Page 97 of Inked Athena

A few more conversational exchanges that feel more like fencing than chit-chat later, I watch the Dvoraks melt into the crowd, their disapproval trailing behind them like designer perfume.

But they’re only the beginning. More guests arrive in waves, one after the next after the next. Sam guides me through introductions that blur together like watercolors.

An hour in, and I’ve cried mercy, played the pregnant card, and claimed sanctuary on a crimson velvet settee older than America. From here, I can observe the subtle war game playing out in our grand room.

My dangerous man works the crowd with lethal grace, his genuine smile tucked away for safekeeping. This is pure business—calculated charm and measured responses designed to strengthen his position.

Ourposition, I remind myself.We’re in this together now.

“First time hosting?” A willowy blonde sinks onto the cushion beside me, champagne flute dangling from manicured fingers. “I’m Annika. Viktor’s wife.” She tilts her head toward a bear of a man currently engaged in intense conversation with Sam. “God, I remember my first dinner party after marrying Viktor. Absolute disaster.”

“The soup was cold?” I venture, grateful when she laughs.

But her eyes are sharp, assessing. “The soup was fine. It was me who wasn’t ready. These people...” She waves her glass at the room. “They smell weakness like sharks smell blood.”

“Good thing our girl here isn’t weak.” Paige, a statuesque brunette I met earlier, joins us. She stretches her endless legs out, radiating practiced ease. “Honey, you’ve got nothing to worry about. The way Samuil looks at you? That’s worth more than any social graces.”

I catch Sam’s eye across the room. For a heartbeat, his mask slips and I seemySam—the one who proposed under the stars, who touches me like I’m precious.

Then Josef asks about profit margins, and the ice slides back into place.

“It’s strange to see him like this,” I murmur, more to myself than to my two new friends. “So… in his element.”

“You can’t deny that it gets results, though,” Annika says, swirling her champagne. “People love him or fear him, no in between. The stories I’ve heard about what happened to the last person who crossed him...”

“It’s just not the Sam I know. That’s all I meant. People have a lot of sides to them. We all contain multitudes or something like that, right?”

Paige snorts delicately. “Smart girl. Half the stories these people tell are bullshit anyway. Though I have to ask—is it true about the Great Dane incident? Because if so, that’s the best meet-cute I’ve ever heard.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “You know about that?”

“Everyone knows,” Annika says. “The fearsome Samuil Litvinov, taken down by an oversized puppy and the tiny woman who couldn’t control it? It’s practically legend now.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. “Fantastic. Just what I needed to hear before meeting all these people.”

“Oh, honey.” Paige pats my knee. “That story is the reason half these vultures are actually giving you a chance. You made him human. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

I peek through my fingers to find both women watching me with something like respect.

“Besides,” Annika adds, “any woman who can make Samuil laugh in public is someone worth knowing. Now, about these renovations you’re planning—I simply must introduce you to my interior designer. She specializes in historical properties...”

The conversation shifts to safer ground, but I can’t shake Paige’s words.You made him human.

I catch Sam’s eye again across the room. This time when he looks at me, a hint of that legendary smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

Maybe we’re humanizing each other.

The chime of a triangle draws everyone’s attention. Mr. Morris stands a few steps up on the main staircase, dressed in a tuxedo that might predate the castle, complete with a top hat and coattails.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says in that rolling brogue, “dinner shall be served momentarily. If your lords and lasses would like to join us…” He beckons to the formal dining room and the dozens gathered begin the slow shuffle inward.

I’m one of the last through the archway. On the other side, the endless dining table gleams beneath a sea of candles, their flames dancing in crystal goblets and gilded platters.

I trace the rim of my wine glass—sparkling grape juice, of course—and try not to fidget as forty pairs of eyes study my every move.

A slew of townspeople hired as catering support staff help everyone to their assigned seat. Annika catches my gaze from across the table and winks as a hush falls over the room. Her silent support steadies me, but my heart still thunders when Sam rises to his feet.

I know what he’s going to say.

---