Chapter 33 NOT A BAD IDEA
••Luciana••
“Are you always going to be late?”
Roman’s voice sliced through the hallway with a sharpness that dripped with impatience. I could hear his footsteps drawing near the door.
“This isn’t just another dinner,” he pressed on. “It’s crucial for a deal that I absolutely can’t afford to miss. So come out now, or I’ll come in there and get you myself.”
“I’m ready,” I called back, tossing my lipstick, wipes, and phone into my purse. If he’s okay with his wife looking casual, I at least want to feel good about how I present myself.
A few moments later, I stepped out, brushing past him without a second glance. We slid into the car, and I took a moment to adjust the side mirror, giving my hair one last check.
“Don’t forget your seatbelt,” his deep voice noted.
I shot him a glance. He watched me as if he was already tired of the night. Ignoring him, I turned my attention to adjusting my earrings.
As we drove, I inquired about our destination and the reason we aren't going with any security guards. He simply replied that it was a dinner invitation from his Arab business partner who was around town.
"Just because there aren't any security personnel following us right now doesn’t mean they’re not with us in some capacity," he stated.
"Oh, I see," I replied, nodding in agreement.
“Mustapha is simply extending an invitation to evaluate me before finalizing our business agreement. I'm certain he’ll be observing my actions, which is why I can’t visibly bring security along. It might make him question my trustworthiness,” he clarified.
"I understand," I said.
When we arrived, I realized immediately that it wasn’t just the two of us. The place was elegant, quiet, and already occupied by a few other couples
Roman leaned in closer. "Stay by my side."
Before I could reply, a man and a woman approached us. The man wore a confident smile that lacked warmth in his eyes, while his wife stood beside him, elegant and poised. I presumed he was the Arab businessman, with his wife by his side.
“Roman Orlov,” the man greeted amiably. “I’m Mustapha, and this is my wife.”
"Thank you for the invitation, Mustapha. This is my wife, Luciana," Roman introduced.
Mustapha and his wife welcomed me warmly, and we proceeded to the large dining table.
Everything felt meticulously orchestrated.
\---
••Roman••
This dinner was not hospitality. It was inspection.
Mustapha was watching me closely, weighing every word, every reaction. He spoke smoothly, too smoothly. A man who smiled while counting your weaknesses.
We talked business first. Ports, routes, and partnerships. He asked questions that danced around answers, testing how much I would give away.
Very cunning.
During the dinner. Luciana stayed beside me, dining quietly but observant. Then suddenly she coughed hard.
Her hand flew to her throat.
I was on my feet instantly, pulling her chair back, patting her back until she caught her breath. I poured water, held the glass steady as she drank.
“You okay?” I asked lowly.
She nodded, still flustered.
Around the table, all eyes were on us, and some expressed their concerns to her.
After dinner, I told Luciana to wait for me by the car and went to where Mustapha was standing, thanked him and informed him we were leaving. That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
He walked with me toward the exit.
“Your wife,” he said casually. “She’s a beautiful woman.”
I inclined my head politely.
“I’ve heard how your marriage came to be,” he continued. “Political unions are practical.”
I said nothing.
He let out a laugh. “Nonetheless, a man of your stature could use a break. You need some balance.” His right hand settled on my shoulder, and I shot him a look, desperately stifling my revulsion. Who does he think he is, placing his hand on me like his own child?
“My clubhouses are filled with women who knows how to ease stress,” he carried on, oblivious to my escalating irritation.
I clenched my fists behind my back; one more comment from him and I might just lose it. I needed to escape his presence, especially since Father had stressed the significance of sealing this deal.
I forced a slight smirk. “Not a bad idea,” I replied, hoping he would take the hint and let me go.
\---
••Luciana••
Later, I sought out Roman and spotted him chatting with Mustapha. I approached, only to pause when I caught snippets of their conversation.
“…my clubhouses are filled with women who know how to ease tress.”
“Not a bad idea,” Roman responded.
A cold sensation washed over me.
So this was the reality.
I had always been reduced to mere convenience—a name and a resource for him. I turned away quietly, my chest tight, my thoughts loud.
The night suddenly felt very cold.