Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
“This is my wife, Alessia Trevethick. Alessia, our host, Dimitri Egonov.”
He takes her hand and brings it to his lips, his dark eyes searing hers. “The rumors are true,” he murmurs. “My dear Lady Trevethick, you are exquisite.”
“Mr. Egonov.” Alessia smiles, but even I notice that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You’ll need to be careful of this one,” Egonov warns me. “She’s a rare diamond.”
“She is,” I agree, wanting him to drop her hand.
Get your hands off my wife.
I’ve never felt as territorial as I do now.
“Please enjoy my hospitality. There’s all manner of entertainments to delight here. Maybe next time you’ll DJ for me.”
Never.
“I think my DJ days are over, Dimitri.” My smile is polite, but I want him to release my wife. Finally, he does and turns to Caroline.
“Lady Trevethick, how lovely you look this evening.”
“Dimitri, darling.” She air kisses him on each cheek, but he pulls her into a tight hug.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” he says, holding her close.
Caro turns a panicked look toward me, but it’s Alessia who takes her hand.
“Caro, please show me around,” Alessia asks sweetly.
“Thank you, Dimitri,” Caro purrs, and with a dazzling, knowing smile, he releases her and moves on.
Fuck.
“Are you okay?” I ask Caro, whose hand is still clasped in Alessia’s.
“Yes. He is… extra.”
“He is. Let’s go grab a drink.”
* * *
Alessia is dazzled by the spectacle of the event laid out before her. The courtyard is covered by a black silk canopy festooned with tiny, twinkling fairy lights. In the center, on a black plinth, there’s an ice sculpture of tall carved flames that branch in all directions. It’s lit with red and orange flickering lights, so the flames look real. Three bartenders stand before it, serving shots from the vodka that’s pouring through its icy flames.
How does that work?
“Vodka luge,” mutters Maxim. “Let’s avoid that and find some champagne.”
“I’ll have another shot,” says Caro, and leaving them, she saunters up to the bar and greets a tall young woman standing there. Maxim turns abruptly away from them as if he’s avoiding the other woman, grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and passes a flute to Alessia.
“Let’s move over there, and we can hold court and people-watch,” he says.
The area is crowded with men and women all dressed in their finery. Alessia recognizes a few movie actors, celebrities, and a couple of British politicians that she remembers from the free newspaper she read on the train to and from Brentford. On the fringes of the throng, several conspicuous, burly men in dark suits, wearing earpieces, watch over everyone.
Security? For what? Alessia doesn’t know.
Various people accost Maxim to offer their condolences at his brother’s passing and to meet Alessia. She shakes hand after hand, aware that a few beautiful women she meets are eyeing her with ill-concealed envy. She wonders if they know Maxim intimately.
Alessia, don’t go there.
She tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.
A photographer asks for a picture, and Maxim pulls her closer. “Smile,” he whispers. “This will be all over the tabloids tomorrow, and I want the world to see that you’re mine.”
Alessia beams at him, her doubts erased, and the photographer snaps a few shots, thanks them, and moves on.
“Trevelyan!” There’s a shout, and Tom, in black tie, strides toward them, dragging Henrietta behind him through the crowd. “Dear Alessia, you look stunning. Maxim, my goodness, what an extraordinary turnout. Of course, everyone here wants to meet your new bride!”
Henrietta lights up when she sees Alessia. “You look lovely,” she gushes.
Alessia beams back. “Thank you, so do you!”
Maxim and Tom begin an intense discussion. Alessia picks up the words prying journalists, security, and kompromat—whatever that might be.
“I’ve never been here before. Shall we go and explore?” Henry’s brown eyes sparkle with curious delight and a little mischief.
“Okay,” Alessia replies, inspired by Henry’s infectious enthusiasm and of course, Alessia is curious too. She’s never been to a mansion owned by a Russian oligarch.
“Where are you going?” Maxim asks as soon as they move away.
“Exploring.” Henry smiles, and Maxim casts bright eyes that widen with concern at Alessia.
“Be careful,” he murmurs, and Alessia knows he disapproves, but he’s not going to stop her.
“We will,” she says with a sweet smile. He nods in response, and Henrietta takes two glasses of champagne from another passing waiter, and they walk through the affluent crowd and into the house.
The residence is impressive, decorated in beige and browns and creams with touches of gold everywhere. It’s opulent; the furnishings are in satin and silk. Abstract and figurative art hangs on every wall. It’s stylish but a little sterile for Alessia’s taste. Guests mingle, talking, laughing, and drinking in each room. In the first—a sitting room—a couple of close-up magicians entertain the milling folk. One produces a gold coin from behind Henry’s ear. What’s more, to her utter delight, he lets her keep it.