Page 47 of Seduction (Wicked Vows)

I give him a warning glare just as my father turns back to us. He eyes Markov coldly, which takes me by surprise. For most of the dinner, he’s actually been trying to get Markov on his side, like part of some twisted brotherhood thing.

“Family is the most vital of assets,” he says soberly. “You’d be wise to remember that. Your aunt is an exceptional woman, Markov.”

I flatten my lips. I have no desire to hear him wax eloquent on his mistress’s many virtues any longer, even if she is related to Markov. No matter how hard I try, no matter how I distance myself mentally from my father, I can’t help the genuine disappointment that wells in my heart at his cold and selfish attitude. I’m frustrated that I still, even now, seek the tiniest modicum of his approval. I’d have hoped I’d know better than that by now.

I put a hand to my head. “While this has been lovely, I seem to have developed a headache. I’m so sorry,” I lie to my father. “I’m going to decline dessert and head back to the campus.”

“Of course,” my father says, folding the dessert menu. He picks up his phone and smiles, obviously taken by whatever conversation he’s reading. “Your aunt says hello, Markov. She wants to know if you’ve spoken to your mother recently.”

Markov stands and smiles. “I’m ordering a ride for Vera. My aunt’s always checking in on me and my mother. Tell her nice try.”

With that cryptic message, he’s gone.

I feel bereft without his presence. I had an ally when he was here. I give myself a mental shake. I’m an adult. A week ago, I didn’t need Markov, and I definitely don’t need him now.

I have a sudden realization, as my father continues his texting conversation, oblivious to my presence, that this is a turning point for me.

I’ve left home. I’ve struck out on my own. My father has made his motives and intentions clear as day.

I don’t need my father’s support. I don’t need my father’s love.

I’ve chosen my path, and he’s chosen his.

He rises when Markov joins us again and gives me a perfunctory kiss on both cheeks.

“Thank you for indulging an old man,” he says with an almost wistfulness. “Markov, take good care of my daughter.”

He shakes Markov’s hand firmly.

Keeping up with those appearances is hard, old man.

“Of course, sir.” He gives me a knowing look my father doesn’t catch. “Taking care of your daughter is exactly why I’m here.”

Once more, I imagine something like regret flashing across his features, but when I look again, his face is impassive as always. I get the distinct feeling that Markov is hiding something.

I’ve had a lot of wine, though. I chalk it up to my imagination.

Someone reaches for Markov’s shoulder. “Nikko?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nikko

Fuck.

I vaguely recognize the woman’s voice behind me, and she could fuck up everything. Vera stares at me, her eyes wide in surprise.

I turn, my face impassive. “Excuse me?” I ask in Russian. “Can I help you?”

It’s an older woman with gray hair twisted in a loose bun. Her blue eyes are kind, her face soft.

“Nikko Romanov,” the woman says. “You were in my class in grade school. Did you forget me?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her apologetically. “My name is Markov, not Nikko. I am told I look like someone else.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, and I feel like a total douchebag. Shit. But if anyone finds out my real identity, all will be lost.

“You do look so much like him,” she says, giving me a curious look. She doesn’t buy it. “Well. That’s too bad. I quite liked Nikko and would’ve loved a chance to catch up with him. Have a good night.”

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