CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 62
As Maxim and I step into the grand foyer of the theater, a hush falls over the crowd. All heads snap towards us as we make our way through the mass of people, nods are exchanged, camera flashes flickering at the edge of my vision. I try to smile at those who approach us, but I can feel my hands shaking, betraying my nerves.
Maxim gives my hand a reassuring squeeze as we continue our path through the sea of faces.
“Are you alright?” he murmurs in my ear.
“I’m fine,” I say because I don’t want him to worry.
Maybe he thinks I’m still digesting what he shared about losing his son and exiling his ex-wife. That was a lot to take in. But there’s more to my silence—the realization that I might be carrying his child. One that he doesn’t want, and for good reason.
“Let me get you a drink,” he offers with a frown. “You look a little pale.”
‘Seltzer water, please.’
Before Maxim can turn away, he nods at someone behind me. Seconds later, Liza slides up next to me, wrapping me in a welcoming embrace, her jasmine scent floating between us. A scent I usually find lovely. But right now, it makes me feel like hurling.
“Keep an eye on Kira,” Maxim instructs her. “I’m going to get her something to drink.”
Liza turns to me, confused. “Water? We have something much stronger, you know.” She lifts her drink to offer proof. “The bartenders are making this amazing espresso martini with vo—” Something about my expression stops her mid-sentence. “What’s going on?” she asks, pulling me into a quiet corner of the cavernous room.
‘I’m okay,’ I whisper, ‘but I need you to do something for me. Can you get me a pregnancy test and bring it over to the house tomorrow?’
Even though the war with the Black Company has gone quiet, I can’t head out on my own to the pharmacy. There are guards with me at all times. I know it’s asking Liza a lot, but until she’s actually married to Anatoly, she has more freedom than I do.
“Oh my God, of course. Do you think you’re…” She looks at me intently, her gaze searching mine.
“I think I might be.”
Her eyes widen. “Does Maxim know?”
I shake my head, wringing my hands in front of me. “I want to be sure before I tell him. He may not be happy about it.”
“I doubt that. You should see how he looks at you. Like the Earth orbits around you.”
“He doesn’t want another child.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I bite my lip.
Shit. I don’t think anyone knows about Ilya. Maxim must have kept him a secret from the world to protect his son’s life. In the end, his enemies got to him anyway.
“You mean other than Alyona?” Liza looks at me curiously.
“Exactly.”
Liza’s eyes soften. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“You are the best,” I say and mean it.
She gives me a quick hug. “I’m happy to help you. Now, plaster a smile on your face because Maxim is storming over here, and he looks like a charging bull.”
I square my shoulders and pull myself together in time to offer Maxim a warm smile when he approaches me with a glass of seltzer and a worried expression.
“Thank you,” I say and take a big gulp. “I was overwhelmed with all the attention on us, but I’m feeling much better.”
“Are you sure? If you want to go home, we can leave.”
“No, no,” I insist. “You go work the room. I know you have associates here that you need to speak with. Go wheel and deal, and I’ll make the social rounds later on with Liza.”
He brushes a piece of hair from my forehead and drops a sweet kiss. “As long as you’re sure. If things change, come and find me.”
“I will,” I promise him. “I’ll find you.”
MAXIM
I’ve spent the last ten minutes cornered by Mr. and Mrs. Petrovich while they drone on about my generous donation to their fundraising cause. Apparently, I donated a quarter-million dollars to help build a state-of-the-art luxury shelter for Moscow’s stray dogs—something I will be having a word with Nadya about since she handles my philanthropic donations. I’m all for animal shelters, but I doubt mutts need a sauna or a silver-plated water bowl.
“There you are.” Roman mercifully appears beside me. “Mayor Rashnikov would like a word.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to the Petroviches, thrilled for any excuse not to hear about sheepskin-lined daybeds for dogs.
As soon as we’re out of ear shot, I turn to Roman. “Are you serious about that mudak wanting a word?”
Roman chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. “Fuck no. As soon as he took one look at you, he high-tailed it the other way. He’s probably hiding in the bathroom or something. I was liberating you from a conversation you clearly weren’t enjoying.”
“A state-of-the-art dog shelter,” I grumble. “I worry about the future of humanity sometimes.”
“Yeah, you and me both,” Roman snickers, but his voice barely registers above the hum of the gala’s chatter.
I scan the room for Kira for what feels like the hundredth time. Something is off with her tonight. I can feel it. Through a sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, I spot her laughing with Liza.
A wave of relief washes over me. She looks more like herself—color has returned to her cheeks and her eyes are bright, but there is something about the way her expression falls when she thinks no one is looking. Something changed after I told her about Irina and Ilya. She was fine until that point, but in the car on the way over here she barely said two words to me.
Fuck, who could blame her? I’m a walking red flag. Burned and broken. Kira’s got her entire life ahead of her. Even if I keep her, one day she’ll wake up and want a man who’s whole. Who doesn’t bear the weight of past scars.