Page 19 of Crimson Sin
“Passion,” Viktor repeats, as though tasting the word. “How refreshing. So many marriages in our circles are built on more practical foundations.”
Around the table, conversations pause as people tune into this exchange. Viktor has just lobbed a deliberate provocation, questioning the authenticity of our marriage in front of witnesses.
Naomi doesn't flinch. “Practical foundations can be important,” she acknowledges. “But they're not everything.”
“No, indeed,” Viktor agrees, his smile sharpening. “Though I imagine Daniil appreciates a woman who understands the practical aspects as well as the passionate ones.”
The insinuation is clear. He's suggesting that our marriage is transactional, that Naomi is here for material benefits rather than genuine feelings. It's a calculated insult wrapped in polite conversation.
So, I do what I should have done the moment Viktor started this game. I rise from my seat slowly, letting the scrape of my chair echo through the room. Forks pause midair. Conversations hush. Even Viktor lifts his brow.
Naomi looks up at me, startled. I offer her my hand. She hesitates, just for a moment, then places her palm in mine.
The contact sends electricity up my arm. Her skin is warm and soft, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my thumb. Whatever this began as, it’s no longer just an arrangement or transaction. The woman looking up at me with wide brown eyes has become far more dangerous.
I draw her up from her chair, step in close, and before she can ask what I'm doing, I kiss her. Not a polite press of lips. Not a stage kiss for the sake of optics. No. I kiss her like she belongs to me. Like I've wanted to kiss her since the second she stepped into my world.
Her breath catches against my mouth. Her fingers tense against my wrist. But she doesn't pull away. The kiss deepens before I can stop myself. Her lips part slightly, and I taste the hint of champagne on her tongue. The scent of her perfume, delicate and floral, fills my senses. For a moment, nothing exists exceptthe soft warmth of her mouth and the way she melts against me despite the audience watching every move.
When I pull back, her eyes are wide, stunned. Her lips are kiss-swollen, slightly parted as though she's forgotten how to breathe. The flush on her cheeks spreads down to where the diamond necklace rests against her throat.
And for one terrifying second, I want to kiss her again. To hell with performance. But then the applause begins. Light, slow, and sarcastic.
Viktor.
I turn toward him, my jaw tight. He lifts his glass with a lazy grin, his steel-blue eyes dancing with malicious amusement. The bastard looks pleased, as though he's accomplished exactly what he set out to do.
“To the happy couple,” he drawls. “May your marriage be as convincing as that kiss.”
Laughter ripples down the table, thin and wary. The other guests aren't sure how to respond to this open challenge. Some look uncomfortable with Viktor's boldness. Others seem intrigued by the drama unfolding before them.
Naomi sits back down slowly, cheeks flushed. Her fingers shake slightly as she picks up her water glass, and I notice how she avoids meeting anyone's eyes. The kiss has shaken her as much as it has me, though she's fighting to maintain her composure.
I remain standing longer than necessary, locking eyes with Viktor until he looks away. The message is clear: push me, and there will be consequences. Family blood or not, there are lines he shouldn't cross.
When I finally sit, I place my hand on her thigh beneath the tablecloth. Not for show this time. For her. To steady her, and to ground myself in the reality of her warmth and presence.
She stiffens at first, then eases and doesn’t push my hand away. On the outside, I’m all control. But inside? Inside, I’m burning.
Dinner continues, but the food tastes like ash. I push it around on my plate, listening as Viktor spins some story about a recent trip to Paris, pretending he's still part of the inner circle instead of circling it like a hyena.
He discusses galleries he has visited, auction houses where he has made purchases, and influential people he has met. It's all designed to impress and intimidate, to remind everyone at this table that his connections extend far beyond our organization. Viktor has always been ambitious, but tonight that ambition feels different. It's honed, dangerous, and aimed with precision.
Naomi answers questions when spoken to. She's careful and polite. But I can feel her tension under the table, the way her knee bounces once, twice, before she stills it. The kiss has changed something between us and created an awareness that wasn't there before. Every accidental touch of our hands now carries a heated current that is impossible to ignore.
My thumb draws a slow circle against the smooth fabric of her gown. The gesture is so subtle it escapes notice, yet it’s intimate enough to steal her breath. Until Viktor turns his attention to her again.
“So, Naomi,” he begins, swirling his wine with the charm he’s used as a weapon for decades. “Tell us, what convinced you to marry Daniil so quickly? Love at first sight?”
The question is delivered with perfect politeness, but underneath lurks a challenge. He's probing for weaknesses and looking for cracks in our story that he can exploit.
She glances at me. Then back at him. “Sometimes you just know.”
It's a good answer, simple, direct, and impossible to argue with. But Viktor isn't finished. He smiles, the expression never reaching his eyes.
“Indeed. But surely a woman like you has options. The museum world is full of interesting men. Intellectuals, artists, collectors with fascinating stories to tell.”
I lock my jaw, trying to hold back the surge of fury at the edge in his tone, and the insinuation lurking beneath his civility. He's suggesting that she could have done better, and her choice to marry me represents some limitation or desperation on her part.
