Page 19 of Bloody Lace

Not to mention, there’s a certain vicious satisfaction in getting both Dimtri’s help and his protection. These Crows attacked my shop to try to send a message to Dimitri, but if he’s telling me the truth, they’re going to regret it. If they’d just left me alone, the retaliation that he claims is coming for them might not have happened.

They tried to extort me for their protection. Instead, I’ve found a way to get protection from someone much more dangerous.

There is, definitely, satisfaction in that.

On a Monday night, getting a cab isn’t all that difficult. I flag one down within a few minutes, my breath fogging out in front of me in the freezing night, and slip into the warm interior as I tell the driver where to go and pay my fare. My phone buzzes, and I see a text from Dimitri.

Dimitri:I’m looking forward to our business dinner. ;) See you soon, l’vitsa.

I press my lips together,wondering if I should tell him not to call me—whatever that means. I’m tempted to Google it, but I’m not sure if I actually want to know. I’d never admit it, but I’m afraid of finding something out that will make it impossible for me to go through with the deal. I know if I tell him no, my boutique is all but gone.

It doesn’t matter,I tell myself, leaning the side of my head against the window and watching the bright Christmas lights go by.The deal will be done soon enough. And then you only have to deal with him when absolutely necessary.Since I’ve taken sex off of the table, I’m sure Dimitri will find other entertainment. Once the legal necessities are finished and I’m moved in, so that we have all of theappearancesof being married, he’ll likely ignore me.

The thought of him with another woman shouldn’t send a jolt of jealousy through me, but it does. I bite my lip, forcing myself not to think about it. I can’t expect him to be celibate, especially not when it’s not even a real marriage, and it’s not as if I should care. Nothing about this relationship is real. But for some reason, thinking of him with his hand on the small of another woman’s back, of him smirking at some other woman with that gleam of mischievous desire in his eyes—it makes something in my chest burn.

Just don’t think about it.I take a deep breath as the cab turns onto Fifth Avenue, the sidewalks crowded with people even on a weekday night. In a few minutes, I’m going to see him, and I need to make sure he isn’t getting the upper hand in this. Desire, jealousy—none of that has a place in what is essentially a business arrangement.

The cab slows to a stop outside of the restaurant, and I hand the driver a tip, sliding out into the frigid chill of the night. Through the large glass windows, I see Dimitri just inside, blond hair brushing the turned-up collar of his black wool peacoat, and my stomach flips nervously.

I’m going to marry him. That man is going to be my husband.

But not really. It’s not real. Just remember that. It’s. Not. Real.

I repeat those words over and over in my head, holding onto them like a lifeline as I pick my way down the icy sidewalk and step into the warm, spicy-scented interior of L’Riche.

Dimitri sees me the instant I walk inside. His head snaps in my direction as if he knew from my footsteps that it was me, the thought making my heart flip dangerously, and then again as his blue eyes catch mine. His gaze sweeps over me, and I could swear I see them darken, a sudden, hot desire in his gaze that makes my breath catch in my chest.

This man is so fucking dangerous.And not because he’s Bratva. Not because of anything other than the fact that no man has ever made my heart skip a beat or my breath catch before. Never made me feel like the room was suddenly too warm or like my knees have gone wobbly, made me feel lightheaded or like I want nothing more than to lean in and breathe the warm, masculine scent of his skin and his cologne.

Dimitri makes me feel all of that. All at once, in a heady rush that makes me stop in the entryway, swallowing hard as I scramble for my composure. And I can’t help but laugh inwardly at the irony that the one man who I absolutely cannot allow myself to want is also the only one who has ever made me feel anything like the fantasy that I locked away as impossible a long time ago.

“Evelyn?” The way he says my name, in that rough, rasping Russian accent, doesn’t make anything any better. But I take a deep breath, and walk towards him, managing a smile that hopefully hides how nervous I really am.

“Reservation for Yashkov,” he says, turning towards the hostess, who nods immediately and reaches for two clothbound menus, gesturing for us to follow her.

The restaurant is beautiful, with dark wood floors and warm, soft lighting, plants bordering the long hall she walks us down before it opens up into a huge floor with a view of the kitchenon one side and floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcasing the glittering skyline of New York City on the other. Soft violin music filters through the air, and the hostess leads us to a corner table with the best view of both the city and the kitchen, waiting as Dimitri slides out my chair for me.

“Your server will be by shortly,” she tells us with a smile, walking quickly away and leaving the two of us there.

“Do you have opinions about wine?” Dimitri asks, sliding out the creamy sheet of thick linen paper that the wine list is printed on.

I shake my head. “Not at a place like this,” I say jokingly, and Dimitri chuckles.

“I’ll order for us both, then. Do you prefer red or white?”

That’s easy to answer, at least. “Red.”

“I do as well.” He scans the list, glancing up at me as we wait. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me here tonight.”

“You insisted on getting to know each other better.” I reach for the cloth napkin, shaking it out and folding it on my lap for something to do with my hands. “I don’t see the point. I’m sure you have a huge house, and I’m sure we’ll be able to avoid each other quite easily, after the business part is done.”

“Is that what you want?” Dimitri looks at me curiously. “To avoid me?”

“I assumed you’d want the same. This isn’t a real marriage. You’ll have—other diversions, I’m sure.” My chest tightens again, that burn of jealousy heating behind my ribs, and I do my best to ignore it.Pointless,I remind myself, but sitting across from him, looking at his handsome face and charming, rakish smile, it’s even harder to pretend that I don’t hate the idea of some other woman sitting where I am. And I hate that, too, because it makes me feel utterly idiotic. Only a fool would be jealous over a man who she’s not even in a real relationship with.

Dimitri looks at me evenly. “For as long as we’re married,” he says calmly, “there will be nodiversions, as you so politely put it.”

I blink at him, sure that we’re talking about two different things. “What?”

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