Page 71 of Ivory Ashes

Mikhail is good for Dante. He comes with some threats and baggage, but he wants to protect us from that.

Maybe I should stop fighting this pull I feel towards him. The pull I’ve felt since I first saw him leaning against the wall at my engagement party. The one that hasn’t lessened for even a second since he threw me back on the bed in that bridal suite.

Mikhail leans closer. I tip my head back, part my lips.

I want him.

The thought rings through me like a gong and he must be able to hear it.

Because all at once, Mikhail pulls away and leaves me leaning on the cold metal railing.

“Sounds like your horoscope knows about your breakdown in the kitchen last night. You definitely ‘embraced’ me then.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks to the stairwell door. He wrenches it open and points for me to follow.

I silently follow him down the stairs and through the restaurant. Pyotr is standing by the curb downstairs, but when he helps me into the backseat, Mikhail doesn’t follow.

“Take her home,” Mikhail orders. “I have work to do.”

Without another look at me, Mikhail turns and leaves.

I spend the ride home staring out the window, playing and replaying the conversation on the roof. I can still feel where Mikhail’s hand singed my lower back.

What happened? What did I do wrong?

As if he can hear my thoughts, Pyotr catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “Don’t judge him too harshly.”

“Who?” I snap.

Pyotr gives me a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Novikov has been through a lot. When he is responsible for someone, he takes it seriously. He doesn’t allow anything to get in the way of him doing what needs to be done—not even himself. If he’s keeping you at arm’s length, there’s a good reason.”

Like he’s uninterested. He doesn’t want me. This marriage is a sham through and through.

If I’m transparent enough that Pyotr can see my disappointment, I’m sure Mikhail could, too.

Pyotr is trying to make me feel better, but as I mumble my thanks and walk into the mansion I now call home, I’ve never felt more alone.

25

VIVIANA

Push the board meeting from 10 to 2.

When I saw Mikhail’s name light up my screen two minutes before six this morning, my stupid heart leapt. A more imaginative person might’ve said it frolicked, even, hopeful that whatever the hell happened at the end of our “definitely not a date” the other night was an emotional glitch Mikhail was going to apologize for.

Apparently not.

I mentally add a third tally under my Days Since Mikhail Has Apologized for Being An Asshole column. Then I text back. Can do. I even put a period at the end instead of an exclamation point. Like the no-nonsense hardass I am.

Mikhail isn’t texting me as Viviana, the mother of his child and woman he nearly kissed before unceremoniously dumping her in a car and sending her away—he’s texting me as Viviana, the assistant he inherited after a hostile takeover of Cerberus Industries.

It’s getting hard to keep track of what and who we are to each other.

I’m his wife, but not really.

We’re attracted to each other, but not together.

I’m the mother of his child, but we aren’t a family.

So me being Mikhail’s personal assistant is just another level of confusion on top of this seven-layer shit dip.

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