Page 81 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

I turn to see Sofiya Rowan gliding toward us, a vision in a silver dress that makes her look like some sort of Egyptian goddess. Her platinum blond bob gleams under the lights, her ice-blue eyes fixed predatorily on Dom.

Of course she’s here. Because this night wasn’t complicated enough already.

“Sofiya,” Dom acknowledges stiffly. “I didn’t know you were on the guest list.”

She laughs. “The Donovan Foundation has supported my work for years.” Her gaze slides to me, dismissive yet calculating. “And your...wife. How delightful to see you again so soon.”

I think of our bathroom encounter at The Modern, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my wrist as she hissed that she’d be waiting when Dom threw me away‘like trash.’

“Likewise,” I lie, channeling every ounce of my professional training.

“Did she tell you?” Sofiya purrs, reaching out to straighten Dom’s already perfect bow tie. “That we met at The Modern? That we had the most fascinating chat? Girl talk.”

I notice two things simultaneously. The way Dom stiffens at her touch, and the subtle movement of our security detail closing ranks around us. Nichols materializes near my left elbow while Jake shifts position to maintain a sightline to both exits.

“Sofiya,” Dom says, his voice taking on an edge I’ve rarely heard. “Yes, mywifetold me all about your encounter.”

He places deliberate emphasis on “wife” as his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side. The gesture is both protective and possessive.

“Great!” Sofiya says with a brittle smile. “I told Tatiana how excited I was to welcome her to our little circle. However temporary her stay might be.”

I feel Dom’s muscles tense beneath my hand. Before he can respond, I jump in.

“Thank you for your concern, Sofiya.” I smile sweetly. “But I’m quite comfortable exactly where I am.”

Dom’s arm tightens around me, and when I glance up, there’s a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes before he schools his expression.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he says to Sofiya, “I see someone we need to speak with.”

He smoothly guides me away, his hand a steady pressure at the small of my back. Once we’re safely across the room, he leans down.

“She can be quite the bitch when she wants to be,” he says.

“I noticed,” I tell him. “It’s too bad she looks like she takes her fashion advice straight out of ancient Egypt.”

He’s sipping champagne at that exact moment and nearly chokes as he spits out a mouthful, laughing. “She does look like the Sphinx of Giza with that bob, doesn’t she?”

I giggle. It’s always fun to get a reminder that Dom is capable of cracking jokes. That there’s an actual human being underneath all those tailored suits and power moves. The way his eyes crinkle when he genuinely laughs is... well, pretty damn appealing.

Dangerous territory, Tatiana.

I spot Camilla approaching with a determined expression, and nod her way. “We have an audience.”

Camilla reaches us, her professional smile firmly in place. “There you are. The Aldersons want to meet Dominic’s new wife. They’re major potential investors for Serenity Shores.”

Right. Back to work. This is why we’re here, after all.

The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and carefully rehearsed stories. Dom and I move together like dancers who’ve practiced the steps... a touch here, a smile there, the occasional fond glance. It’s exhausting and exhilarating all at once.

And it almost feels...real.

Two glasses of champagne in, I’m starting to relax despite myself. Dom’s hand keeps finding the small of my back, his touch warming through the silk of my dress. Each time, I have to remind myself it’s just part of the performance.

We’re chatting with an older couple. He’s on the board of some financial institution, she’s on every charity committee in Manhattan. Then Dom says something that makes my brain short-circuit.

“Tatiana makes the most incredible osso buco,” he tells them, his voice warm with false intimacy. “Family recipe passed down from her grandmother. I’ve been begging her to make it for our anniversary.”

My mind races. Anniversary? We’ve been married less than a month. And osso buco? That’s a kind of veal, I think? I’ve never cooked it in my life.

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