Page 20 of Crimson Sin
“I wasn't looking for a husband,” she responds coolly. “But Daniil wasn't exactly easy to ignore.”
Laughter again. This time it’s warmer, but still filled with the undercurrent of tension that has been building all evening. The men around the table are enjoying this verbal sparring match.
Viktor lifts his glass again. “To fate, then. And the women who keep us all guessing.”
Naomi lifts her water but doesn't drink from it. I press my thumb into her thigh. Just once as a reminder that she’s doing fine. But my patience is gone.
The conversation continues around us, but I'm no longer listening. I'm watching Viktor's face, studying the micro-expressions that reveal his true intentions. There's a predatoryway he looks at Naomi that goes beyond simple testing or family rivalry.
When dessert is served, some unnecessarily elaborate almond cake adorned with edible gold leaf and crystallized flowers, I've had enough. The evening has served its purpose. Naomi has been introduced, our marriage has been displayed, and everyone has had their chance to evaluate and judge. But Viktor's continued provocations have pushed this beyond mere family politics.
I rise again, my voice low and firm. “If you'll excuse us, Naomi needs some air.”
No one protests. The statement isn't really a request anyway. Irina gives me a knowing look, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. She enjoyed watching this power play unfold.
Lex, seated at the far end of the table, doesn't look up from his untouched dessert. But I know he's listening and cataloging every word and gesture for later analysis. His silence speaks volumes. He sees what I see in Viktor's behavior, and he doesn't like it any more than I do.
I guide Naomi through the hall, past portraits of ancestors who once ruled. The eyes in those paintings seem to watch us pass, generations of Zorin blood that built this empire through violence and cunning. My mother's portrait hangs among them, her cold green eyes seeming to follow our movement.
We go out the side entrance into the gardens. Night has fallen completely now. The sky is deep black above us, despite the city lights in the distance. The path is lit by lanterns hung in the wisteria-covered trellises. The air is rich with the scent of rosesand night-blooming jasmine, a perfume so heady it makes the evening feel dreamlike.
It's peaceful here, removed from the table of vipers inside. No performance required, no audience to convince. Just the soft sound of our footsteps on stone and the distant murmur of voices from the dining room windows.
She walks beside me in silence. Her steps are slower now, more relaxed than they've been all evening, and her breathing is deeper, as though she's finally able to exhale fully.
The garden stretches out before us in carefully manicured perfection. Galina had also designed this space, creating a maze of pathways that wind through rose beds and ornamental trees. Marble statues stand sentinel at various points, classical figures frozen in poses of eternal grace. A fountain bubbles somewhere in the darkness, the sound of water adding to the sense of sanctuary.
“I didn't expect that,” she murmurs, breaking the silence. “The kiss.”
Her voice is soft, uncertain. The confidence she displayed during dinner has given way to something more vulnerable and honest.
“Neither did I.”
The admission surprises me with its truth. I'd planned many aspects of this evening, but that moment of claiming her in front of everyone had been pure instinct. Something about Viktor's prodding, combined with the way she'd handled herself all evening, had snapped my carefully maintained control.
She turns to me under a burst of moonlight. The silver illumination makes her skin glow like porcelain. The crimsondress looks almost black in the darkness, but the diamonds at her throat sparkle like captured stars.
“Then why?” she asks quietly.
The simple question deserves an honest answer. But how do I explain the possessiveness that clawed at me when Viktor looked at her with that cold interest? How do I admit that somewhere between the museum and tonight, this arrangement has become something far more complicated?
I look at her but don’t say what I’m thinking.Because I wanted to. Because Viktor was watching. Because you're the only thing in this house that makes me feel like I’m more than a weapon in a suit.
Instead, I say, “To remind them who you belong to.”
Her lips part in surprise. “Do I?”
The question is loaded with implications neither of us is ready to examine. This began as a business arrangement, a mutually beneficial solution to address separate problems. But the woman standing before me has become something I never planned for.
“You do tonight.”
I step in before she can respond, or rational thought can override instinct. She backs into the vine-covered archway, her spine pressing against the stone as I cage her with my body. The scent of blossoms wraps around us. And when I kiss her this time, there's nothing performative about it.
This kiss is hunger given form. Desperation wrapped in desire. Her hands grip the lapels of my jacket as though anchoring herself, and I can feel the slight tremor in her fingers. My ownhands frame her face, thumbs tracing the delicate line of her cheekbones.
Her lips part under mine, and I taste champagne, honey, and an indefinably addictive sweetness. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, half surprise and half surrender, and it threatens to undo what's left of my control.
Her hands slide up to my shoulders, then into my hair, messing the careful styling. I don't care. Nothing matters except the warmth of her mouth and the way she responds to every touch.
