. Mylair.“Polina…”
“Where do tigers live?”
I blow out a breath. “Tigers are solitary animals and live in lots of places. Some live in dens.”
“Your den! You can’t hide her in your den forever. That sounds awful.”
She’s not making this any easier for me.
I don’t ever go back on my word, though, and I told my mother I’d come.
“I told you I’d come to the gala. I will.”
“Alright,good.Wait. Not just you, right? You weren’t answering my texts so I was starting to get worried.”
I roll my eyes heavenward. “Not alone. And you sent me ten texts about food, seating arrangements, and wine. I don’t care about any of those things.”
“It’s important your bride likes what we give her, Mikhail! What if she hates us? What if I serve the chicken with walnut sauce and she’s allergic to walnuts? What if I make a kale salad and she despises leafy greens?”
I make a face. “Tell me you’re not serving kale salad.”
“Mikhail.”
I shrug. “She’d politely decline and eat something else from the large array of way too much food you’ll be serving us. Or she’ll decline and come home here, where I have enough food for the apocalypse. Who cares?”
“Icare. God, sometimes you’re so fuckingmale.”
I growl. My little sister has been spoiled. “And sometimes you are too forward, little sister. Watch that mouth of yours.”
“You are not my father, Mikhail.”
“Lucky for you I’m not. You wouldn’t have gotten away with half of the things you do now.”
“Tell me about it.” I can see her now, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed.
