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“No. She died before we met.” He clears his throat and looks past me. “Ah, there he is. And not a moment too soon. Off we go, pip-pip, put a little hustle in your bustle.”
Distracted, I follow Dominik through the crowd. Then I spot Arsen, too, and…
Oh, wow.
My knees nearly buckle at the sight of him. The man could make Adonis look like a pimple-infested teenager.
He’s in a midnight blue suit with an ivory t-shirt, no tie. Everyone else is in black tuxedos, but somehow they look underdressed compared to him. He’s tan, tattooed, gleaming, flawless. He rises head and shoulders above the crowd. Every eye that passes over him comes back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
He doesn’t seem to notice us. He’s too busy charming the pants off the small throng of people clustered at his feet.
There’s a gorgeous blonde on his right hanging on his every word. She’s wearing a dress that would make Jessica Rabbit look conservative. Her flat stomach makes me all the more aware of my very large belly as I bobble over to join a crowd I clearly don’t belong in.
Arsen’s eyes sweep over me. “Laila. You’re here.”
He holds out his arm—apparently, I’m expected to walk into it. I’m nothing if not a people pleaser, so I do as Master implies and scootch in. His hand flattens against the small of my back, pulling me against his chest as he presses a chaste kiss to my cheek.
“Everyone, may I introduce Laila Adamov, my wife.”
A murmur of interest runs through the group of people.
“‘Wife’?” Jessica Rabbit gives me a scathing once-over. “Well, that’s a surprise.”
Arsen doesn’t offer any explanations apart from my introduction, and Jessica Rabbit aside, this group is far too polite to ask. Within a few minutes, they splinter off, but I feel their eyes on me as they defray around the room.
“You sure know how to drop a bomb,” I tell him.
He smirks. “I like to make an impression.”
“Who’s she?” I ask, unable to stop myself from gesturing over to Jessica Rabbit.
“Elenor Martinsen. Her father owns a chain of casinos. When she’s not being a trust fund baby, she’s a model.”
“Of course she is.”
Arsen hooks a finger underneath my chin and forces my gaze from Elenor Martin-whatever to him. “You look beautiful,roza. Diamonds suit you.”
Blushing, I lean away from his touch. “People are staring at us.”
“They’re staring atyou, Laila.And honestly, I can’t blame them.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this the kind of song-and-dance I should expect with these functions? Are you going to be sweet to me all night or do your friends know it’s a total ruse?”
He snorts with laughter. “Don’t ruin the illusion.It’s our little secret.”
I’m about to ask if I’m actually seeing Mick Jagger at the bar when Arsen growls under his breath. “He should know better than to show up to one of my charity events.”
“The Rolling Stones?” Then I follow his gaze and see him staring at a blonde man with impeccable bone structure and silver spikes on his loafers. “Not a friend of yours, I take it?”
Arsen scowls. “That’s Matthew Cole. He’s been trying to get Adamov Liquor into his bars in the industrial district.”
“That sounds like a good thing. More drinks sold, more money, right?”
Arsen draws me in a little closer. “Ordinarily, you’d be right. But the alcohol I offer is as popular as it is because of its inherent exclusivity. You can’t find it everywhere. Only certain bars and hotels in the city offer Adamov Liquor. The name carries a certain cache.”
“And Matthew Cole’s bars don’t pass muster?”
“I have standards to maintain.Just because something is popular doesn’t mean it’s good.”
