Page 29 of Under Control

She exhaled sharply, knowing it had never been real.

As Danica found her way into the reception hall, she took in the hundred or so white round wedding dinner tables but found it nearly impossible to get a good look at the crowd to see who was there. The centerpieces were tall, flush with vibrant florals and greens. And that wasn’t even getting at the other glittery décor. The entire wedding was a giant glitter bomb.

As she leaned in to read the table map, she realized that the fonts were too small, and she reached for her clutch to get her glasses. A man in a suit who looked like he worked there turned to her and asked what her name was.

“Danica Petrova,” she responded, squinting back at the table map.

“Ah, Miss Petrova. You’ll be at table six.” The man nodded, as if immediately recognizing her name, and motioned to the far side of the room by the windows. “Please, may I escort you?”

“No,” Danica shook her head quickly, stepping away. She didn’t want the princess entrance.

Discreetly finding her way around the outside of the hall, attempting to locate table six and trying not to draw attention to herself, a young man around her age, with mousy hair and a very-LA cream-colored suit, stepped in front of her and she nearly slammed into him.

“Izvini,” the young man apologized in Russian as he turned around and looked her up and down. “Ty zdes’ s nevestoy?”

“Bride’s side,” Danica replied slowly in English. She fidgeted with her clutch.

She was close—so close.

“Alexei.” The young man shot out his hand, changing to English.

Danica took it reluctantly, shaking it as she offered a polite smile back. “Dani.”

He licked his bottom lip as he grinned. “Want to get a drink? You look thirsty.” His accent was thick, almost as thick as his charm.

And before she could say anything, he was flagging down a waiter for two glasses of crisp white wine. The waiter handed both over as Alexei slipped him a large tip, slick and impressive. He clinked Danica’s glass and leaned in to ask her more about herself, laying on the charisma. Her reluctance to answer only seemed to make him all-the-more interested in cracking her.

She was in the lion’s den—and anyone could be an agent of Petrov’s organization, checking on her, testing her. She had to get out and get far away as soon as possible—and as quickly as doing so wouldn’t cause more problems.

As Alexei talked about his life in Santa Monica, Danica realized the reception hall had filled up and guests were starting to find their seats. Then she realized Carrick was standing with his back against the far wall. She didn’t notice him at first, because the man was incredible at fitting in when he wanted to be unseen. But when she did catch his tall, dark, muscular form, she noticed he was looking at her with that same frown on his face—quiet and unimpressed.

One of the ushers approached her, speaking in heavily accented English, “Miss Petrova, can I help you find your seat?”

Alexei’s face dropped, and he immediately stepped backward from her. A look of terror flashed across his face. The usher gave him a sharp scowl. It was immediately clear that the young man had had no idea as to the territory he had been stepping into.

And Danica was someone’s territory.

Danica quickly shook her head, taking the opportunity to remove herself from Alexei and the usher. With her empty wine glass, she found herself before Carrick’s intense gaze as he leaned against the wall in between the large windows overlooking the ocean.

“I didn’t see you there,” she whispered.

The cold chill from him had gone into overdrive—and she shivered just being beside him. Things had clearly grown very uncomfortable.

“Need help?” Carrick asked, watching her try to read the table numbers across the hall.

“No, thanks,” she replied quietly, bending to get something out of her clutch.

She pulled out her dark-rimmed glasses and slipped them up her nose. Finally, she saw table six in the middle of the room. She slipped the glasses off, but as she did, Carrick grabbed her hand, stilling her movements as they locked eyes.

“You wear glasses?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” She raised her eyebrow at him.

His eyes narrowed on her. “Don’t put them away.”

“Why?” She leaned back.

“Now is the time to be able to see properly,” Carrick warned. “Theyare up to something.”

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