Page 27 of Marrying the Silver Fox

Nikolai’s face doesn’t shift, and he nods. “Yes.”

“Uh, right,” I reply swiftly. “Guess I’ll…um, get ready then…”

I drift back to the wardrobe to find some shoes to go with the outfit I’m wearing—I’ve just been running around in sneakers today, and I doubt that’s the kind of thing his father will want to see me in. I know it’s crazy, but I really want to make a good impression on this guy. He’s my father-in-law, after all. And, though he might not know that his son more or less plucked me out of my life and forced me into this marriage, there’s a part of me that wants to prove that I’m as much part of this family as anyone else deserves to be.

I emerge from the bathroom a half hour or so later, after fussing with my hair until it’s somewhat under control. Nikolai is waiting for me, and I give him a little spin.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look perfect,” he murmurs, and he offers me his arm. “Come. My father doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

I take his arm and allow him to lead me down the stairs to where his father is waiting for us. And I find myself hoping that his brother will not be joining us tonight. I don’t know what it is about Max that rubs me the wrong way, but his presence puts my teeth on edge like nothing else. I know he should be the least of my worries, given that I’m damn well married to a man involved in the criminal underworld, but at least Nikolai has been up-front about what he wants from me, what he expects.

His brother, on the other hand? He has been a snake, causing trouble from the second I laid eyes on him, flirting outright and clearly showing his own brother next to no respect.

When we reach his father’s quarters, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it’s only Marcus there waiting for us. I warm my face with a smile and go over to him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for having us for dinner,” I tell him. I glance to the table, which is already laden with food. “It looks wonderful.”

“Thank Marta for that,” Nikolai remarks. “My father’s no great shakes as a cook.”

Marcus chuckles, seemingly used to his son’s teasing. “Well, as long as I can provide, I think I’m keeping up with my fatherly duties,” he remarks, and he pulls out a chair for me, gesturing for me to take a seat.

I’m still unused to how it feels to have these men treat me this way, as though I’m something precious, something to be cared for at every turn. I keep waiting for something to shift, for them to admit how they really feel—to see through me as the faker I am in all of this. But they don’t. Maybe because they don’t want to, or maybe just because I’m letting myself get a little too paranoid for my own good.

“Do you cook, Andrea?” Marcus asks, as both men take their seats on either side of me.

I hesitate for a moment—and then shake my head. I don’t want to let him down, if he’s expecting some classic, barefoot-in-the-kitchen wife for his son. But then, there’s no point lying about it if it’s only going to come spilling out anyway. God forbid he put me in the kitchen and ask me to make something, and I wind up doing more damage to this place than any of his enemies ever could.

“Uh, no, I’m not much of a cook,” I admit. I feel Nikolai’s hand on my leg under the table, perhaps sensing my nerves, letting me know that I have nothing to worry about.

“Andie has been more focused on her career till now,” he explains, and Marcus looks at me with interest as he tucks his napkin into his collar, reaching for the wine and pouring some for all of us.

“Oh, yes? A wedding planner, is that what Nikolai told me?”

“Yes, I put together weddings for people in New York,” I reply, taking a sip of the wine, glad for something to take the edge off my nerves. I just have to make sure I don’t get too ahead of myself, given what has happened the last couple of times I’ve drunk alcohol around Nikolai.

“And how is it?”

“I love it,” I gush. “I mean, I know it seems like hell for some people, putting together a big event like that, but when I see the look on their faces—the couple—and I can see that it’s everything they ever wanted, it makes it all worthwhile.”

“Quite a job, taking on the hopes and dreams of a new couple like that,” he remarks. “But I suppose your wedding with Nikolai was spectacular, hmm?”

“It was,” Nikolai replies.

I lock eyes with him briefly, trying to figure out how much he wants me to actually be honest about. If I say too much, I might let his father in on the truth that I wasn’t meant to be the one at the altar, but then…

“Andie did a wonderful job,” he goes on. “A memorable day for everyone, I’m sure.”

I have to press my lips together to keep from letting out a giggle. I mean, yeah, you could say that. I don’t think anyone expected me to be the one walking down the aisle to meet him, right? He grips my leg a little tighter, a quiet warning not to let too much slip, and I do my best to hold it together, still so nervous that I’m going to blurt out something I shouldn’t.

“It’s important for a woman to have a career,” Marcus remarks. “There’s more to life than just raising children. My mother, she worked all her life in a butcher’s shop, the one her father had passed down to her, and she took as much pride in it as she did in me…”

He fills me in on a little of the family history, and I pepper in a few questions, recognizing those places where he’s clearly leaving space for me to ask more. I am well-versed in handling this kind of thing—I can’t count how many times I’ve been deep in conversation with some elderly relative of the bride or groom at one of the weddings I’ve organized, and if I’ve learned one thing by now, it’s that they just want someone to talk to.

I can feel Nikolai watching me as I speak with his father, perhaps making certain that I’m not going to slip up and come out with anything that might point to what truly happened between us to bring us to bring us to this point.

As much as the wine almost has me slipping up a couple of times, I keep myself on track, enjoying the food, trying all the traditional Russian dishes that Marta has made for us. Most of them seem to be some combination of beetroot and cabbage, but she has managed to turn them into something delicious, and I find my appetite returning for the first time since we touched down here.

By the time the dishes are cleared away—by the household staff, of course, because that’s just something they have here, as crazy as it seems to me—I’m starting to get a little drowsy, and I have to stifle a yawn.