Page 33 of The Bratva's Innocent Sold Bride
“If you really don’t want to go, I can give some excuse that you suddenly didn’t feel well.” Taking out my phone, I pretended to tap out a message. “I’m sure Masha would jump at the chance to go.”
It was a good thing she hadn’t been able to get to know my cousin very well yet, because she would have known that Masha would have rather taken a knife to the kidneys than put on a long gown and have to act civilized for several hours. She’d be much happier staking out the joint in the car.
As I suspected, CJ bristled. “So, you just used me for the invitation, and now you’re casting me aside.”
I pulled her close again, ignoring her ramrod spine. “Can’t I want a night out with my wife?” Tipping her chin so she had to look at me, I searched her stormy eyes. “Can you believe that much at least?”
Yes, there were other reasons, but I wanted to go with her, show her off, see her enjoy herself. She must have finally believed me because she relaxed, and the furious tempest brewing in her eyes faded. In a moment, she was grabbing up the garment bag and the bag with her shoes and new jewels to match the dress.
“Pray for a miracle,” she said. “There’s hardly time left to get ready.”
She wore jeans and a t-shirt, covered in dog hair, not a stitch of makeup on, and her hair was in its regular ponytail, sliding down her back in a pin-straight waterfall I longed to run my fingers through. “You could go like you are now and still be the prettiest woman there.”
The scowl returned, and she shook her head. “And here I was starting to believe you.”
Before I could definitively tell her I was telling the truth about that statement, she hurried from the room. Well, we were both getting what we wanted, but the atmosphere wasn’t the same as when we were shoulder to shoulder, poring over mytablet. For a glorious half hour or so, we had been a team, and I liked it. Liked it so much that it might be clouding my judgment.
There was no time to worry about it, because I had my own miracle to work. Infiltrate this part of California, I meant to make my own, and find the man who’d been making my life hell since I arrived here.
And get CJ to smile again, and mean it.
Chapter 21 - CJ
I wasn’t sure if I got the short end of the stick in this bargain, but the dress Mat chose for me was so beautiful that it smoothed away my prickly edges a little bit. The fabric was as light as a feather and showed off every part of me that I actually liked. It fluttered low around my shoulders, revealing the tops of my arms and collarbone, which I considered my best features. It fell to the top of the matching slingback shoes in regal waves of silk and hugged every curve on the way down.
So far, I had blatantly ignored anything that appeared in my closet in a jewelry box, but there was no way I could go to the Exavier ball unadorned. Mat would have carried me right back upstairs and put it on me himself if I tried it, anyway, so I snapped open the new velvet cases.
The jewelry was stunning, tasteful, and must have cost more than most cars. Gold, diamonds, and jade so fine it was almost transparent, gleamed up at me. The necklace fell right to the top of the plunging neckline, the teardrop-shaped jade pendant almost an exact twin to the dress. Matching small drop earrings and a bracelet were in the second box.
My hair was up in a bun, which I hoped people would associate with Audrey Hepburn instead of suspecting that my super straight hair wouldn’t do much else. A quick sweep of mascara, blush, and the same lip gloss I wore on my wedding day, and I headed downstairs.
Was there actually a flutter in my stomach?
Mat waited for me, breathtaking in a black tux that molded to his muscles. His dark hair that normally looked a bit windswept and unruly was neatly tamed, his strong jaw freshlyshaved. I had to make an effort to keep my mouth from dropping open. Was I still mad at him?
Oh, who was keeping score? He looked like a million bucks, and I told him so.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off me, up and down and back again, holding my hand so I’d give him a twirl. I didn’t even feel silly. How could I when his gaze was so transfixed?
He mumbled something in Russian, and I hid a grin. It didn’t suck making someone like Mat Fokin speechless, at least in his second language.
“You’re stunning,” he said, reaching for me.
I stepped back, still not quite over the sting of being used as a useful ticket into this shindig. “The dress will wrinkle,” I said primly.
Inside the car, we only spoke about the event, both of us being pleasant and polite. It was good practice for when we got inside, but it was also uncomfortable after the glimpses of how we could be together.
At the event, he gave his car keys to the valet, who was dressed like an ancient Roman gladiator. I groaned inwardly as we made our way down the throng of people waiting to get on the step and repeat, a layout like a red carpet at Hollywood premieres. Behind a golden velvet rope, a crowd of bloggers and gossip news reporters waited to get pictures of everyone, and maybe a tidbit of something juicy if they sucked up hard enough.
By the time it was our turn, I was ready. I may have hated these things, but I was good at them. My father could never be bothered, but my mother lived for them, and I’d been going to the Exavier ball and other events like it since I was ten.
The whole theme was the Glories of Rome, and burly, oiled-up men wearing short togas stood holding torches by tall white pillars every eight feet. In between, we stopped and smiled and made small talk with the reporters for a minute or so, then moved on. Women with foot-tall piles of curls on their heads and not much on their bodies waited at the entrance to give us our first glasses of champagne. Another man dressed in a toga, but who had on his everyday glasses, blew on a horn and showily announced us to the crowd.
Everything was gold and white, and despite the absence of live elephants, it was truly more opulent than any of their other attempts. Palm trees in golden pots lined the walls. Tall candlesticks winked in the middle of the tables that were surrounded by golden chairs with white velvet seats. There were pillars that rose to the high ceiling everywhere, as if someone had decided that was the hallmark of ancient times. Grapes and white roses twisted with ivy were hung in swathes everywhere, and the thousands of crystals in the huge chandeliers overhead sparkled blindingly.
At the moment, a subtle string quartet played, but if we made it to midnight, there was sure to be a surprise concert from whatever band was hot right now. It felt good to be out of the house, dressed up and dripping with beautiful jewels, and everyone around us believed that the handsome man at my side was madly in love with me.
“Oh, congrats, dear. Your wedding was so perfect, I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to speak with you much then.” Dana Emerrich ran up to me and air kissed my cheeks.
